“Hungry now, human?” Ephyra whispered as she breezed past me to park herself next to the pedestal in the center of room.
I struggled to stay standing. To stay conscious. Horror warred with such overwhelming grief that I could do nothing but stand there in shock and stare at my friend’s head perched on the pedestal like some goddamned trophy.
Oh God, Sandra. No.
I slapped my hands over my open mouth so I wouldn’t scream or vomit, but tears flowed instantly from my eyes and down over my hands.
Her eyes were shut. Her skin gray, lips purplish blue . . . Her beautiful black hair fell around the pedestal like a curtain. A crack drew my attention. In the back corner of the room a griffin fed on her headless body. “Oh God.” I stumbled back, dazed, sickened, falling and then scrambling up, crawling away, but getting trapped in the folds of the gown. Tears streamed down my face as I sobbed and gasped for air.
Keep crawling. Just get away. Oh God, Sandra. Sandra . . .
I was vaguely aware that someone pulled me up. A siren guard. I could barely see for the tears clouding my vision. The Circe stood behind Alessandra’s head. I turned away but rough hands grabbed my face and forced me to look. A groan burst from me. Hadn’t I seen enough?
“Let us consult the oracle, shall we?” Arethusa said.
“And see the human’s future for ourselves.”
They chanted a short phrase together. Dread slid down my spine and all the blood in my body felt like it had drained out of me, leaving me with nothing but the cold.
Alessandra’s eyes popped open.
I jumped and felt the siren guard jerk in surprise. Her eyes were vacant, but they were her eyes, the same earthy green, the same ones that had sparked with life and laughter. Goddammit!
Her mouth dropped open and a voice came out, and I knew this was crafting at its worst and most powerful.
“One sleeps. One wakes. One weeps. One takes.”
She stopped and blinked. A frown wrinkled her brow. “Charlie?” Her voice was lost, like a child in the dark, unseeing. Her eyes blinked, looking around wildly, but not finding me.
“I’m here, Sandra,” I said in a strangled voice.
Her gaze snapped in my direction, though it seemed to look right through me. “I lied, Charlie. I have always been able to see my fate.” A stunned whoosh left my lungs. “Charlie . . . the answer, the . . .” She gaped like a fish out of water, the instinct to breathe still with her. “Accept yourself to make the shadow whole . . . together, together . . . but not by your hand,” she warned, “. . . and death will come to death . . .”
My heart hurt; the tight, aching squeeze unrelenting. I couldn’t watch her gasping for air she didn’t need, would never need again. Her words blazed a path into my memory and would haunt me forever. I squeezed my eyelids shut and forced away the image of her and the sounds of the griffin in the background, turning in the guard’s hands as much as I could.
Then I was being led away, past the statue and down the hallway to my cell.
It seemed like ages ago that I wanted desperately to leave it, and now I wanted nothing more than to go inside, shut the door, curl up on the floor, and just lose myself in silence.
Sandra was gone.
As I lay there curled on my side, my back tucked against the wall, I wished time would reverse. So many instances played through my memory, times where if I’d just done something differently, she’d still be alive.
I stayed in that cycle, constantly replaying events, unable to stop until I exhausted my mind.
If Sandra was with me, she’d laugh and tell me I couldn’t escape Fate. One way or another, no matter what path I chose or decisions I made, I’d always come right back around to whatever significant event Fate had in store for me.
And she knew. That’s what was killing me inside. She knew! She’d walked right into that passageway knowing what would happen. And still she went. The image of her looking back at me, all the emotion, the flash of fear in her eyes, it all made sense now. Now, when it was too late.
Her convictions and beliefs were infuriating. How could she have given up her life like that? She hadn’t even tried to prevent it. Damn it, Sandra! Fuck your stupid Fate!
And yet her bravery, to walk the path of her beliefs, to have such faith . . . It put me to shame.
And it all hurt, it hurt so much . . .
I cried until my face was dry and hot and my head pounded. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t sleep or rest my thoughts. After a time, I sat up, wiped my face with the end of the gown, and just stared at the bland stone walls in disbelief.
Eventually, her prophetic words seeped into the numbness, and I let them roll around, repeating, listening, trying to make sense of what she’d said.
Far be it from me to guess the mind of an oracle, but it sure as hell sounded like Alessandra had been talking about Sachâth.
To make the shadow whole. Death will come to death.
Sachâth was one of my biggest obstacles. In order for me to have any kind of power at all, I had to defeat it. And I didn’t have the answer on how to do that. Sandra knew, and the more I thought about it, the more I believed she was trying to give me the answer—how to kill Sachâth. But I had no clue what not by my hand and together, together meant.
My head fell back against the wall, wishing she was around to tell me.
The Circe had apparently decided to change tactics, because the next time the door opened, I was taken to a chamber where I bathed, put on a clean gown—this one also gathered over one shoulder—and was adorned with a circlet of gold placed around my left bicep.
The bath and the nice dress didn’t mean squat to me, but the food was extremely meaningful as was the use of a restroom. I sat at a table in a room off the bath and ate quickly, taking advantage of the reprieve.
After their little show-and-tell, the Circe were probably certain I’d cooperate and translate the tablet. And, if they felt this new tactic of “nice game” wasn’t working, they’d play the “torture game.”
I had no choice but to play along until I could figure out my next move.
Once I was done eating, I didn’t wait. I got up and walked to the main door I’d been brought through to the guard who stood there. “I’m done. I’m sure you have orders to take me to the Circe, so let’s get this over with.”
He regarded me thoughtfully, then turned and opened the door, ushering me into the hallway.
The Circe had allowed me to see Sandra in order to intimidate me, horrify me, and make me think twice about refusing them. It was a clear message on the lengths they’d go to get what they wanted. Well, it had worked. I was horrified, but not intimidated—okay, maybe I was, but that wasn’t going to stop me from ending their reign. I took exception to murderous, power hungry witches who tortured and killed my friends, and I wouldn’t rest until Sandra, Hank, and the countless other victims of the Circe were avenged.
And my determination to do just that was stronger than their intimidation.
Ahkneri had been called an instrument of retribution and vengeance, her sword, Anguish by Fire. Holding Urzenemelech had done something freakish to my arm, had somehow imbued it with the same kind of power as the sword—at least with the siren in my room it had seemed that way.
Okay, Sandra. You want me to accept myself? Consider it done. I’m about to become your avenging angel.
Unfortunately, my rousing internal pep talk only lasted the thirty seconds it took for the guard to lead me into another room.
I’d expected to go to the Circe’s inner sanctum, not a few steps down the hall. I knew immediately that the game had changed once again. Trying to brace myself for whatever they had planned, I went past the guard and into the unfamiliar chamber.
The door shut behind me.
And there was Hank.
And all the breath left my lungs, replaced by a cool acrobatic wind that tumbled through my chest and down into my belly. My feet seemed to grow roots into the floor and it felt like the entire room—not just me—held its breath.
It felt like years had passed since I last saw him. The size of him, the way he filled a room, struck me anew. He had healed significantly. The fact that he was standing on his own two feet was a very good sign.
He’d been bathed and dressed in clean clothing. His wavy blond hair was longer, more bohemian than ever, and his beard was gone, revealing a strikingly beautiful face, one whose lips usually curved like the devil and whose eyes glinted with shameless confidence.
But those eyes now stared at me flat and hard, like cold, dark sapphires.
I stayed frozen, suddenly unsure, heart pounding.
His aura was blank and there was a void, an absence of self where there should’ve been . . . something.
“Uh, surprise . . .” I said lamely, searching for more words. “This is not exactly the way I pictured rescuing you . . .”
He didn’t respond, just stared at me, his fists clenched at his sides. I wanted to edge back toward the door.
“So, um, you look better, Hank.”
“My name is Niérian,” he said, and I was blessed with the most gorgeous voice in all three worlds. Rich, deep, rough, potent . . .
Until his words sank in and lit a fire under my skin. He showed not even a flicker of emotion at seeing me. Nothing.
This wasn’t the Hank I’d expected to find.
All the blame for this sudden transformation was squarely on the Circe’s shoulders, not his. They’d done something to him, had messed with his mind, had tortured him so badly . . . hell, I’d stand there, too, and act however they wanted me to act in order to get out of that cell and away from the barbed whips.
My main concern was whether or not he truly believed in what he said, that he was now Niérian, and if the Circe had pushed him to a point of no return . . .
Knowing Hank like I did, there were only a few ways to knock him off balance and get through to him. I could come on to him, or I could piss him off. Quite frankly neither one appealed to me for various reasons, but I decided to go with pissing him off, since I had more practice in that department and knew how to push those buttons a lot quicker than the others.
After what he’d endured, I found it pretty distasteful to do what I was about to do, but there was no guarantee when I’d see him again. This might be the only opportunity I had to shake him up and get through to him.
I folded my arms over my chest and cocked an eyebrow at him, hating my next words. “Don’t tell me they got to you. What? A couple spankings and you’re the Circe’s new groupie? Didn’t expect you to roll over and kiss ass.”
His eyes narrowed. He didn’t seem to like that at all.
Oh yeah, big boy, I’m going to get under your skin, and this is just the beginning.
Chaos reigned inside of him.
Joy. Betrayal. Lust. Anger. Possessiveness.
Images flashed inside his weary mind, and he couldn’t separate out what was real or what was fiction.
When she first walked into the room, his heart lurched and he was consumed with the need to reach for her. But then the other images came and he wasn’t so sure. Those things she thought of him, those things she said, they cut him in a way that made him empty and hopeless.
She used him, lied to him.
And now she dared to stand there with her arms crossed and disdain on her face? She dared speak to him with such loathing and disrespect?
Before he knew it, he had her by the throat, shoved against the wall. “I would gladly go by whatever name the Circe chose as long as I get what I want in the end.”
Her brown eyes flashed fire. She choked out: “And what is it you want, Hank? The Circe are using you, poisoning your mind—”
“No different than you.”
“Oh, that’s great,” she shot back, struggling to speak. “Okay, so . . . poisoning your mind against me. I thought you were . . . smarter than that.”
His grip on her throat increased and then eased until he simply cradled her neck in his hand. His eyelids slid closed. Gods, he was tired. His mark was too warm, too uncomfortable. She was too warm, too comfortable, and, despite his will, his body leaned into hers until his forehead rested against her own. She smelled familiar. Good. Exotic. Untamed.
Full tilt, balls to the wall, the chief called her.
Niérian shook his head.
He didn’t need or want any more thoughts or memories, any more regrets. Yes, he’d had another life, pretended to be this Hank for a while, but none of it mattered now. And she was better off knowing she couldn’t save him.
Why she’d even want to after all the conflicting things he’d remembered of her . . . No, if he tried to solve that puzzle, his head would explode.
“It doesn’t matter,” he ground out. “Just tell them how to read the tablet.” His other hand lifted as though it had a mind of its own, tunneling into her hair, threading his fingers through its softness, and then toying with the ends. It wasn’t the color he thought it should be, but maybe he was wrong.
Gods, how he hated this woman! Tying him in knots like this, making him want her, even as she schemed against him and laughed at him. He couldn’t take it, couldn’t take her. “Please. If you have any care for me at all, tell them . . . and set me free.”
Her breath was shaky. “What are you saying? They’ll let you go if I translate the tablet?”
Freedom to her meant something far different than what it meant to him. And even though he knew it was wrong, he didn’t correct her assumption. “Yes. They swore it, and once sworn are bound by their words.”
He could feel her mind working, calculating, already wondering if she could figure out how to translate the text in order to free him. He hated himself. If she knew the truth, that his freedom meant his much desired death, she would not be so eager to help him.
“I’ll figure it out,” she was saying. “I’ll tap into my power. I’ll try again. Maybe it just takes practice and then maybe I can read what it says.”
He moved his hand from her throat and with his other hand, he cradled her face. “Stop, Charlie. Just . . . stop.”
Her big eyes turned up at him, glassy, confused, and hurt. Her hands curled around his forearms. “Tell me what to do.” A tear slipped from her eye. “Tell me how to help you.”
“Set me free.”