Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hack
This can’t be happening. Not again. Not this time.
Two fucking months, that’s all I needed. It’s all she needed to finally be free to live.
Two. Months.
Our faces are so close I can feel the desperation as if it were my own.
“It hurts, Zelos.” She barely whispers but those two little words followed by my given name rips me apart from the inside.
“I know, baby. I know. Please, just keep fighting. Pierce is coming.” I break our connection for a fraction of a second, looking around for my brother, but there are dozens of kyn forming a circle around us, blocking any view of him.
Some are speaking, I can see it but I can’t hear them.
Hell, I don’t want to hear anything but the tiny breaths from between Sage’s lips.
They’re not even, not in equal measure, they’re more of a tuplet that keeps me guessing with their irregularity, wondering if the next is her last one.
It’s killing me right along with her.
“Wait for the—” She coughs and I want to murder the entirety of The Shade.
“For the next me.” She coughs again just as tears spring to my eyes, falling at the same pace as those streaking down her cheeks.
“Tell her—” She closes her eyes, a grimace marring the perfect features of her face, her once smooth, sun-bathed skin.
“I regret the hate. Tell her how to stop the hex.” When she gasps, blood pours from the corners of her lips and her eyes open wide like the pain is overpowering everything else.
That’s when her mind opens to me and this time when she communicates, it’s clear as day. It’s everything she was struggling to say.
“Tell her to listen to you. Tell her that our love transcends everything and fighting it only wastes time. Tell her, Zelos, that despite it all, I love you.”
I stare into her eyes and let my thoughts comfort her.
“Satapti, our love can’t be broken and I’ll find you again. In twenty years or two centuries. I am only yours and you are always mine. I love you, my chosen.”
She smiles at my words, and the serene look on her face as she steps into the ether has me choking on my grief.
The pain that grips me as she exhales her last breath and closes her eyes to the world, and to me, is more poignant than any of the other times I’ve lost her.
Because for this life, I had hope, and hope is the killer of all dreams.
“No. No, no, no. Satapti, please.” My voice breaks with my begging, my heart does too, then it’s my soul. As I pull her into my arms, Pierce arrives, out of breath and in a panic.
“Hack?” One look from me and he understands that my world has been destroyed yet again. “I’m so sorry. I came—” His apology is cut off as an elf runs up to me and starts to apologize, saying it was an accident.
“The vampyre threw my friend, he didn’t—he didn’t mean to hurt her—” I circle the elf’s throat with a vine as I hand my dead chosen to my brother.
My need for blood is stronger than my will to live.
I make a decision that is sure to put my own life in peril but with the weight of my pain, rational thought has been annihilated.
“Hack!” With my ears ringing from the pure rage tearing at my chest, I don’t acknowledge Pierce’s warning.
Instead, I lash out. With stealth born from centuries of training and fighting, I steal two swords from passing kyn.
The elf speaking to me chokes on his own blood as I thrust the blade into his gut and find a sick sense of satisfaction when I see the tip come through on the other side.
I twist for good measure and let him fall to the ground without a second thought.
Next, I slice a nautical in half as she tries to stop me from aiming the rest of my ire at the vampyre, who’s not even pretending to care about my loss.
Standing there with the ego of a thousand kings, he lifts his chin high like that’s supposed to frighten me. It should, because killing kyn is strictly forbidden unless in self-defense which, clearly, is not the case.
I should be afraid, yet here we are.
The only thing that has ever scared me to the point of not following my instincts is Sage’s death. But that’s a moot point now, isn’t it?
I stalk like a demon on a mission, steps sure, arms swinging with the weight of each of the steel swords until I reach the disrespectful vampyre.
“Any final words?” It’s the closest to reasonable that I can get.
“Don’t be ridicu—” Swinging both swords at the same time, I slice through the vampyre, one across his throat and the other his midsection. His body falls into two distinct parts while his head rolls down the road, coating the dark gray street with crimson.
Arms try to stop me, reaching out to contain me, but my rage can’t be subdued, it can’t be muted or ignored. My ire is a living, breathing entity, and its need to exist grows with each second that my chosen lies dead in the market streets of The Shade.
My tunnel vision is aimed at the vampyres.
One runs, most likely getting back-up, another hisses, giving me the full dental image of their deadly fangs.
But when a third comes at me, I duck and pivot, hacking his shins in two.
His screams are probably deafening to others but they are a relief for me.
Every time I hear the suffering of one, it fills a tiny hole of agony inside me.
“Hack! Stop, brother.” I know Pierce is trying to get me under control but I’m too far gone.
Bloodlust has taken over me and the only cure is death and destruction because that’s what these motherfuckers have done to me.
They were careless, and with that, they took away the only importance in my life.
At the thought of her—lying there without an ounce of life left in her—a piercing pain shoots at the base of my stomach as though I’m being burned from the inside out.
It travels up my chest and takes away my voice, my ability to speak or breathe.
It stabs through the center of my brain but I don’t mind it because it’s immediately followed by total darkness.
Blessed nothingness greets me and I pray to the Moirai that death has come for me too.
To my deepest disappointment, I wake up.
At first, I react to the searing pain, fighting against my chains and seeking out the cause of my predicament. Until, that is, I remember.
Sage, wide eyed and curious, learning about the kyn and The Shade.
Then the commotion. The confusion.
The elf. The blood.
Her death…in my arms.
Suddenly, I don’t care that I’m hanging by my wrists, chained to the stone wall and turned at an uncomfortable angle.
I’m not even fazed by the livid looking elf testing out his new whip across my skin.
It doesn't take a genius to know the burn across my chest is what woke me up, and judging by the open wounds that aren’t healing anytime soon, that whip is laced with itherium.
And it’s fine. The lashings can’t compare to the throbbing hole in my chest left by yet another death of my chosen.
“Do you discern the weave of fate upon which you tread, demon?” Fuck, I hate speaking to elves. Their superiority complex and their need to take simple phrases and make them sound ridiculous ruins any chance at a normal conversation.
“I don’t speak high-brow.” My voice is unrecognizable—broken and choppy.
“Verity. We bind our speech with chains of simplicity so that your kyn may follow.” Fucking kill me now.
“How about, fuck right off the top of a cliff and give us all a fucking break.” I don’t even know why I’m goading him, it’s not like I give a fuck why I’m here—although yes, I understand their speak, but it doesn’t mean I’m in the mood to have a conversation.
“Enough!” At the sound of the booming voice, a deafening silence descends upon my cell.
“Demon, you’ve been imprisoned for crimes committed against the Elf and the Vampyre kyn.
You prioritized the life of an anthros above that of a supernatural and that crime can be punishable by death. ” As if I give a fuck.
“Good.” My only wish is they’ll be quick so the image of Sage lying lifeless in my arms will vanish.
“But first, you must bear the suffering of your actions.” That’s elf speak for torture.
“Have at it.” Maybe I’ll pass out and maybe I won’t. With any luck, my mind will seek refuge in the memories of my chosen from the first day with Aiyana to the last with Sage and every other life in between.
Opening one eye to see what the commotion is all about, I see the Liege of the Elves take the whip from the lackey and test out its efficiency. He starts with my shins, giving me a series of open wounds right below the knee.
Warm blood seeps out, covering me right down to my bare feet. Somewhere between the market and wherever the fuck I am, my clothes got lost. Thankfully, no one around here is a voyeur and my briefs are still covering my dick. Not that I’d care either way.
Once my entire body is covered in wide open cuts, the liege trades his whip for a moonblade. That's when I know I’m about to suffer and I welcome the physical pain that will mute the emotional maelstrom swirling inside me.
Taking a step closer, the liege comes eye to eye with me and even in my state, I refuse to look away.
I may be broken but I’m not a coward. “Your actions have immeasurable consequences.” Oh good, he’s dumbed down his language for little old me.
Pulling out a vile of itherium—the smell too specific to ignore—he covers the blade with a generous amount.
“You murdered a parent of twelve. You stole the soul of a good mate. You ruined lives, for what?” The moonblade slashes around my waist, my stomach, and straight to the other side.
The pain is impossible to ignore and I welcome it. “An anthros?”