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His claws graze over my thigh. “You don’t belong exclusively to me, Fiona. And you still love him, don’t you?”
I bite my lip. “I don’t think I ever stopped.”
He hums in acknowledgement as he continues to slide his claws over my thigh. “All I meant to say is that not all of your men will require the same thing from you. Most of us might appreciate your fire, but the pilot has been…wounded. He requires your kindness most of all.”
“I have to admit, you’re the last person I expected to get relationship advice from,” I mutter.
“It isn’t relationship advice,” he repeats, the words strange coming out of his mouth. “I just know how to lay a trap. You need to understand what kind of bait to put in a trap.”
“I hate that,” I laugh.
“But would you expect anything else from me?” he asks, his voice getting rougher. He’s exhausted–so am I.
“No,” I say. “I wouldn’t.”
And as I drift off to sleep, I realize that’s exactly what I would expect from him…and I still need to learn what Kye wants from me if I want to get him back.
CHAPTER TWENTY
FIONA
We arrived in Borealis only minutes ago and my nerves are already making it hard to think. Kye won’t talk to me yet, and I know I need to handle that. But first, I need to handle this. If we manage to get the Hyperboreans on our side, then maybe Lamia won’t be so hard to defeat after all.
I trace my fingertips over the clasps of my Merati armor, trying to breathe deeply. Even if things go poorly—and there’s no reason why they would—we have an escape plan. A few key people will wait on the ship while Orion, Ryker and Aramis keep Nereus and I safe.
It should be fairly simple. Just a conversation. If it goes well, we should be able to avoid the annihilation of an entire world.
No big deal.
“Are you ready?” Nereus asks. He looks a bit nervous, long hair braided with golden rings, a form-fitting white tunic with v-neck that shows off the swirls of ink over his body and a dramatic white cape that swishes after him highlighting his tall, lithe physique.
The cape is for warmth. When we landed, this place looked like Antarctica.
He looks amazing. It’s just a shame we’re all dressed up to go talk to some of the scariest beings in the universe.
I nod. “Yes,” I say. “I’m ready.”
The hatch to the Wrath opens and a rush of cold air swoops in, chilling me to the bone. Even under the layers of armor and clothes I’m wearing, something about this place feels sinister.
I tell myself not to be afraid. We’re halfway submerged down a series of circular cut corridors, with icicles hanging from above. It’s so dark here that I feel much more comfortable with a glow light in my hand—a sort of floating golden ball that clings to me like static—but I don’t think the rest of my party feels the same way. In fact, I think most of them wish we weren’t here at all.
The light bounces off the glass, catching off the reflection of the ice and snow around us. I shudder. “I don’t understand why they have these walkways,” I say. “I thought they could fly?”
“They aren’t for them,” Nereus replies, his voice a whisper too. Except it doesn’t matter—the way these corridors are designed, everything echoes back to us. There’s no way to be stealthy down here. They must know we’re coming. “The Boreans could live on the surface, if they chose to. They prefer it down here because it’s dark. These corridors are essentially logistical. Ways for them to move whatever product they might need to their living spaces.”
“Like Elixir?” I ask, my voice foreign to my own ears as it ripples back to the end of the corridor.
“Yes,” Nereus says. Ryker walks in front of us along with Aramis, and Orion keepswatch behind us, his tail swishing softly behind him. “But other things, too. I expect most Hyperboreans supervise the delivery of Elixir themselves, but that isn’t the only thing they will need shipped to their homes. They need food, services. This is also probably how they’ll deliver the help. I mean, the help probably carved these corridors.”
A shiver runs down my spine. “Ner,” I say, my footsteps slowing. “What do you mean by the help?”
Maybe it’s my imagination, but it feels like everyone stops breathing. “Boreans are only a spacefaring species by necessity,” he replies. “But they spend most of their lives surrounded by luxury and comfort, extending their natural lifespans with Elixir. And these walkways are created by the people who are abducted and indentured by them. If the Boreans believe these people are good servants, they will grow accustomed to them and they might get Elixir too.”
“Wait,” I say, a knot tightening at the pit of my stomach. “Are you saying that they keep them alive to…serve them for as long as they want them to?”
“That’s an oversimplification, but yes,” Nereus says. “The Boreans prefer not to exert themselves. They eat and drink and fuck, like most other species, but they don’t do it for procreation.”
“So what happened to the people who built these tunnels?”
