Chapter 30 The Underearth #3
The boy raised his hand suddenly and twirled a strand of Teya’s waist-long platinum hair. Teya visibly tensed, but she said nothing, and did nothing, as the boy played with her hair. “You have Fae heritage,” the boy claimed now, staring at Teya. “Who was it?”
Teya’s response was said in a tight, terse voice. “Great-great-grandmother. Thalira of Morn.”
“Ah,” the boy said, eyes widening—again, without emotions, just as if to mimic a human’s expression. “I heard of her defection a long time ago.” He paused, cocking his head. “Is she still alive?”
Teya gave a sharp nod.
The boy hummed, contemplating something, before he let go of Teya’s hair and moved to Blaise. I could see Teya’s shoulders relax, though she was still tense and on alert.
Blaise didn’t move as the boy sized him up. To my surprise, he said nothing and walked around Blaise to reach Oz and me.
I was sweating and trying to gasp for air as quietly as I could the entire time, and when the boy drew close, I felt like I couldn’t take it anymore. It was as if the boy had an aura of pure suffocating malice, so much so I could barely remain standing.
But Oz’s grip was tight, and I clung on to it, thinking about it only, to try and keep still.
The boy gave Oz a once-over and seemed to dismiss him before his violet eyes landed on me.
Something bizarre happened just then.
The boy put his arms around my waist, barely reaching there, too, and hugged me.
I couldn’t move. Could hardly even breathe. I dug my nails into Oz’s palm, but he didn’t flinch and held my hand still, as if he knew that if he let go, I would crumble.
Because the boy’s hug felt like being caged inside Pandora’s box.
“Drew Colter, the Alpha wolf’s human savior,” the boy said now, tightening his hug. My eyes snapped to see Lucien staring at me with the color drained from his face. “How interesting that it was you who disrupted Mack Page’s plans.”
My heart stopped.
What did he mean by interesting?
He leaned back but didn’t let me go, his hands holding the hem of my shirt. I glanced down at him, meeting his wicked violet stare, and felt my sight swarming, as though I was on the verge of passing out.
“I tried to warn you,” he said, and as if by magic, my nausea, my weak state, and everything else disappeared. It was like the boy flipped a switch. I could let go of Oz’s hand now, which I did, and remain standing without fearing falling to my knees.
The boy smiled again, that strange, sinister smile, and released my shirt as he stepped back to take me in. “I didn’t want you to get involved,” he said, his gaze sharpening. “Especially after my people looked through your apartment and found what it is you do for a living.”
He raised his hand, and to my horror, I saw one of the Fae standing on the sides, a woman, handing him a stack of papers clearly printed from the internet.
The Hallowing Hour’s latest volume.
“You see,” the boy said, smile gone, as he flipped through the paper and paused on a certain page, “you were tracking our movement without knowing that’s what you were doing, and wrote about it in this magazine, which, luckily for you, hardly anyone reads.”
He showed me the volume I hadn’t yet seen. On the front page was the story I’d finished writing a week ago, the one describing every place I’d found the shadow mark, the Underearth portal, with the latest one being at the crime scene on Sunset Boulevard almost two weeks ago.
The boy then threw the magazine on the marble floor and, with that empty expression, pointed at it and shot a literal flame out of his finger to the paper, setting it on fire.
When his violet gaze met mine again, I could tell he was no longer expressionless.
There was something akin to disgust burning deep in his eyes.
“You know too much,” he said flatly now.
“As a Proctor of the Council for Regulation of Arcane Phenomena, I adhere to clause 3(iv) of the Motion for Irregular Threat Removal and sentence you to immediate execution.”
His words didn’t compute at first.
Not until Lucien was suddenly grabbing the Syndarch’s throat from behind, his fingers turned into sharp claws, and aiming the claws on his other hand at his chest. “You are not going to touch her,” Lucien said, voice as flat as the boy’s had been but with rage written all over his face.
The boy’s face remained impassive, though his eyes flashed again with what seemed like disgust. “You’ve done so well until now, wolf,” he said in a somewhat condescending tone that made my skin crawl. “It’s unfortunate you’re determined to ruin our negotiation.”
Lucien’s hold tightened on the boy’s neck. From the corners of my eyes, I saw the other Fae in the room, including Zairos, preparing to attack, though none of them did. I wondered why, considering their very young leader was at risk.
“That’s funny,” Lucien murmured now, voice low and a growl reverberating in his chest. “I don’t recall you trying to negotiate.”
Blaise, Teya, and Oz seemed extremely alert now, ready to defend Lucien and me at any moment. My heart suddenly raced as I realized, belatedly, that the situation had taken a turn for the absolute worst.
“I don’t mind negotiating with you about your little pack, wolf, as a gesture of good faith after our slight mishap,” the boy said now, and I could see him rolling his eyes despite the fact Lucien’s claws dug enough into his neck to draw a small amount of blood—blood that was the color purple, like his eyes, rather than red. “But the human has to die.”
“This is nonnegotiable,” Lucien said through gritted teeth. “Proctor or not, I won’t let you kill her.”
The boy gave a long-suffering sigh. “Why must you make things so difficult?” he asked, and if there wasn’t a genuine questioning tone in his voice, I would’ve thought he was being sarcastic. “You’re acting as if she’s your Eteria.”
It wasn’t just the boy who scoffed disbelievingly at the word Eteria; the Fae surrounding us, who hadn’t made a sound until now, let out similar sounds of disbelief. Teya, Blaise, and even Oz exchanged horrified looks, as they all knew what the truth was.
My heart pounded loud enough, I swore I could hear it echo in the hall.
I looked up at Lucien, who stared back, fury, worry, and fear in his eyes. And I knew just then that he didn’t want to reveal that to the boy, or to anyone else in this room, for that matter. He didn’t want to reveal what I was to him.
Or rather, he was scared.
Why? Because it would put me in more danger or something? But I was already in danger—if the boy wanted to kill me, I had no doubt he could with a mere fling of his hand.
And the frustration and helplessness I could now see on Lucien’s face made it seem as though he’d reached the same conclusion.
“Killing her would make you the one who ruined any potential relationship between us, not the other way around, Syndarch,” Lucien now said in a low voice, face grim. “Because she is my Eteria.”