Fae can’t have scars. They heal too quickly for anything to permanently mark them. But this male does.
Could it be the lack of magic on Alyssium?
The Beating turning him mortal?
If that’s the case, how have none of the other prisoners had marks like him?
The prisoner moves, smelling like a storm about to unleash. Like the first drop of rain before the sky starts to pour. Like the wind clacking its teeth. I shiver as he towers over me.
And then he’s gone.
The prisoner turns just as more rebels step out of the split in the shadow.
He moves like death and war. Unforgiving.
In a blink, he’s stolen the blade from one rebel’s hands and planted it in another’s throat. One of the rebels makes a move for me, and the prisoner spins around, fighting like he hasn’t been weakened by centuries spent locked in a cell. He slices the hand that reaches for me clean off, his teeth gritting.
The rebel’s eyes widen as he looks up at the prisoner. “You can’t. She’s?—”
The prisoner drives the blade through the rebel’s chest. “She isn’t yours.”
He moves like lightning strikes. At one end of the space, then the other. Moving in blinks. Taking down one rebel after another.Heads roll, blood sprays. And I’m frozen, watching the battle unfold, confused as to why the prisoner is fighting for me.
My head swims, either from the gruesome sight or blood loss, and I stumble back, deeper into the cell.
Another rebel slips from the shadows, directly behind the prisoner. I barely open my mouth with a squeak of a warning before the prisoner turns and shoves a dagger up through the rebel’s throat.
“I appreciate the heads-up.” He smirks, glancing over his shoulder at me.
My eyes narrow. “That’s not what I was doing.”
“Liar.”
There’s no time for a sassy comeback as more rebels flood in. But the prisoner takes each one. Bones snapping and bodies piling. One rebel loses his head before I have the time to blink. Through blurry eyes, I watch the hazy figures fall. Until the last one crumples on the ground, and the prisoner turns to face me.
Golden eyes gleaming in the darkness.
“Thank you.” My heart races, and I probably shouldn’t thank him until I know he doesn’t just plan on killing me next, but either way, he saved me from them.
The prisoner opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn’t get the chance.
Something shifts in the darkness behind him, and before I can warn him, a blade slices through the center of his heart.
Chapter 6
Elorie
“No.”
My scream pierces between my temples. A mind-numbing echo rattles through me.
The blade is tugged back, and it’s as if the prisoner doesn’t feel the wound at first. His golden eyes sharpen. Shadows slowly cast over them. With a swift turn, he spins, facing the rebel who just stepped through the shadows. And in one bloody move, he shoves his hand through the Fae’s chest, ripping his heart out.
Time slows, and I can’t catch my breath. I can’t suppress the panic swelling as blood continues to pour from the prisoner’s wound.
He drops the rebel’s heart, and my stomach turns.
I expect the rebel to crumple to the ground like the rest of them, but shadows split on the wall. The prison opens its maw, revealing a dark, swirling tunnel. Twisting stones and nothingness stretch behind him, swallowing the rebel’s body whole.
