Chapter 41 #2
“Again.” His voice was closer now, his breath warm against my temple. “And again. Keep going until you can think past the panic.”
I breathed. He counted. I breathed again. He counted. His hand stayed on my throat, grounding me, forcing me to focus on something other than the catastrophic thoughts spiraling through my mind.
“The others are alive. Lucy and Riot are dragons. They’ll protect everyone and dig through from their side.”
“You don’t know that—”
“I do know. And I know that I will get you out of here. One way or another, we’re getting back to them. But you have to trust me.” His eyes never wavered in the pale blue light, dark and intense. “Can you do that?”
I wanted to say no, wanted to fight and rage and throw everything I had at those rocks until something gave way.
But his hand was still on my throat, feeling every breath, every heartbeat.
And somehow that touch—possessive and commanding and completely focused on me—was the only thing keeping me from flying apart completely.
“Yes.” Barely a whisper.
“Good witch.” The words shouldn’t have sent heat through me.
Absolutely shouldn’t have. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen.
We’re going to assess our situation. Conserve our energy and resources.
And we’re going to survive until we’re out.
” His thumb stroked once along my jawline, a gesture at odds with the steel in his voice.
“You will listen to everything I say. You will follow my orders without question. And you will not waste your magic trying to move rocks that won’t budge. Understood?”
“You can’t just—”
“Understood?” His face was inches from mine now, close enough that I could see the silver flecks in his dark eyes.
“Yes.” The word came out steady this time. Stronger.
“That’s my girl.”
His hand slid from my throat to cup my jaw, tilting my face up. His other hand still held one wrist above my head, keeping me pinned, keeping me still, and I should hate it, but my body was doing the opposite of hating it.
“Wickett—”
“You’re terrified.” Not a question. An observation delivered in that same commanding tone.
“Scared for them. Scared of being trapped. Scared of what happens if we don’t make it out.
” His thumb brushed across my cheekbone.
“But fear makes you reckless. Makes you waste energy on things you can’t control. ”
“I need to do something—”
“You need to breathe.” His mouth moved to my ear, his breath hot against my neck. “You need to trust that I won’t let anything happen to you. That I’ll get you out of here, back to them, even if I have to tear this mountain apart stone by stone to do it.”
The tone of his voice sent a wave of warmth straight through me.
“You’re too calm,” I managed.
“Am I? Is it working?” His teeth grazed my jawline, not quite a bite but close enough to make my breath catch.
“You’re an asshole.”
“That’s not an answer.” He released my wrist but didn’t step back, keeping me caged against the stone with his body. “Is. It. Working.”
I should have pushed him away. Should have created distance, restored sanity, reminded us both why this was impossible.
Instead, I fisted his shirt, holding him close.
“Yes.” The admission cost me. “Yes, it’s working, you smug bastard.”
“Good.” His hand slid into my hair, fingers tangling in the curls.
“Because I need you focused. I need you sharp. I need you to be the witch who stood toe to toe with my father. The one who jumped through a book without hesitation, not the one falling apart because things aren’t going according to plan. ”
“Things never go according to plan,” I shot back.
“Exactly.” His forehead pressed against mine, the gesture intimate despite the harshness of his words. “So we adapt. We survive. We do what we always do. We find a way through the impossible and make it look easy.”
“Nothing about this is easy.”
“No.” His thumb traced my lower lip, the touch achingly gentle despite everything else. “But we’re good at hard things, you and I. Good at surviving what should kill us.”
My heart was racing again, but not from panic this time. From proximity. From the way his body pressed against mine, all heat and solid muscle and dangerous intent. From the realization that we were alone, truly alone.
“Wickett—”
His voice dropped lower, rougher, edged with something that made my stomach flip. “Tell me to step back and I will. Tell me this is a terrible idea, and we both walk away and pretend this never happened.”
I should. Should absolutely tell him to stop, to back off, to remember all the reasons this was impossible.
“I can’t,” I whispered instead.
“Can’t what?” His hand tightened in my hair, tilting my head back further. “Say it, Syn. Tell me what you can’t do.”
“Can’t tell you to stop. Can’t pretend I don’t feel this. Can’t keep lying to myself that you’re just the enemy I’m forced to work with.”
His eyes darkened, pupils dilating in the pale light. “What am I, then?”
Dangerous question. Impossible to answer honestly without destroying everything.
“You’re the person who makes me braver than I am. You push me past my limits. Make me question everything I thought I knew about right and wrong. You make me see that everyone has something they’re hiding. Something they protect so the world doesn’t know how vulnerable they really are.”
Something shifted in his expression. Softened and hardened at the same time, like I’d said exactly the right thing and the worst possible thing simultaneously. Then his mouth was on mine.
Not gentle. Not tentative. Like he’d been holding back for far too long and finally, finally had permission to take what he wanted.
I kissed him back just as fiercely, pouring every ounce of fear and frustration and desperate want into it.
His hands were everywhere. In my hair, on my waist, sliding up my ribs like he was trying to memorize me through touch alone.
This melting between us was everything. Passion and release.
Hatred of the circumstances that made this impossible and understanding that it was happening anyway.
A bridge between what could never be and what could only exist here, in a cave where no one could see, where the rules of the world above didn’t apply, even if I knew what he was really hiding.
He tasted like desperation and dark promises, like every forbidden thing I’d ever wanted but had been too smart to reach for.
Wickett’s teeth caught my lower lip, and I gasped against his mouth when that beautiful hint of pain shot lower.
He used the opening to deepen the kiss, one hand tangling in my hair to hold me exactly where he wanted me, while the other gripped my hip hard enough to bruise.
I made a sound, half gasp, half surrender, and felt him smile against my mouth. His teeth found my lower lip again, dragging across it before he kissed his way along my jaw, down to the pulse point in my throat.
“Wickett—” His name came out ragged.
“Still panicking?” His voice was rough velvet against my neck, doing absolutely nothing to slow my racing heart.
“That’s not—this isn’t—”
He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, and the heat in his gaze made my knees weak. “You were falling apart. Couldn’t have that.”
“So you kissed me?” My hands were still fisted in his shirt, holding him close despite my attempt at indignation.
“Worked, didn’t it?” That cocky smirk. Dark and dangerous and entirely too pleased with himself.
Fucker.
I shoved him hard. He barely moved, just caught my wrists and held them against his chest.
“You arrogant—”
“Focused?” He tilted his head, assessing. “Breathing normally? Not trying to claw through solid rock anymore?”
I hated that he was right. Hated that kissing him had dragged me back from the edge of a complete breakdown, that his hands on me had been more effective than any calming spell, which I hadn’t even thought to try in my panic.
“It was a distraction.”
“A very effective distraction.” His thumb traced circles on my wrist, feeling my pulse. “Your heart’s still racing, though.”
“That’s your fault.”
“I know.” He released me, stepping back with obvious reluctance. “But you’re thinking clearly now. That’s what matters.”
I opened my mouth to respond, to say what, I had no idea, when something jerked within me.
Silas. Finally.
The connection blazed clear and strong, no longer muffled by panic and stone.
I felt his rage, his determination, his absolute focus on reaching me.
Then I heard it. His roar from the other side of the barrier, primal and fierce.
The scrape of stone on stone as something massive began moving the rubble.
“They’re alive. They’re coming.” Relief flooded through me so intensely it nearly brought me to my knees.
Wickett moved to the barrier, listening. “Multiple sources. They’re digging from their side.”
I reached for him, knowing this moment alone was about to end. And there was something I needed to say before it did.
“I know your secret.”
He went very still. “You what?”
“I know what you are, Wickett.”
His expression changed completely. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” I took a step closer. “The runes you keep hidden under your clothes and hair. The way you use the truth stone when no other hunter can. Your dedication to helping witches escape when any other hunter wouldn’t.
” I paused, locking onto his eyes. “That spell you whispered before you pulled your blades when the Night Eater showed up.”
His jaw tightened. Every line of his body went taut.
“You’re a witch,” I said simply. “Or partly one.”
Silence stretched between us.
“Half,” he said finally, eyeing the wall as if he’d be heard. “I’m half witch. My mother’s blood.”
The admission should have felt like victory.
Instead, it felt like watching him bleed.
My throat went tight. He’d just confessed the one thing that could get him executed alongside every witch he’d ever tried to save.
Now he was standing there in the dim light, watching me with those dark eyes, waiting to see what I’d do with information that could destroy him.
I wasn’t sure what would happen now that I knew. The Ripper didn’t leave witnesses to his secrets. Didn’t let people walk away with knowledge that could unravel everything he’d built. But was he that? Truly? I should have been more afraid.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice more, living in his confession. “The first witch I helped escape was my half-sister. My mother’s oldest child, from before my father. She would have been executed. Hanged or beaten to death for just... living. So I got her out.”
“And your mother?”
His voice went flat, emotionless. “Dead. My father killed her years ago. But he doesn’t think I know. Still uses her as leverage, mentions her like she’s alive somewhere, locked away with the rest of his collection.”
The weight of it hit me like a physical blow. Years of pretending. Years of hiding what he was while watching his own people burn.
“Is that why your father’s missing? Did you—”
“No. I had nothing to do with whatever he’s planning now.”
“But you wanted to.”
He stroked a hand down a harrowed face. “Every day of my life. But hunters can’t kill their leader.
He’s protected by magic. Even if I wanted him dead—and I do—I couldn’t be the one to do it.
Hunter’s law is absolute.” He tucked a finger under my chin, stepping closer as he guided my face up to his.
“I can trust you with this secret, can’t I, little witch? ”
“Do you even have to ask?” I whispered.
A thumb slid over swollen lips. “I need to hear you say it.”
“You can trust me, Wickett Veyne.”
Stone groaned behind us. The barrier was pulled away piece by piece.
Light flooded in, blinding after the pale blue of the luminescent stone but also air, fresh, glorious air.
A massive form blocked most of it. Not Riot. Not Lucy.
Silas, standing with the sun at his back, eyes like daggers meant specifically for Wickett’s throat.
“Easy,” I said, moving toward him. “I’m fine. We’re fine.”
The griffin made a sound that suggested he absolutely disagreed with my assessment of fine, but he stepped aside to let me through, snapping his beak at Wickett as I passed, through the freshly dug tunnel and out into the open air with everyone else.
I scanned the group immediately. Pip was still tucked in Calder’s pocket, her terror-filled face peeking out.
I caught Calder’s eyes. Okay? he asked without words.
I nodded, mirroring the gloom I felt in the room. The Oracle stood beside Riot, both looking somber in ways that made my stomach drop.
“Where’s Lucy?”
Pip flew toward me, her eyes heavy with sorrow. “After the crash, we heard her scream. As our Lucy, not dragon Lucy.”
Riot tossed the boulder he’d been moving. “She’s gone. No trail. No scent to follow. Her pack, her weapons—nothing. It’s like she just... vanished.”
My legs weakened.
Gone.
She’d just become my friend, really, truly my friend, in the span of a few desperate days.
Gone.
I thought about the way she’d looked at me when she said, “I’d like to try. With you.” Like friendship was something precious and fragile she was offering despite believing she didn’t know how.
And I’d said yes. I’d said we were surviving this.
Except now she was missing, and we had no idea if she was alive, hurt, taken, or something worse I couldn’t let myself think about.
The relief of being reunited shattered like glass.