Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
Fatigue hit me like a train. My legs shook. I willed them to keep me upright, while the edges of my vision grew foggy.
A beautiful low, sexy voice drifted over to me. “Chosen?”
Hmm. A dream. Ooh, not a dream. I blinked, and Donovan’s face came into focus. He had a small cut in his eyebrow and a scratch near his collarbone. It only made him look more blisteringly handsome, more dangerous.
The exhaustion surged through me again, and I wobbled on my bare feet. Strong, warm hands steadied me.
“I’m okay,” I mumbled. “Who was that guy, anyway?”
Fuck it. My dress was already ruined. Cecil would kill me for getting banwyn sludge on it, so it wouldn't matter if I scratched the fabric up by sitting on the ground.
I slumped into a squat, then eased myself back to sit on the curb, and shivered.
It was warmer now that the scarred giant had disappeared, but it was still midnight in September, and I was only wearing a silk gown.
“Agarthon nyr o Xayddovan.” Donovan sat next to me, letting out a low grunt of pain. “He was one of my old tutors. I never liked him much, even though I didn’t understand why for the longest time.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t like him much either.”
Donovan let out an odd huff. A laugh? Maybe. “He always favored my brother, who was more ruthless, more merciless. I was fine with that. We are different people. For me, it wasn’t about winning at all costs.”
I nodded slowly. “Sometimes, it costs you much more than it’s worth to win a little fight.”
“Exactly. That’s why Agarthon is so scarred.
He will not stop fighting, even when he’s disfigured.
The smart thing to do when you’re badly injured in sparring would be to call a halt and treat your wounds.
Agarthon never stopped. In time, I came to realize that for him, there was nothing outside the battle.
For Agarthon, everything was black and white.
You and your opponent. A winner and a loser.
Nobody was equal, and only strength mattered.
” He looked down at his hands. “I think duty and honor matter more.”
I gave him a wry smile. “That’s a nice speech. But I can read between the lines. Even though your brother was more ruthless, I’m sure you beat him during sparring anyway.”
The corner of his lip curled up, very slightly. “Most of the time, yes.”
I promised myself I would replay the fight between him and Agarthon in my head before I went to sleep.
Now that I knew he was fine, I could appreciate it more.
He was glorious, a war song come to life—an avenging angel with a sword in each hand, emerald eyes flashing, dark hair whirling.
It was probably the sexiest thing I’d ever seen in my life.
Suddenly, Cress stood in front of us. Even with her sleeve torn off her battle leathers and little bite marks all over her skin, she looked extraordinarily beautiful.
Her raven-black hair danced in the breeze.
“Donovan. We need to move. The banwyn will be regrouping somewhere. Agarthon might call in the other two as reinforcements.” A flicker of fear drifted in her eyes.
“If that happens, we will not beat them back so easily, especially with the Chosen depleted like she is now.” Did I imagine her sneering down at me?
No. God, it would be so much easier to hate Cress if she was more of a bitch.
“We need to hunt down the rest of the banwyn in this area now,” she said firmly.
A wave of empathy stirred me. “You can’t. They can’t help what they are, Cress. It’s like getting mad at a t-rex for being a carnivore.”
She stared down at me. “If we do not cull them now, the banwyn will find desperate, panicked humans to feed on. Vagrants, prostitutes, runaways.”
Pre-med students. Army veterans. Literally everyone was desperate and panicked these days. A general state of constant anxiety had seeped into our collective consciousness and made itself right at home.
“Go on. Kill the little fuckers, then,” I muttered.
Donovan nodded. He seemed as tired as I was. “You’re right, Cress. If we put a dent in their army, they will be more reluctant to come for her. We must go.”
The hollow, exhausted feeling inside of me expanded, and I yawned.
“We need to get you back to Violet House,” he murmured. “Call your carriage.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t have any money left on my credit card, Donovan. The app won’t book me a ride. I’ve reached my limit. That little ride with Amir wiped me out.”
He stared at me for a moment. “You have no gold?”
“No, Donovan. I have no gold right now. My gold stash is gone.”
He shook his head, bewildered. “I will give you—”
“I don’t want you to give me anything.” Oh, damn, I was going to cry.
The whole night had wiped me out. I was too raw, too exhausted.
Tired, sad, pathetically jealous. “Look,” I said.
“You have to go. I’m smart enough to know when I’m not needed.
Let me go home, recharge my batteries, and we’ll save someone else’s realm tomorrow, okay?
I can walk to a stop and jump on the light rail.
” It wasn’t that far. As long as I didn’t step on any broken glass in my bare feet, I should be okay.
He stared at me, hard, his eyes almost boring into me, as if trying to see the inside of my brain. Then, he turned. “Nate.”
The combat mage bounced over. While the battle had drained the rest of us, Nate seemed more invigorated than usual.
“Call Cecil,” Donovan ordered. “Tell him to find a mortal carriage and bring it here to pick up the Chosen.”
Nate nodded, stepped back, whirled his hands in a circle, gathering up a blue flame in his palms, then clapped them together. Stretching them out, he created a circle of solid blackness and stuck his head into it.
His head disappeared. Almost immediately, he pulled it back out. “He’s on his way.”
Donovan nodded.
Cress huddled up with the three of them, and they began discussing plans for sweeping up the scattered banwyn before they reformed. I tuned them out. I was just too tired.
What felt like thirty seconds later, a sleek golden sports car roared up the street. It screeched to a halt right in front of me.
The door raised up. Cecil sat in the driver’s seat. I glanced down. He was wearing glittery platform heels strapped to his back hooves so he could reach the gas pedals.
“Your carriage awaits, my lady.” He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he looked me over. Then, his eyes bulged. “What the hell have you done to that gown, Chosen? Are you sitting on a curb in watered silk? And… and is that… banwyn goo?”
I got to my feet, groaning. “Yup. It is.” At least Cecil was predictable.
He threw back his head and let out a heartbreaking whinny of distress. “Do you know how hard it is to get out?”
“So I hear.” God, I was sore. I bent backwards, stretching out my spine, and limped towards the car.
“That was couture,” he howled. “The silkworms were boiled in gold leaf tea! The hem was hand-stitched by Albanian orphans! It’s ruined. Ruined! I might as well use it as a rag to clean the toilet.” He glared at me for a while. “Get in. I will shout at you some more while we’re driving home.”
Donovan broke away from his huddle with his company and tapped on Cecil’s window. “Straight back to Violet House.”
“Oh, no, I thought we’d stop for cocktails downtown,” he said sarcastically. “She’s covered in dirt and banwyn blood, Your Highness. I’m hardly going to parade her out in public.”
Donovan’s face grew stony. “A simple ‘yes’ will suffice, Cecil.”
“Yes, my liege. My most high highness. I’ll take her straight home.”
I climbed into the sports car. Cecil lowered the door and hit the gas. “Did you have a nice night?”
“No.”
“Ooh.” He glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. “You’re a Debbie Downer this evening.”
“It’s been a long night, Cecil.”
The city streets whizzed by. Cecil weaved the sports car in and out of traffic, missing bumpers by inches. We drove stupidly fast over the hills. At one point we became airborne. The sports car sent up sparks as we hit the pavement on the other side.
I couldn't bring myself to care. I was too tired. Burnt out. Wrung dry. “This is a one-way street, Cecil.”
“So?”
“You’re going the wrong way.”
He snorted. “Maybe I’m the only one who is going the right way. Maybe everyone else is going the wrong way.” Horns blared. Cecil spun the wheel wildly, turning a corner.
“Did Violet House grow the car?” That might be why he was treating it like a toy he could throw away when he was done playing with it.
“Nope,” he said shortly, brushing the edges of a tramcar as he slid around a corner. “Violet is a Domicile. Not a… er… Ve-hick-a-cile. She can’t grow a car like this.”
I frowned. “Where did you get it, then?”
“I stole it.”
“You stole it?”
“Relax,” he snorted. “No one will know. I threw a glamor on it before I drove it away. Nobody will recognize it.”
“Oh. So, it’s not actually a gold Lamborghini?”
“No. It’s a black Lambo. The gold goes better with my coloring.” He spun the wheel wildly, drifting. I held on for dear life as we skidded sideways for several hundred feet. “Home!” he announced. Suddenly, he peered through the windshield. “Ooh. Who is that?”
Slowly, I turned and saw him standing in front of my building. My heart, already thumping so wearily, gave up and stopped.
Cecil jerked in his seat. “Chosen?” He nudged me. “Bitch, say something. You’ve gone white.”
“That’s Vincent,” I said. “That’s my ex-husband.”