Chapter 21
Sylvia
There was no air in my lungs to scream with. I braced myself to be thrown into a wall or window.
But something soft yet firm gripped me before I could be crushed into nothing. Human hands: a desperate, firm hold that was a far cry from the one Rhett had locked me in. The impact of the shuttle landing on its side rattled every bone in my body and aggravated my leg, but I was still in one piece.
In my stunned state, I thought at first Cliff had saved me, until I became aware of the gloves. When the sliding vehicle finally came to a stop, the hands opened. I looked up to find my father’s battered face observing me worriedly.
“Sylvia, are you—”
“Don’t touch me!” I bolted into the air and backed away. I couldn’t bring myself to look at his wounded expression for long. “Just—stay away.”
He shuddered, swallowing words he couldn’t find.
A fire burned through the sideways windshield. I suspected it was Rowan’s doing at first, but the unmistakable scent of roses accompanied the blaze, filling the vehicle.
Delilah.
Something dripped on my head, making me flinch.
The world had turned on its side, and I struggled to orient myself with the wall now serving as the ceiling overhead.
The remnants of the shattered siren tank hung menacingly over us, the restraints keeping it tethered now groaning as gravity pulled and pulled.
The interior of the shuttle was a tangle of limbs and broken glass.
And the heat—the flames outside were going to bake us alive.
The air was already thickening, pungent with harsh, unfamiliar chemicals and acrid smoke.
The motorcycle that had been tailing us revved menacingly, accompanied by the roar of another vehicle.
The engines came to a halt just outside.
As I spotted Ben recovering and taking flight, a scuffle caught my ear.
Cliff was tangled with one of the armored guards again.
Both of their movements were clumsier, disoriented.
Cliff managed to use this to his advantage, rolling the other man under him and locking his arm around his neck.
He tightened his grip, teeth gritted as the guard bucked and wheezed.
Voices raised on the other side of the battered double doors.
Jon. I could hear Jon.
I heard him tug on the door, but it wouldn’t budge. A vicious thud, thud, thud began as he landed kick after vicious kick to the door, the fortified metal protesting.
A sharp pop sounded, followed by the smell of gasoline.
“Shit,” Father breathed, whipping his head toward the sound urgently.
With the guard unconscious, Cliff rushed at the door, targeting the latch that had been bent in the crash. He shouted an instruction to the other side. The metal was thick, unyielding as he strained against it. Another pair of hands clasped the latch, pushing heavily. Rhett.
Cliff seized up briefly, glaring. Rhett gave him a curt nod, eyes gleaming with unshakable determination. A brief, unspoken understanding passed between them. Get out of the burning vehicle, then finish killing each other.
Rhett groaned through clenched teeth, pushing his weight along with Cliff.
Astonishingly, the warped metal began to bend.
I locked onto the bulge of the strange device protruding under Rhett’s sleeve, and I wondered if that revolting serum now pumping through his veins had amplified his stamina in more ways than met the eye.
After confirming there was no way through the shattered divider window, Father started toward the door too, ducking as another layer of glass shards rained down from the ruined tanks.
“Fuck—” He grunted, pulled back midstride by the second guard with the smashed visor.
He shoved Father against the wall, one thick arm pinning him by the throat, restricting his breathing.
Darting to regroup with Ben, I froze as Father struggled for air. He might be a cruel illusion, but could I risk it to watch him die again?
An incantation found its way to my lips before I could fully decide. Frost pooled around my hands as visions of icy spears filled my mind, but to my shock, Father’s strained expression quieted, and he locked eager attention on his assailant.
“Lie down,” he rasped in a low, firm voice.
The guard went still at once.
“Lie down,” Father commanded again.
The armored guard straightened and stepped back, obedient as a dog, as he curled up on the floor.
I exchanged a bewildered glance with Ben.
Glamour? Something certainly spiked the air like fae magic, but it was a sensation I didn’t quite recognize.
If he were human, he shouldn’t have been able to perform any feats of compulsion.
Everything about Father was wrong now. His very existence before us was an impossibility.
Father gasped for a full breath and snatched a serrated combat knife that had slid under the rail. Kneeling, he grabbed the docile guard by his jaw, and—
I whipped my head away, unable to watch when the knife was brought down.
Nearby, Cliff’s father was blinking blearily, a swollen red mark on the side of his forehead. Even in his delirium, his eyes found me.
His top assets were about to escape.
Quicker than I could react, there was a gun in his zip-tied hands. He pointed it at us, his grip furious and trembling. After a beat of consideration, he shifted his aim from us to his own son.
Cliff was still struggling to open the doors with Rhett—utterly unaware of the lethal weapon now pointed toward his back.
The smell of gasoline and smoke was dizzying, cloying my senses. But through the chaos, I managed to form a single, coherent thought.
I will not let this wicked man take anything else from me.
I lifted my hands with a vicious snarl, but a pair of hands grasped my waist, pulling me aside before I could speak a spell. With stunning ferocity, Ben surged in front of me and threw out his arms. The dim, fiery light warped and bent like iridescent strands to his whim as he shouted a spell.
The tendrils of distorted light snapped into Eros’ chest, brightening as they made contact, penetrating right through his battered tuxedo. The older man seized up with a gasp as though a knife had been inserted between his ribs.
“Not…going back,” Ben said in a strained voice, “into a fucking cage.”
Eros’ grip on the gun shifted with a quiver. He began to bring it to his own head, but as though Ben changed his mind, his grip loosened and dropped the weapon altogether. All at once, his body began to seize.
I moved in beside Ben. A tear snaked down his cheek, face glinting eerily in the strange light. His arms shook from the effort of the spell, a vein pulsing in the side of his neck.
Eros was fighting it—teeth bared, trying desperately to maintain control over his own mind. Ben groaned, sagging under his own spellwork. I lunged to help him.
“Get back, Sylvia!” Ben’s voice became a hoarse gasp at the tail of my name.
But he had been alone and tortured long enough. If I left him, he might not finish what he’d started.
Carefully inserting myself under his wings, I wrapped my arms around him instead, supporting his arms in their outward position. I flapped my own wings harder to help support his weight.
“I’m here,” I said in his ear. “Take whatever you need.”
Tears of effort welled up as I poured every ounce of strength and peace I could muster into Ben.
I’d never seen him like this: ferocious, primal in this raw, utter rage.
He made a small noise of protest, but I didn’t back away.
Slowly, I felt the tug on my magic, the same as he had done in the storage room.
But this time, I let go and allowed it to flow into him.
The magic brightened into a blinding flash. I heard Father take a sharp inhale, staggering away from its radius.
With a cry, Ben dropped his arms around me, and the spell faded.
We regarded Eros as we held each other, wings flapping to steady our flight.
The older man was left slumped on the floor.
He was breathing, blinking—but utterly slack apart from that.
His eyes darted around desperately, faint sounds coming from his throat, while his lips didn’t respond.
Horror and righteous satisfaction rippled through me in tandem as I realized what Ben had done to him.
He had trapped him in his own mind. Alive, but a prisoner in his own body.
“Are you okay?” I asked, studying Ben’s pale face and sweat-soaked hair.
“I’ll be fine once I throw up, I think,” he said, putting a hand to his chest.
With a deafening bang, the doors exploded outward.
An overwhelming combination of fresh air and smoky heat rushed into the vehicle. Eyes stinging, I squinted until I could discern three human silhouettes standing with their backs to the flames. It might have been a terrifying sight if not for the profuse familiarity.
Lee and Delilah stood side by side, the latter’s hands enshrouded with defensive magic that curled up her bare arms toward her shoulders.
And standing menacingly with a massive gun slung over his back was Jon.
He caught sight of Rhett trying to orient himself after spilling out of the vehicle.
Just as Rhett was beginning to stand, Jon seized him by the collar and threw him back to the ground.
In one sleek, furious motion, Jon had the gun in his hands and was pointing it down at him, his face a warring mask of disbelief and brutality. I spotted him wince, favoring his right arm over the left. He’s hurt, I thought with an ache. But he was still on his feet. Heart still beating.
For his part, Rhett knew better than to say a word or fight back. Breathing heavily, he put his hands up in reluctant surrender.
Coughing, Cliff rose to his feet. Delilah set her sights on him at once and bristled. “You—”
“Wait!” Zia was the first fairy out in the open, Rowan close at her back. “Don’t hurt him. He saved us. Him and…” She peered back into the vehicle, uncertainly at my father, who still stood in the shadows beside the guard’s corpse.