53. Willow
Chapter 53
Willow
T he door flies open, and I tumble forward, tripping over someone’s feet and landing flat on my face. I look up, up, and up, realizing in horror what’s happened.
Emrys looms above me, a dark figure silhouetted against the dim, stable light. As my eyes adjust, his features sharpen into focus, shadows dancing across the planes of his achingly handsome face. Black brows arch high, coppery eyes wide, rosy lips parted in surprise.
Fuck, he’s so attractive—my first thought.
Shit, I’m dead—my second.
He releases the door. It slams shut, trapping me inside. Movement behind him catches my eye—Puck’s auburn hair receding as he flees, kicking up the straw. He escapes through the door at the far end, slamming it behind him.
Emrys recovers quickly, his face twisting into a mask of fury. He grabs my shirt, yanks me to my feet, and slams me against the door.
“Ow.” I scowl.
“How much did you hear?” he snarls, his breath hot on my face.
“Enough,” I reply, struggling to keep my voice steady despite the fear coursing through me.
His eyes flash dangerously. “Enough what?”
I meet his gaze defiantly. “Enough to know something’s very wrong in here.”
For a moment, I see the promise of death in his eyes. This is my last minute on earth. But then a deafening crack splits the air, wood splintering around us.
The Nightmares rattle their stalls, their unearthly shrieks piercing the chaos. I catch glimpses of writhing shadows through tiny gaps beneath and above the doors.
I don’t realize how close I am to a structural pole until Emrys yanks me away just before it turns to stone. We stand there, stunned, as the outer building morphs from wood into solid rock. When the booming transformation finally ceases, even the Nightmares fall silent. Emrys’s eyes drop to where his gloved hand still fists my cape. He gasps and lets go, stepping back.
“What just happened?” I whisper, my heart pounding against my ribs.
“That fucking prick,” he spits, his expression a mix of rage and disbelief. “He seeks to trap us in here together.”
I take in the tense set of his shoulders, how his gloved hands creak, clench, and unclench at his sides. His eyes dart around the room, assessing our situation with a predator’s keen gaze. Despite the dire circumstances, there’s a part of him that seems almost . . . aroused by the challenge.
Or by me.
“Why would Puck trap us?” I ask slowly.
“Oh, Willow,” he says, tone dripping with sarcasm, “you have no idea what you’ve stumbled into.”
Emrys turns his attention to our entrapments. His gloved fingers trace the newly formed patterns in the stone walls—swirls and symbols that seem to shift when I look at them directly. The straw carpeting the floor beneath our feet rumbles subtly as if the magic is still settling.
“What have I stumbled into, Emrys?”
“Somewhere you’re not welcome.” His hand pauses mid-swipe along the existing door frame. “But since you’re here, maybe it’s time you learned a few things about the world you’re so eager to rule.”
I gape at him. “I don’t want to rule it. Is that what you really think of me?”
“Rule, save, destroy. It’s all the same to you queens.”
“Not a queen,” I remind him dryly. “A mate.”
The look in his eyes is a mixture of anger, frustration, and something else—a hint of dark curiosity that makes my breath catch.
A low, ominous groan echoes through the stables. The stone walls shudder. Hairline cracks form along the seams of the solid stall doors. Sensing weakness, the Nightmares begin their cacophony anew, their cries more frenzied than before.
“Those doors will hold, right?” I ask. “We’re safe?”
“You’re never safe with me.”
His bitter laugh sends chills down me, shaking loose a tingling between my legs. With a gasp, I realize I’m attracted to this side of him—the cruelty, the danger. It calls to that dark place inside me, the deep reservoir capable of destruction. It wants to be filled, to have a companion, just like the other, warmer parts of my soul.
A wave of heat chooses that moment to punish me. Scorching desire builds under my skin, my nipples pebbling beneath my shirt. The friction is torture. I release a strangled groan, trying to suppress it, and have to lean against the very door Emrys inspects. Suddenly, there’s nowhere to look but into his striking eyes. They roam over my face, his expression a battlefield of conflicting emotions. His nostrils flare as he catches my scent. I glimpse an echo of my yearning on his face before the hard glint of suspicion swallows it.
He slams his palm against the frame beside my head.
“What is this?” His snarl is a husky, volatile mixture of hunger and contempt. “You think to seduce me with your little queen bee pheromones? How delightfully naive. Tell me, does it sting to be so unprepared for the game you’re playing?”
I try to steady my breathing and remain passive while fighting against my feverish urges. My hormones demand I rip his clothes off, to explore the hard slabs of muscle, to see if those curious tattoos cover every inch of his flesh.
“This isn’t a game, Emrys,” I groan.
His laugh is sharp and mirthless. “Oh, but it is, little moth. And you’re fluttering right into the flames.” His demeanor grows quiet and reflective as he trails the back of his gloved fingers down my throat. “Do you know what happens to moths dancing too close to the fire?”
“For someone so cruel, you’re remarkably poetic.”
He blinks, taken aback. That I’ve surprised him gives me the strength to push on.
“Styx tried to scare me away, too, but I’ll tell you what I said to him. I’m not afraid of you.”
“No?” His genuine smile transforms his face into poetic beauty, matching his silver tongue.
“No.”
“Perhaps you should be scared,” he murmurs.
“He said that too.”
“There are fates far worse than death, and I’ve tasted them all.” He leans in closer, hot breath against my ear. “Tell me, sweet Willow, have you ever wondered what it feels like to have your soul flayed open? To have every secret, every desire laid bare and found wanting?”
I suppress a shudder, both repulsed and intrigued by his words. But I wonder . . . “Is that what happened to you?”
“You have no idea of the depths I’ve plumbed, the horrors we’ve endured. And yet, here you stand, offering salvation like some misguided saint.”
“I’m not offering salvation,” I retort. “I’m offering understanding.”
Maybe. He’s working my last nerve right now.
“Understanding? How quaint.” He inhales my scent deep into his lungs but is careful not to touch me. “What do you understand about the monster before you?”
“I understand pain,” I say softly. “I understand what it’s like to be used and seen as nothing more than a tool.” My throat closes up. “To stand by helpless and watch as someone you love dies.”
The realization that I know about his Seventh hits him like a physical blow. He pulls back to look into my eyes. Legion didn’t tell me the details, but the experience had to be harrowing. They must have all witnessed it, been helpless to stop it.
Emrys’s thoughts play out on his face. Who told me? How much do I know? What does this mean? How will I use this information against him?
“You understand nothing,” he hisses, stumbling backward, spearing a hand through his white hair.
“Then help me,” I plead, stepping toward him.
The Nightmares shriek in their cages. Their malevolence seeps through the air, making me shudder. It reminds me of why I followed Emrys here in the first place.
“You’re conspiring with Puck. Why?” My heart wants to say he’s doing it for us, for his hive. But my gut warns me it’s the opposite. “Why foil Legion’s plan to instate martial law?”
A flicker of something—surprise? amusement?—passes over his face before it settles back into seething hatred.
“Clever little queen,” he murmurs, “but you’re only seeing the pond’s surface, not the depths beneath.”
“Not a queen,” I mutter. “Why don’t you want martial law? It would give you control of Avorlorna.”
“You think that’s the answer? More false promises, more fake smiles, more playing pretend?”
“What do you mean?”
As I stare into his manic eyes, I’m struck by the realization that I’m missing something crucial. His words and actions don’t align with what I thought I knew. He’s playing a more complex game than I’d imagined, with rules I don’t understand. And it scares me.
A muscle in his jaw ticks, and for a moment, I think he might lash out. But then his shoulders slump, and he laughs bitterly.
“You want to know why I align myself with him? Maybe it’s because I don’t want to be saved. I don’t want a queen at all. I want the oblivion the gods robbed us of when they gave us you.”
“Again, not a queen,” I grind out. I stare. “Puck promised you that?”
His smile is hollow. “At least with him, I know where I stand. With you . . .” He trails off, his eyes roaming my face, lingering on my lips. “With you, I don’t know if I’m losing my mind or finding it.”
Somehow, my words fail me. The air in my lungs thickens. Even from where he stands a good yard away, I feel the heat of his body and smell his intoxicating scent. Part of me wants to reach out to him, but another part knows that doing so could be incredibly dangerous.
“So what now?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Emrys’s eyes darken. “Now, little moth, we wait. And you pray that your precious mates find us before the Nightmares break free. Because trapped in here with me . . . well, let’s just say I might not be as noble as the others when it comes to resisting temptation.”