Yaretta rests against the bars of an empty cell, while Rhett and Eryk discuss the next steps. Frederick paces behind me, his hunger becoming insatiable. I think he’s worried they’re going to kill me, and my soul will escape before he gets to feed.
Blood trickles into my mouth from the cracks in my lips. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had anything to drink, and the heat is stifling. My shirt clings to my back, damp from perspirationand fear. Both of my bare feet are resting on top of the hot sand, and I can feel the blisters forming. The metal from the chair feels like it’s melting my skin off.
I welcome death with open arms. Pray for it. I’ve reached the point where I might even beg for it.
The sand around me is no longer golden, but now a muted crimson. A testament to the pain that has passed. The sun beats down on my broken form, causing the dried blood covering me to become itchy and unbearable.
For a glorious second, a shadow falls across the sky, blocking out the sun entirely. If I weren’t so delirious, I might look up out of curiosity. However, I can barely lift my head enough to look in front of me, let alone look upward.
Instead, I bask in the precious seconds I’m given a reprieve from the sweltering rays.
I used to enjoy days filled with sunshine and surf. I’d walk through the broken tides, let my hair hang loose and become tangled from the sea breeze while catching sand crabs. The warmth would tuck away the darkness I felt swimming beneath my flesh, if only for a moment. It was my little secret. But in those stolen moments, it was everything. Now, I’m not sure I’ll ever love sunshine the same way. Not after baking in it for who knows how long, while they broke me piece by piece.
It will never again feel safe. I will never again feel warmth as a welcome reprieve.
I spit into the stifling sand, blood mixing with the saliva. The movement causes me to inhale sharply, pain lancing through my jaw and up toward my ear. I’m pretty sure it’s dislocated.
The ground shakes beneath my feet.
Screams tear from Yaretta and shouts from the men.
I manage to lift my head just enough.
Death.
Death has come for its dues.
Death has arrived on waves of shadow and demands retribution.
Darkness surrounds us, and in the middle of it all is a Noctryn, shadows pouring out of each hand and a promise of reckoning in his dark eyes.
Kingston.
I can’t explain it, but I suddenly feel peace. Vengeance will be served. Even if I’m not the one able to do so, I know my debts will be collected.
He takes one look at me, and his eyes turn black.
Eryk screams out orders, his arms flailing in panic, and a door opens from the side. The blood curdles in my veins as wraith after wraith enters, their hoods hiding their decomposing faces but not the stench or the palpable thirst they bring with them.
Kingston’s shadows wrap around their throats, before going through their mouth and nose, cutting off all oxygen. He pulls both swords from his back, one in each hand, and starts cutting through the rotting army. He fights like he lives. Every step is measured, every strike an answer. Steel cuts through the air as wraiths fall at his feet, heads removed from their bodies. Some scream as they collapse while others never have a chance to make a sound.
There are no evasive moves.
He simply disappears and reappears like a reaper demanding vengeance.
I suck in a broken breath.
The simple gesture causes a sharp pain to knife through my side.
They just keep coming. For every wraith he cuts down, three more enter through the door.
Two ropes fall down the opening of the pit.
I slowly tilt my head back, pain radiating down my spine as I look up. I watch through swollen eyes as two soldiers make shortwork of the climb, landing heavily in the middle of the chaos. One in a ballistic vest, gauntlets on his wrists and forearms. An assassin ready to strike. The other is wearing the same uniform as I am, just not gray.
The look on his face is another story altogether.
Ambrose looks at my injured state and lets out a roar that shakes the walls.
