39. CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 39
Noa
Air would not move past the knot in my throat. I stood for several seconds, struggling against screaming. Bared to the waist and barefoot, Grayson wore only bloody jeans. He dangled from chains wrapped around his wrists. With his arms stretched grotesquely above his head, his shoulder bones bulged as if dislocated. I couldn’t see his face with his head tipped to the side, but with each shallow breath, his chest rose… my lungs squeezed down when I saw the obliterated alpha tattoo. Rivulets of blood wove a webbed pattern across the bronzed skin of his chest. His foot spasmed, warning me he was lost in whatever delirium existed after hours of torture.
My heart broke, cracked right open. If a faille could crush stone with her bare hand, what I held in my fist would have turned to dust.
I turned to Amal, my face as callous and cruel as hers.
“You’re a scornful bitch.”
“And you’re a daughter’s daughter.”
Through the high slitted windows, light fell across a crimson throne, a carpeted dais. Matching ceremonial bowls stood on polished bronze pedestals with an etched design marring the metal—depictions of creatures from hell. Or from her dungeons.
Amal’s eyes gleamed with a blinding black light. She was exactly as she’d appeared when she walked through Azul, a flawless face covering the rot beneath. We were nearly the same height. Similar build. I judged her age—she’d been ten years older than me when she was turned, and when she whirled, what I thought about was a black raven ready to strike. Even when she held out a trembling hand, her fingernails reminded me of talons.
“Where is the stone?” Her voice was stunningly feminine when she wasn’t screaming. A melodic voice, one that would mesmerize someone to their doom.
But she had no right to the rune stone she’d so casually used for her own gain.
“This stone?”
I held my hand above the burning coals in the brass pedestal bowl, ignoring the skin-blistering heat. It was nothing like the faille heat building in my veins. The heat that burned forests down. A tumultuous fire that flared every time I breathed in the scent of my mate’s blood. Allowed myself to see him, hanging there on the wall like a trophy she’d won.
My lip curled back. “What a shame if I dropped it.”
The queen’s hand fisted.
Grayson screamed.
The agony knifed beyond muscle and bone. It plunged into my soul. Each inhale became more jagged, unstable, while the gods-damned gift of sight kicked in. I barely made out the shadow of Grayson’s wolf curled near his feet. The wolf I’d known as valiant, strong, now quivered while the faint, growled mewling ran end-to-end with the stress.
“A pity you can’t talk to him,” Amal sneered. She meant Grayson. I doubted she saw the illusion of Grayson’s wolf that I saw, since she was staring at the man. “You’re a failure with no pack bond, and he’s in no condition to say anything more than gibberish.”
“Cut him down.”
“No.” Amal’s lip curled with arrogant satisfaction. “He’s my only hostage since you released Antoine. I require some leverage.”
A game, then. She wanted a war of wits before the loser’s death.
“I have the rune stone.” An unnecessary reminder. “The wolf trapped inside is weak. Sometimes, I can’t even feel her, so the longer you rage, the longer she waits.”
“Taking it from you is like breathing.”
“But you don’t recall the ritual, do you? The song the Bone Woman sang? Everything I see around you reveals failure. Was it in a room like this? Did Pelonie stoke the fire in a ceremonial bowl? Did she use that knife on the table, or is all of this pulled from your fractured imagination? Because you can’t remember, can you? It’s all mixed up in those dark days after you were turned. All you can do is cut and cut, and they all die, cheating you out of your revenge. How utterly frustrating.”
Pressure beat through the air. The sting of nettles burned my skin. The taste of dead ashes coated my lips as the queen advanced.
“You need that song, Amal,” I said. “The song weaves the magic, and it dies with me if you’re foolish. Then you can rot until the others get here. The wolves and the vampires. The nymphs and the witches. They’ll kill you, and I guess that’s one way to reunite with your wolf… if you’re lucky enough to end up in the same place.”
I paused, watching Amal’s chest rise and fall as she dragged in air.
“Somehow, I don’t think you’ll be that lucky.”
Her volatility was her weakness. But her unpredictable anger surpassed weakness with a deadly threat. At any moment, she could destroy Grayson with a flick of those long taloned fingers. Rip her way through me. And every sacrifice being made by the wolves fighting on the outside, by Mace and Fallon, all the others, would be for nothing. Because I was failing with no idea what to do. What to say.
“What do you want?” Amal wheedled in that feminine voice that had my nerves clenching.
“I want him off that wall.”
“No.” Amal’s power slithered across the floor and coiled around my legs, piercing into me like a thousand tiny teeth filled with venom. Pain was a flash-fire through my veins, my muscles, inside my head until I screamed.
She rocked back. “You have the traitor’s venom in you.”
“Set wanted to deny you any claim,” I hissed.
“You think that tick bite will protect you?” Amal flicked a dismissive hand as she turned away. Grayson screamed again.
Anger swam through my veins like worm poison. Blood from the broken blood bag was still sticky on my back. The ice from a million stars settled in my spine as I looked at Amal. “Cut him down.”
Amal hesitated, contemplative but acidic. Then she waved a hand.
Grayson did not break his fall.
Bedisa…
He whispered mind-to-mind through our bond. The bond Amal did not know we had. The mate bond only the two of us knew about.
But the suffering in his mental voice seized my heart, and I dropped to my knees beside him, pushed the rune stone into my pocket. Grayson…
I love you.
Gently, I cupped his bruised face, smoothed my thumbs against his cheek. I love you…
Leave…
I let my fingers comb through his hair as if I was searching for wounds. I promised that I’d always protect you.
He turned his head, his eyes glittering… so green. Without the blue, and it worried me, realizing how far the wolf had retreated. You are my stars, Bedisa. My moon. The sun on the ocean. You are the home I never had. My hands tremble when I see you. My knees weaken. I can’t find the words to tell you what I feel.
Those are pretty good words, my love.
Only… pretty good?
His ruined smile clenched my heart—that broken trace of alpha arrogance.
Leave, Bedisa.
I brushed my fingers across his mouth to quiet him, even though he spoke in my mind. You are my light, Grayson. My heart. My life. And if this is what fate asks… our destin noir… I can’t do it without you.
His exhaustion destroyed me. His staggered breathing. The faint movement of his lips as he said, “Wherever you need me… I’ll be there.”
Nerves at my nape prickled; Amal had crept closer. “What are you doing?”
“Checking to see how bad it is.”
“Not bad enough.” She leaned over my shoulder and sliced Grayson’s arm with her fingernail. Blood gushed. “Check him now.”
My palms grew slick with blood as I clutched the wound; his skin was cold. I surged a thread of energy, willed him to accept it.
Amal turned away. “Don’t worry. He keeps healing.”
I dared to ease the pressure; what she said was the truth. Of course it was. She’d been cutting at his tattoo, over and over, and still hadn’t obliterated it.
I tasted blood in my mouth; I’d bitten my cheek.
“Get up, rat,” Amal said. “I want no more lies.”
“You killed the Gemini Witches.”
“If course I did. The witch who cheated me sired their coven. Why wouldn’t I kill them?”
Bile soured my throat. “Do you understand the price of magic?”
“Spare me the morality.”
“Have you learned nothing over the centuries? The magic will not grant forgiveness for your sins. Not for the arrogance and selfishness that led you to destroy your most precious gift for power.”
Needle-thin fangs sliced past her lower lip. The queen’s hand flexed, then twisted, and a blasting power threw me hard against the wall. The crack of something was dull in my ears; I couldn’t tell if it was my spine or my shoulder, but although lights flashed in my eyes, the pain was minimal, and I struggled to my feet.
“Do you fear compassion, Amal?”
“You think to trick me?”
“No trick.” I stared at the blood-drenched wall. At the wall and not at the man. A charnel scent still lingered in the air, more than charcoal burning in a brazier. My pulse pounded when I recognized that scent. Knew what she’d burned.
And because of that scent, I would seek vengeance on this queen. If this was my purpose for being what Fate desired, then I’d accept it.
My lips pulled back. “What did you burn in that bowl?”
“Parts of him.” Amal’s pleasure was throaty and utterly indifferent. The silver strands in her hair whipped like Medusa’s serpents. “No different from a funeral pyre.”
I reached through the bond for my mate, finding the hidden tether between us. Please, Grayson… can you get into her mind?
No answer. Not even a trembling tug of awareness. But Amal had approached to peer at his face.
“Don’t waste the time he has left.” The queen’s voice was gravelly from the fangs she hadn’t retracted. “Show me that rune stone.”
I withdrew the small gray stone from my pocket, opened my palm to let her see the dull black stains of her blood, the rune marks carved into the surface. Her hands jerked up before she hesitated.
While she stared, frost crept across the stone’s surface, rimming the runic markings with white.
I wasn’t sure what caused the frost, but I took advantage of it.
“The stone is growing cold,” I said to Amal. “Not much time to waste.”
“Another trick,” she snarled.
“You don’t think I have enough magic?” Let her wonder while, desperately, I whispered through the bond. Can you find memories of her wolf? Send them to me?
Grayson’s eyes were closed. His skin had the pale color of ash.
My mental voice shook. Please, help me. Use me as your weapon, my love. Your savior.
Amal’s lips tightened at my distraction. I shook my head, as if trying to clear my thoughts.
“What’s wrong?” she hissed. Behind her, the embers in the sacrificial bowl flared and popped, sending foul sparks into the air. That stench.
“I need your blood.” My jaw ached. “Rubbed on the stone.”
“Why my blood?”
“Your blood trapped your wolf. It will also free her if I sing the weaving song Pelonie sang when she cast the magic.”
The corners of Amal’s mouth flicked up once, twice, three times before she raised her wrist, used her fangs to rip her skin. Blood pooled.
“Rub it on the rune,” I said.
Hatred, laced with hope, scalded my skin as Amal did as I asked. I centered the stone on my palm. It would be easy for her to take it, but without the song, the stone was still a prison. I thought she was sly enough to realize it.
Please, please, please, Grayson.
The faint tug in my heart was enough to take a chance.
I began to sing… hush, little baby, don’t you cry…
“Liar!” Amal exploded. The force of her menace fueled her hand, sweeping in a backward arc. I stumbled to the side, avoiding the blow.
“You lie to me, Amal,” I gasped, leaning against the wall and bracing for her next attack. “I lie to you. What did you expect?”
She was after me in an instant, clawing the stone from my hand. I spread my fingers, tried to syphon what I could from the air, the surrounding room, while the queen snarled her threats. “You’ll never leave. He’ll never—”
“It’s your wolf who will never leave. You’ll never find the words, Amal. Never sing the right song. The torture will go on.”
She screamed.
I ignored her. “They sang songs about the queens. The unimaginable courage. They wrote about you in the history books. But you’re a coward. You blame others for your sins. Hide behind grievance rather than face the truth. You go after the alphas. Try to destroy a dread lord—a man descended from the kings, forced to carry the king’s sin. When we are the victims that fate condemned because of what you did.”
“You can’t use magic—you’re not strong enough.”
“Neither are you without my help.”
Her hand moved; the blasting energy sent me crashing back into the stone wall. Agony bloomed in my arm. I cradled my wrist against my stomach as Amal turned toward Grayson.
“Wait…” I panted. “Don’t you see her?”
Amal halted in mid-stride. Her gaze skimmed about the room.
“See what?”
“Your wolf.”
Amal looked desperately for the rune she’d knocked away.
“She’s struggling. So weak.”
I pointed toward the stone that rocked slightly on the floor, my fingers trembling.
The blood queen smoldered with a horrible mix of yearning and despair. The stench thickened the air. And yet she held back, gripped those taloned fingers until her knuckles bled. “What color is she?”
I closed my eyes, let myself fall into the dark void, to the heart where I always found my mate, and slowly, slowly, images floated through the bond. Images Grayson had pulled from Amal’s mind and forced into mine.
“She’s silvery gray,” I murmured. “The fur is darker at the roots, like moonlight. One ear flicks more than the other, and she’s… shaking her head like she ate something sour.”
“Tricks. Illusions,” Amal spat.
“She’s trying to stand, but her legs are too weak. Don’t you see her? All queens have the gift of sight.”
“He’s doing this—I’m going to kill him.”
Amal wrenched the ceremonial knife from the table and charged toward Grayson. I threw myself in her path, but the blade still sliced down my arm, sharp enough to cleave the woolen tunic.
The Green Man’s inked runes churned beneath my skin; the light glowing in the patterns was blinding. The queen screeched and threw an arm across her eyes, hissing in pain. She stumbled backward, knocking over the bowl of coals. They spilled like the fires from the Night of the Beacons, flowing ruby sparks scattered across the stone floor.
I syphoned again, sent a spear of energy toward Amal. Caerwen said it was possible to overload an enemy, like a balloon taking in more air than the skin would hold.
Amal bared her fangs as she rose upward. Her feet no longer touched the floor. The black gown widened into feathered wings, beating through the air—a carrion bird above the dead.
Her lips moved with a bone-crushing chant. The words vibrated from the walls. The music stabbed beneath my skin.
Grayson… Grayson…
My body burned from the inside.
Amal raised her hands, pushed out. I tumbled backward, a helpless rag doll. Arms, elbows, knees cracked against the floor. Sharp, jagged pain blotted out everything except the truth. The ungrateful queen, hovering in midair. Wielding a raging magic I would never understand. While my mate lay dying. So close and yet too far away.
I wasn’t able to see him, but I saw the illusion painted on the stone walls the way I’d seen the illusion in the witch cave: not of a battle but a distant coastline.
I heard the rush of moving water, the crash of ocean waves. My hair fell across my face as if it was wet. Beneath my hand, I felt damp sand. Impossible…
But I studied the grains coating my fingers. Listened to the beating of my heart.
Mist hid the lonely beach while the ocean sang a mourning song. But not the ocean… a woman sang. A woman standing on the sand. I’d met her in the Farmer’s Market. She’d looked old then, surrounded by rosemary… telling me about liminal spaces… leaving a rune-covered toy…
She stood now on the edge of my vision. Her wine dark hair flared around her head. The white bone necklace circled her throat. Her dress, as black as midnight, danced a dance of sorcery and power, partnered by the wind.
Her hands were outstretched, a priestess singing a song of broken souls, those destroyed by the sins of selfish queens. A song like rain on the mountains. Like the smoke of the dead, burning. The sea, returning. A sacred horn, blowing from the shadows and drums, beating, calling the warriors home.
The words raged with pain and vengeance. With hope and love. And I sang what I heard her sing, ancient, reedy words that raked through my throat. I could swear those words were born of the ocean and the living air, the earth and the endless, fathomless sky. Born of forsaken love. A love torn by fate. And the words came from a language no one in this life understood except that witch… and me.
I didn’t know how. I was afraid to question, but perhaps… perhaps the seidr magic was as eager to heal itself as I was to destroy this queen.
Amal’s voice, desperate as she said, “Keep singing.”
The queen was close to hysterical, scrabbling across the floor, searching for the rune stone she’d knocked from my hand. And I lay there watching her cup it in her hand. Watching as an animal slowly emerged from the runic design. First, the head, then thin, shaking, spindly legs, like a fawn born not knowing how to stand.
Amal’s smile became blissful, gentle… a loving smile as she cradled the wolf she hadn’t seen in centuries, changing her face as if a weight had lifted.
I did not know if this was a shared gift of sight, or if it was illusion. But I crawled closer. Put my hand on her ankle and syphoned the vile sparks, a trickle of energy that grew and grew until it was a flood and I was drowning, drowning in the black river of her hate, of her centuries corrupted by loss. While the surrounding wind raged, tore at the tears streaking down my face.
But I could not stop syphoning. Ending her. Duty did not come without cost, nor was it offered to the weak, no matter how it hurt.
And I could not stop the grief that followed. Like the lament, needing to do the right thing, the merciful thing, even when it went against every morality I’d ever had. Everything I’d ever trusted to be true.
Because true evil existed in the world, and I refused to look away. Pretend it did not exist, and that fate had not given me this task.
Instead, I syphoned the life force from her, an oozing acid that coated my veins.
Slowly, painfully, like a leaf caught in an early frost… Amal crumpled in on herself. Her fingers curled, trembled. Her eyes glistened with more tears than I judged possible for someone without compassion.
And as she faded. As her skin pressed against bone and her eyes grew vacant… the magic continued to weave in and out and around the room, building mountains for me to climb when I had no strength.
I left Amal, crawled across what felt like a million miles toward Grayson. “Please… please…” My voice was a thin husk. “I need your wolf. I can’t end this without you.”
My mate said nothing. His distorted shoulder joints pressed whitely against his skin. His chest wasn’t moving. I pressed my palm against his heart, where my sigil was my promise. To protect him. Protect his wolf.
“I promise you… wherever you are. Close or far. In this life or the next. I promise you.”
Behind me, Amal had roused, risen once again to her feet, a looming, fierce predator. The chill was like sinking into nothingness, where only the beating of my heart filled the air. A cry broke from my lips when her clawing hand closed around my ankle.
The woman in the mist was gone. Only the stone wall remained, with the chains hanging, still covered in Grayson’s blood.
The bite of frozen steel cut into me as Amal dragged the chain around my wrist. Her insane muttering scraped like talons in my brain.
I slid into another space, deep in my head. My faille space, where I’d always been afraid. But no longer.
However you want me, my love… I’ll meet you there.
A white wolf leapt through the air. White like an angel, barreling into the queen and taking her to the ground.
Then Grayson’s black wolf was there, a snarling menace, and once again, I refused to look away. Refused to stop singing what was now a lament. Refused to stop honoring his sacrifice. Angel’s sacrifice. Even when the tears were so bright in my eyes, they looked like stars.
I didn’t see the details… only the colors. Red pooling on the gray stones. Black and white, working together. And the red smoke that floated… faded into the air. Along with the rush of silence. The end of the storm.
The end of… everything.