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CHAPTER ONE
BLAZE
Who’s afraid of the big, bad wolf? Me. That’s who.
Though ‘wolf’ is a bit of a misnomer.WolvesI can handle. I’ve dealt with a few over the years, both the mundane and magical variety.Hellhoundsare another creature entirely and I have three on my tail.
Yeah, so I’m basically screwed.
Morningstar’s camp is situated near Bridgeport, where he and his soldiers are preparing to board their ships and sail toward Delorood. With dark fae on board to enchant their ships, they’ll cut their travel time in half, arriving in the port city in days, rather than the week and a half it should take. I already managed to hand a forged missive to one of Morningstar’s men, informing him of Kronos’ plans to usurp him. There’s no telling if that letter will give him pause.
One thing I do know?Ican’t afford a pause. Slowing even a little will give the hellhounds the opportunity they need to leap at my back, taking me down to the soft earth. If that happens, it’s only a question of how I die, not if. Will they sear the meat off my bones while I’m alive and screaming, or will they tear my throat out before they start feasting on my guts? I’d really rather forego both, thank you very much.
Luckily, Belle enchanted my cloak before we parted ways. The outside is as scarlet and eye-catching as a spurt of blood. Turned inside out, though, it adopts the color of my surroundings, allowing me to better blend with the terrain. Near Bridgeport, though, the tree cover is heartlessly scant, the giant maples and oaks giving way to the scrubby undergrowth the coast favors. None of those scrubby trees are tall enough to scale or wide enough to hide behind—not even with my slender frame. Not that climbing would help me much anyway. All the hellhounds would have to do is rub their flaming flanks against a tree and I’d be stuck clinging to what would essentially become a large matchstick.
Still, the cloak is the only thing keeping the ‘wolves’ from getting a good idea of where to leap. One occasionally tries, landing feet behind me and a little to my right or left, kicking up clods of silty earth that smack into the backs of my calves. It takes all my strength not to yelp in sudden fright when I feel them nipping at my heels. Every inch of me is slick with sweat, both from my panicked flight and the heat at my back.
Somehow, impossibly, the bastards seem to behotterthan I remember. I’m immune to my own flames and I’m also hard to burn in general, but it doesn’t mean that Ican’tburn or that breathing in smoke won’t eventually choke the life from me. Hellhounds could still end me, my unique abilities just mean that I’ll be in pain for a long time before it’s over. Yay me.
It’s tempting to leap into the sea or keep running until I find a river wide enough that they can’t pass it easily, but I’m not keen on either option. If I’m soaked to the skin, it’s harder to produce flames and they’re my only way of defending myself. True, it’s not impossible, but it is more difficult. Furthermore, I’m not sure the hellhounds are the only enemies I face and I don’t want to essentially disarm myself until I know I’m in the clear.
Not to mention what the water could do to the artifices that Belle made for me years ago. I hadn’t had the heart to tell Beacon when we’d seen each other for the first time in years, but I’m not as unscathed as I might otherwise appear. The battles that separated us took my sight. I can still make out the difference between light and dark, and some colors, but for the most part, I’m blind.
It’s not obvious if you’re looking at me, but I wear two small nubs of enchanted metal on either side of my eyes, easily hidden by the fall of my scarlet hair. The nubs help me to see (since my own eyes failed a while ago). Regardless, the numbs sting like a bitch when I put them into my temples, the little spider-like tines biting into my skin every time. Still, the pain is worth being able to see where I’m going. I can navigate well enough through sound and feel most times, but with Morningstar’s generals on the loose again, I need the advantage of sight too. I’ll be glad to get rid of the painful little nubs when this whole mess is over. But until then, I’m stuck.
A howl sounds so close to me that I scream. It’s stupid to let out a wail that will draw anything else in the woods toward me, but I can’t help it. It’s just human nature to react to sound and the burn of intense heat so near one’s back. At least I’m not like some of the Guild members who laugh like maniacs when they’re frightened. It always seemed a tad psychotic to me. Who laughs in the face of destruction? Madmen, that’s who.
I juke left, barely squeezing through the gap between two thick trunks. It’s a miracle that my cloak doesn’t snag as I clear them, but I land on the other side with only a little dirt on my clothes to show for it. The hellhound on my tail lets out a furious howl. It has to go around the trunks, earning me a few precious seconds. If I can just reach the port and steal a craft, I could escape these bastards or at least trick them into wading into the deep salt water, whereby their flames would be doused. Furthermore, Queen Aria might have sentries near the shore, ready and willing to drown the bastard hellhounds.
I’m so close.
I can hear the murmur of voices ahead, the coarse tones of sailors making my heart beat faster.
I’m pretty sure I can make it without being captured.
Which is why it’s so completely horrible when a weight rides me to the ground. My legs fold and I go down with a fresh shriek. My vision goes white for a second when the impact with the ground rattles one of Belle’s artifices. The vision in one eye flickers like a dying flame for a few seconds before suddenly returning once more. I buck up, pushing my attacker only an inch off my back. I expect the lick of flames to consume my cloak, my hair, and my face but... the flames don’t come.
I wriggle onto my back with difficulty and find a naked man on top of me, using every inch of his lean frame to keep me pinned. My vision is still swimming—so much so that I’m wondering if I just simply imagined this guy? I mean—what’s he doing being totally stark naked? He might have actually damaged one of the little metal nubs in my temples, which will be disastrous for me. Either way, I can’t make out his face clearly. It’s a golden blur. Before I can figure out just who or what he is, something wraps around my throat. A broad, blunt-fingered, inhumanly warm hand wraps around my throat, squeezing hard.
The last thing I catch before the blackness drags me under is the huff of a hellhound’s breath and the choking smell of sulfur all around me.
###
There’s little difference between waking and sleeping. When I open my eyes, everything is murky shadow, and I know it isn’t a blindfold or the darkness of my surroundings that has stolen my sight. Belle’s metal artifices are absent, leaving tiny, stinging holes where they should be. I reach up to touch the wounds, to try to get some idea of the damage I’ve sustained. Or rather, Itryto. But my hands are bound together in front of me, rough rope immobilizing me from wrist to elbow. Which is overkill. I’m blind and without my hands to guide me through... wherever I’ve ended up, I’m more likely to hurt myself than escape or injure my captors.
I flip over onto my belly, using my elbows and knees to scoot forward. The ground beneath me has changed from silty soil to hard stone. Hmm, I’m probably on a cave floor, judging by the smell of stagnant water and old dust that pervades the place, not to mention the uneven ground beneath me. There’s no shifting light overhead to give me any direction with which to orient myself, which only confirms my fears. I have to be extremely careful, even if I somehow manage to free myself. What good is being blind going to do me? I could end up fleeing in the wrong direction, moving further into a labyrinthine network of tunnels, only to find myself a sitting duck for whatever comes along and decides to kill or eat me. Death by hellhounds or at the hands of their masters isn’t ideal, certainly, but it would be fairly quick. So, there’s that.
I continue my slow trek across open ground, half-expecting a boot to come down hard on my hands or ankles, stomping until my bones splinter. But there’s nothing. Now that the ringing in my ears has faded, I realize I can’t hear anything but the ambient noise of the cave. And Iamsure it’s a cave now. The air currents, the drip-drip of water off stalactites, and the scuttle of small creatures are all too familiar to ignore. I’ve spent my share of time in caverns, hiding in dark rock shelves until enemy soldiers pass me by.
What’s strange is what Ican’thear. There’s no tell-tale sound of a man’s breath nearby, no rasp of his clothing as he shifts to move after me. I can’t hear footfalls coming in my direction. It’s as if I’m alone. But that can’t be right, can it? The hellhounds wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble to leave me unguarded on the cave floor. Unless, of course, they planted me deep inside a stone maze with no hope of getting out in time to do my allies any good. Even then, it seems like a risky plan. They don’t know what I’m capable of. For all they know, I can pulverize rock and blast my way out of this godforsaken place. I’m not Belle Tenebris, but I do have my own flavor of magic.
No, there has to be another motive, and I need to escape before my captors enlighten me as to their reasoning.
“Right,” I whisper to myself. “Escape now, Blaze. You can panic later.”
Solid plan.
And, yes, sometimes I give myself common sense advice. It’s a pity I rarely listen.
