Chapter 57
Fifty-Seven
- MARCELLA -
The beast’s roaring on the other side of Lyra’s door comes to a stop. I tighten my grip on the door handle.
It’s too quiet.
Summoning all my courage from a single inhale, I twist the handle and slightly open the door.
Black blood is splattered all about the room.
Pillows have been shredded into a shower of feathers.
Claw marks mangle the walls. Picture frames are tilted.
The chains Devin used to restrain the beast are wound in a chaotic tangle around the bed’s posts.
But the beast is gone.
Slowly I step inside, readying my dagger. Step by step. Until the black blood seeps onto my feet. Until I’m close enough to prod the chains with my dagger. A cracking sounds in the bathroom, and as I round the corner to peer inside, the mirror has a spiderweb of cracks.
The beast is nowhere.
“Show yourself, you coward,” I whisper.
The crack in the mirror splits deeper. I raise my blade to it. But as I face myself in my reflection split over multiple shards, I turn back to the bedroom where the door slams.
I race out of the bathroom to the bedroom door. Ripping it open as the lights in the hallway snuff out.
He’s here.
Toying with me.
Trying to stoke my fear.
But I won’t have it. As I turn the corner, a warm droplet hits me on my outstretched hand with the dagger.
When I look up to see what it’s from, lips curl to reveal dripping black fangs.
Those eyes—like Cyrus’, and yet not—snap into a sliver of a pupil.
It’s head twists at an unnatural angle as it shrieks, dropping from the ceiling toward me.
I fold into a roll before the beast lands. The floor shuddering beneath me. Finishing the roll onto my feet, I’m crouched with my dagger out and ready.
It’s gone.
As if it vanished before me.
Narrowing my eyes, I scan the ceiling above and behind me, then rise. Taking a few creeping steps down the hall until I near a split.
I roar down the dark hall again. “Show yourself!”
A shift of shoulders, an elongated spine, and whip-like tail slip out from the shadows.
As it lifts its head, the moonlight behind it accentuates every sharp edge.
Every horn. Every scale. It blinks, its inner eyelid sliding over the glowing white eyes until it locks onto me.
On all fours, the beast bursts into a quick run for me.
I run straight at it. As the space between us shrinks, I dart left, leaping up to push off the wall and using the height to my advantage. With my own roar, I stretch and barely land on the creature’s slick back, then drive my dagger down into its spine.
It shrieks, caught off guard.
I rip the dagger soaked in black glittering blood free as it rolls off its feet to try and smother me.
I stumble, unable to catch my balance fast enough and slam into the hallway wall.
Hard enough the picture frame above me shakes free and lands on my head before falling down.
No time to rub the ache from my skull, I grab the frame just as the beast lunges for me again.
It slices through the artwork with gaping jaws, and my arms shake to hold the frame out from me to keep him far away from ripping off my face.
It buys me two seconds to shift off the wall and lean back, kicking out against its front legs as it cuts into my shins.
With a grunt, I shove the frame with the beast’s head off me and race down the hall.
When I turn the corner, the monster shakes its head out of the artwork frame and comes after me.
I get to the center of the throne room, then turn to face him. Clenching my dagger and ready to die here. He slips into the room and slows, eyes narrowed and predatory. He bleeds just as I do. The mix of our prints on the marble floor is crimson and black.
But rather than lurching for me, he stalks around me in a wide circle. Head low, eyes as tense as ever.
“No need to take your time now,” I mutter. Following his trajectory by taking small steps to turn with him.
His laugh is a thing of nightmares. And when he speaks, it sends chills over my skin like I’ve brushed death itself. “You and I both take our time. We savor it, don’t we?”
I flex my fingers over my dagger’s handle.
Working the tension out for the next impending strike.
He circles closer, but this time I don’t give in to the game.
As he slips behind me, I keep my eyes on him, but don’t turn my body to face him.
Egging him to attack me if he’s so eager.
Even with my back to him, it won’t be enough for me to fail a landed hit completely.
He fakes a step in, testing me. I don’t so much as flinch.
Another deep grumble of a laugh reverberates in his chest as he continues his circle until he’s back in my vision.
He careens toward me. I take a half step back to power my stance and then swipe down at the space between us, slicing down the front of his muzzle as he snaps at me.
His flesh rips and spatters black blood onto the marbled tile.
He retaliates by swiping out a front claw against my ankle, tearing a chunk out of my leg, before he retreats.
He has to be weakening now that I’ve been bleeding him out. Taking my time with measured swipes and strikes. Playing the long game. Knowing I won’t be able to take him down in a single blow.
“I’ll kill you,” I say through panted breaths. “Or you can go back to wherever you came from and let Cyrus back in.”
“Or I’ll kill you,” the creature taunts.
But he hasn’t yet. Why? As he begins his circling again, realization dawns over me.
A small smile curls my lips. “You can’t, can you? You’re part of Cyrus, and he’s part of you. He won’t allow you to kill me, will he?”
He snarls and lunges again. Knocking me off my feet straight onto my back as I punch up with my blade. Straight through his gaping mouth until my blade sinks through flesh.
He screeches. Clamping down on my arm hard enough that his fangs sink into me. Into my muscle, my bones. I scream as I arch up off the floor, but fighting against my nerves, I jolt my arm deeper.
The beast flinches, gurgling on its own blood.
Eyes shifting from a sliver of a pupil to full-blown black.
With my other hand, I snatch one of his horns, drawing him closer.
I throw my body weight over and into him.
Knocking him off me and switching places on top.
To take a gasping breath, his jaws unlock from my arm as I slam his head back down against the floor.
I pull my broken, bloodied arm free. Switch the blade to my left hand as nothing but agony rings within my limp right arm.
Black blood pours out of his mouth in heavy spurts as his breaths are wheezy.
Hatred burns within those serpentine eyes.
My own breath is tight in my chest. I meet his glare with my own. I raise the dagger. And slam it down into the beast’s chest.
All the breath within its lungs whooshes out.
Body jerking to a small tremble as I clap my bloodied, broken hand over the hilt and drive it deeper.
Its eyes flare for a moment, then blink slowly.
Its body slumps back against the floor. Every ounce of magic seeps away from it.
First the horns recede. Then the scales.
The bone structure of its face shifts and shrinks.
Elongated, clawed fingers retract into hands.
I hold the dagger there. Until minutes pass and the beast fades into him.
Into Cyrus.
His breath is still weak underneath me. Blood still pooling around us at an alarming rate.
But I can’t take my hands off the dagger. I’m locked there.
He would want this. Would want me to end him.
But I don’t care.
My heart screams inside of my chest. Screams to let go, to take that dagger out. But no matter how hard I try, my hands won’t go. My arms shake as I try. Try with everything I have in me to lift, but it’s like I’m competing against someone else entirely. Stuck there.
My muscles, my bones, my very blood locks me in. Fighting against my will. My body betraying me.
No…no, not my body.
Magic.