Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
brEXLEY
“Brexley Kovacs.” The familiar otherworldly voice spoke into my mind, prickling my body with magic.
“The girl who challenges nature.” The fae book repeated the same sentiment to me every time.
“Terrible things happen when nature’s laws are broken.
Though, within the terrible, greatness can be found.
Power to drain and consume the wrong.” The book paused.
“You are not the only one in this story who defies nature, who should not exist. It is only together that you can right nature’s balance. ”
“What do you mean?”
My head spun, my body flipped and rolled through the pages, nausea rising until my feet were on solid ground. All was hazy and distant, nothing really solid or clear, as if this scene wasn’t actually written yet, just a vague idea being outlined.
I could sense burning buildings, the sky lighting up with explosions, dead bodies covering the ground at my feet. Terror pumped at my heart, feeling in this moment the world was on my shoulders.
I was failing.
Power I couldn’t fight was draining me, and though I could feel Warwick’s presence anchoring me, it wasn’t enough.
A figure stepped up on my right. No features I could make out, except she had the same long dark hair as mine, a man standing behind her.
It was a warped version of Warwick and me, like looking through a funhouse mirror at myself.
She reached for my hand. I felt my own power sizzle in my veins, like I was giving myself the power to keep fighting.
To win.
Before I could really lock onto the moment, the images vanished, the book tossing me back into the darkness.
Air surged from my lungs. My lids flew open as I sat up with a gasp. My pulse thumped painfully in my ears as the remnants of my dream evaporated from my mind but hung heavy in my chest, clinging to me and clawing at my heart.
Rattled, I took in the wagon I slept in, the layers of pelts over me, the musty smell from them drifting into my nose.
The silence in the darkness ran a chill up my spine, contradicting the sweat pooling at my back.
Taking deep pulls of oxygen, my muddled mind tried to recall what I last remembered before going to sleep, why I felt terror pitching in my stomach, telling me something was wrong. That my panic was warranted.
My pulse picked up as I dug through the furs, letting out a breath when I found the box with the nectar next to me.
Yet the dread didn’t fade, the alarm in my chest jangling between my ribs, my brain rolling back to the moments before everything went black.
When I was with Warwick . . .
It struck like a bullet . . .
“Oh gods. Rosie!” My hand flew over my mouth as the memory of her on the ground became clearer.
Blood gushed from her side, her lungs struggling to draw breath into her human body.
Even if the rest were fae, there were only so many times they could be struck by fae bullets before their blood was poisoned. Before they would die too.
Did I give enough to Warwick? Did Tracker come back and finish them off? Was it too late for me to find or help them?
Reaching out for Warwick through the link, I came up empty; we burned through our magic. Anxiety itched under my skin. I wanted to move, desperate to know how Rosie was, how they all were—to be able to help them.
Peering down at the box laying innocently beside me, I was overcome with the need to hold the substance, let it fill me with magic, tapping up my own as I took from it like Warwick took from me. It would be so easy.
“Fire. Death. Ruin . . . they follow in your wake. It cannot be controlled. The more you take from it, the more it will take from you. Until you lose more than your mind and soul.” Esmeralda slithered back into my head, her glazed eyes staring vacantly down at me, threat in her declaration.
It curled around my throat, forcing me to swallow, sinking into me with teeth, cutting through my gut like razor blades.
I had already caused death and ruin. It was why I ran. Whether it was fate or even Tad who led me here, I was learning to utilize my powers so I wouldn’t hurt or kill people I loved, taking innocent lives in my wake.
My heart thumped as I lifted the lid. It was such a small, unassuming substance; it didn’t seem possible an ugly lump that fit in your palm could be so powerful. It was part of me. I could learn to control it.
One touch? Just enough to reach out to Warwick, just enough to see they were all right.
I knew one touch would never be enough.
No. I growled at myself, the craving making me restless. Not able to sit still, I tossed off the layer of pelts. Shoving my feet in my boots, I yanked a blanket over my shoulders and grabbed the box, exiting the wagon.
Only a few firebulbs were left burning during the night along the path, flickering shadows and creating movement that kept you on edge.
Far from dawn, the dead of the night rubbed the sparkle off the carnival, leaving it more frightening than magical.
As if the glamour was ripped away and you saw the true face underneath.
Clouds skulked over the slice of moon shining above, the cold air biting at my skin as I headed away from the camp, up toward the rotunda, through a woodsy area. Winter had left the tree branches bare, their limbs like skeletons, bony fingers reaching out for you.
A shiver ran through me. Pulling the blanket tighter, apprehension wiggled through my shoulder blades. I paused for a moment, recalling the eerie sensation I felt the evening before up here.
The notion of being watched.
Hunted.
My eyes darted around. The last of the dying leaves rustled in the wind, and the squeal of metal from the rusty Ferris wheel pierced the heavy air, deepening my breaths.
My senses coiled. My heart hammered. Eyes burned into my skin, stalking me.
Every second felt like my last, waiting for something to attack.
Soldiers would rush in and strike fast, giving no time for the victim to react.
Only animals and fae hunted like this—shadowing their prey and waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.
Kill.
I could sense it in the atmosphere. Death was coming for me.
Though it didn’t know . . .
I was death.
The wind gushed through the park off the river, and I swear I heard a growl, the sound so low, it could have been my imagination, but every hair in my body stood on end.
My fingers fiddled with the latch on the box, ready to seize the nectar if attacked. Every breath boomed in my ears, my entire body twitching with the need to run.
A branch snapped, whirling me around, a cry filling my throat. My fingers grazed the nectar, my eyes sure they picked up on a black mass moving for me, when the air popped and roared with motorcycles, whipping me back around.
My hand flew up, shielding my eyes from the sudden glare of headlights, every nerve firing with fear as a handful barreled toward me, their brakes squeaking to a stop. Fright clotted my senses, my brain trying to catch up.
“Master Fishy!” I heard a voice sing out to me. “See, I told you I could smell her! You owe me, mushroom man.”
Chirp!
“Okay, you really owe Bitzy. But I need to inspect the product first. You don’t want to know what happens when she has mushroom and cocaine together.”
“O-Opie.” Tears rushed to my eyes, the sudden emotion hitting me like a punch, my attention swinging across the group still rolling up. Each one made my heart leap in my chest; the ache of missing them surged up my throat in a dry sob.
“Brexley!” Ash was suddenly there, sweeping me up in a hug, my heart surging at seeing my best friend.
But all I could feel was him. I turned my head toward the magnetic pull, and a pair of aqua eyes sliced into me.
Fuck.
I sucked in sharply. The buzz at seeing him never seemed to lessen. Tangible danger billowed off him, the threat licking at my skin. It ensnared me in his trap, seizing me whole, with no hope of escape. Even though everything told me to run, I would go to him always.
Bitzy and Opie sat on his shoulder while he watched me from his bike. Anger, resentment, hurt, and fury glowed in his eyes, darkening the aqua color, telling me it was not a threat—it was a promise.
The commotion caused me to turn from him, my eyes catching a figure slip off a bike and fall to the ground.
“Rosie!” Killian shouted, following her down to the ground. “Wake up! Rosie? No!” He curved his head. “Help!”
Wesley leaped off the bike he was on, crouching on the other side of her.
“Fuck!” Ash spun away from me, shoving Wesley out of the way, kneeling next to Rosie, feeling her vitals.
“I thought you said she’d be okay?” Killian shot at Ash.
“I told you I did my best with what that ransacked pharmacy had left.” Ash snipped, focusing mainly on her, tearing off her red-soaked bandage, the wound leaking more blood. “It should have slowed the bleeding, but she’s human, Killian. She doesn’t heal or respond like we do.”
Panic and fear I had never seen before streaked across the fae lord’s face.
“Heal her!” he demanded. “She cannot die.”
Die?
Rosie?
The woman had been through so much. She was a survivor and always came out stronger, yet she was still so kind and loving. One of my dearest friends.
Her human body was failing her.
I could feel her death whisper around me, her chest barely moving, her soul beginning to lift free of her physical form.
“No!” I barreled in, my hand slamming down on her torso as if I could keep her spirit inside, block it from escaping.
“Don’t give up on us.” A strangled cry pulled from my throat, and I dug deep inside for my powers.
A sick panic rushed over me as nothing came, taking me back to when we lost Maddox.
How I could do nothing but watch him die.
I would not let that happen to Rosie.
The box in one hand, my mind not thinking beyond anything but saving Rosie’s life, I flung open the lid, reaching for the nectar, my other hand touching her.