CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
VESPER
Vesper’s whole world was collapsing around him and he was tied to a fucking chair. His voice gave out as he thrashed against his restraints, but the ropes were too bloody tight and his one arm hung useless as a dead tooth.
Emmery’s panicked voice sliced through him. Meanwhile, Thellonius watched, delighted, as his son stalked her like a predator.
This never should have happened. He should have taken her away from there long ago, but he’d trusted everything would work out. And look where that had gotten him.
Izzy was here, and yet, not.
It was her smile. Her voice. But a demented god wore her face.
Without a clue how to fix this, how to get out of it, or how this could have possibly happened, he stared at Izzy—or, er, Kahlia. Her lavender eyes were the same and yet bloomed like a poisonous flower the longer he looked. His stomach dropped, and he wanted to sink to the floor with it.
To his right, the doors flung open with a heavy boom.
The room exploded into anarchy as four people strode in, weapons in hand.
Relief overcame him as he locked eyes with Fionn and Brennen.
As much as he and Destonne had despised one another, he’d always been amicable with Brennen, and he and Fionn had been nearly joined at the hip those years they both served.
Two women flanked them. He recognized tall, willowy Cyrilla immediately, but the other woman with red plaited braids and a youthful face, he’d never met.
As she eyed the creatures and palmed her twin blades, she became death itself.
Cyrilla’s deep purple vestige, the colour of night terrors, pulsed with vengeance, matching her unnerving stare.
An arrow flew from Fionn’s bow and lit up a thick curtain like a bonfire.
Vesper croaked out something unintelligible, but Thellonius’s order drowned him out. The massive tangle of creatures shambled forward from all angles and converged on them. A swarming beehive of bodies and black blood. Brennen’s growls melded with the creatures’ vermin-like shrieks.
Then the ground shook and Vesper’s chair skidded across the floor. Wide eyed, his attention snapped up to the roof just in time to see the raining chunks of debris. The creatures tried to dart out of the way, but many of them were squashed into chunks of wood and bone and mush.
He threw his weight to the side and sent both himself and the chair toppling, as a chunk of stone skimmed his side. It would leave a nasty bruise, but as he took in the boulder nearly half his height and twice his girth, he was bloody lucky it hadn’t landed on his head.
He wrestled with the ropes at his wrists and twisted his face to peek over the chair’s backrest though his shoulder screamed in protest. The moment he wormed his hands free, he turned to find Kyrith’s mismatched eyes.
“You look like you’re on death’s door,” she breathed, though she appeared the same. A rusty clump of old blood matted her burgundy hair, likely from the beating they’d taken days ago. Or was it weeks? Gods, he didn’t know.
“Speak for yourself,” he wheezed, his voice pathetically weak. He couldn’t get enough air, like half of his body wouldn’t work. He pressed a hand to his ribcage, and white-hot pain lanced through him. For a second, his vision greyed, and his world fell away as he lost himself to the agony.
Gingerly, Kyrith curled her arm around him to aid him off the ground. He glanced at his boots to find the ropes gone, but he didn’t remember untying his ankles. A stunted sigh of relief stuttered from him as his blood flow returned to his toes.
Kyrith’s brows drew together and she traced a single finger in a random pattern across his forehead. “Is that a boot print?”
Her touch was agony, and the welt pulsed with a dull heartbeat, but she was touching him and under no circumstance would he stop her. “It might be. Actually, I’m certain it is.”
He took in the raining stone and white fire. It wouldn’t be long before the building collapsed on them.
Despite all of that, he couldn’t help himself.
He seized Kyrith around the waist with his good arm.
To his surprise, she hugged him back. The pressure of her embrace sent a fuzzy smattering of speckles across his vision and pain crushed him from the inside, but he wouldn’t trade that moment for anything.
When he managed to lean back, he caught her eye. “Gather everyone. Get to the back exit. Keep to the wall.” He searched the room for Thellonius and Kahlia, but they were lost among the battle.
Her attention warred between her friends and him. “What about you?”
“I need to get to Emmery. You go.” He gave her a little shove in the direction of her friends. “I’ll be right behind you.”
She seemed torn between them and his surely poor-looking state. Behind her, Thorrin was unbound. He crouched at Briar’s side, his fingers at her neck, then his hazel eyes rounded, and lips parted. Vesper frowned at how he touched her cheek before he lifted her into his arms.
“Go,” Vesper urged. “I’ll see you soon.”
Kyrith gave him a fierce look, squeezed his good arm, then sprinted away.
Vesper darted through the crowd of creatures until he spotted Izzy’s black wavy locks.
And of course, Kahlia fled like a coward.
He charged toward her. Throwing all of his body weight toward her, he knocked her to the ground, and though she clawed for safety, he flipped her over and pinned her wrists above her head.
“Give her back! Give Izzy back!” he roared, his anger a molten monster.
Then the unexplainable happened. Something flickered in her eyes, like something was shoved aside to make room. And her voice echoed in his head.
“There’s the wolf.”
Shock froze his limbs, and he gaped at his sister.
A wisp of purple smoke snaked from her hand and caressed his mind. It went blank. He blinked. It was all he could do as her magic reduced him to putty. He released her wrists, stood, and Kahlia sprinted out the door.
Several minutes later, he shook his head and finally got a grip on reality. Angry with himself, he shoved through the crowd, desperate to get to Emmery.
A voice called his name, and he saw red.
He broke into a sprint, his chest convulsing and wheezing.
He spat blood onto the stone. When he caught sight of them, he grit his teeth and stalked forward, ready for a fight.
Ready to tear Destonne’s fucking head off once and for all.
Because how dare he call him. How dare he even speak his name aloud. The bloody, traitorous filth—
A wall of golden flame shot up, and Vesper staggered to a stop.
“What the fuck are you doing, Emmery?” he barked. Through the golden wall he glimpsed her tear-stained face, red clouded her eyes, like her blood vessels had burst. Fuck, he was going to wring that bastard’s neck.
Destonne’s voice bled through the fire. “I’m calling in our bargain.”
The hoarse words ground from his throat like stone on stone. Vesper’s spine went ramrod straight. Bound by their pactum, he was forced to listen.
“Whatever happens,” Destonne continued, his voice muffled through the crackling flames, though his vulnerability rang loud and clear, “I need you to get her out of here. Alive. And—” His voice broke.
Vesper’s brows drew together. Only the adrenaline rushing in his blood kept him upright.
“Take care of her for me.”
Vesper opened his mouth to tell him that he was a prick, but then Destonne’s words sank in. Take care of her? What the fuck was happening?
He looked between Destonne’s face covered in blood and Emmery’s tear-streaked cheeks. Unsure what to do, he stood there, his hair whipping his face.
Destonne took her face in his hands and kissed her. He murmured something, and Emmery sobbed, her body shaking, breaking, shattering.
The wall of fire died down and she had her hand over his heart. They said something low to each other.
And then Emmery sank her flame into Destonne’s chest.