Maylo
I love it when they scream. The way the sound bounces off the stone walls, rattles around, makes the blood in my head sing. Like music, but better—because it’s mine. And I made it.
I stalk back and forth. Back and forth. Just letting him bleed a little more. It’s more fun when it’s drawn out.
Sharp, sudden pain spears right through my chest.
Is he trying to play? I freeze, grin splitting wider, wider, before it snaps into a snarl. No weapons are sticking out of me.
Something’s wrong.
I’ve felt her panic before, when I wanted to taste her fear in the locker room. Her flailing little emotions, like sparrows banging themselves against the bars of my mind. I can box those away—tiny boxes, neat little stacks, close the lid until it’s time to feel. Easy. But this? This I can’t box. This rips the boxes apart.
She’s in danger. She must be. Whoever is scarring my bond better prepare for a rough few days because that’s my job. Her fear is mine.
I spin on my prisoner, still chained up, half-conscious, bleeding. With one hand, I grab him by the throat and slam him against the wall. His eyes bulge, pretty little whites showing.
“You’re a transporter?” I sing sweetly. Then venom. “Yes?”
“Y-yes—” he croaks, throat crushed.
“YOU WILL TAKE ME TO ACADEMY HOLLOW. NOW. IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIFE.” I yell, voice rough.
The air folds around us. Transporting is like breathing for me now since we have them all over the prison, and in the next heartbeat I step out of the shadows. Behind me, the transporter meat bucket collapses to the floor, wheezing. His chains are gone. He must’ve opted to leave them behind. That’s fine. He can try to escape.
See? Generous. I’m practically a saint.
The tug of the bond drags me forward, straight to the building she’s in. I can sense them. Rebels. My little stormcloud didn’t make it far past the wards.She must’ve been running.
Silly little Stormcloud.You can’t outrun destiny.
I can feel another familiar presence as I scout around the building. Standing in the dark, I find Atticus Willshire, Mr. Head-Shoved-So-Far-Up-His-Own-Ass-He-Can-Taste-It.
I take a second to curse silently the fact that I have to share a bond with him…
As soon as I reveal myself to him, he flips around, holding up a peculiar knife that I’d really like to play with.
“What are you doing here, Villanox?” Every syllable bristles with controlledoutrage.
“Now’s not the time for questions, little Willshire. Now’s the time for action—which, clearly, you’re unfamiliar with.”
His jaw ticks. “I don’t have time for your games, Villanox—”
Blah blah blah. Gods, his voice is boring. I tune him out, tilt my head back, imagine walking inside, ripping heads off, scooping my stormcloud into my arms—preferably naked—and striding into the sunrise. But no. Not yet. It’s not time.
“Baby Willshire,” I purr, pressing my hand over his mouth and shoving him against the wall. “Time to be quiet.”
I feel him pushing against my mind—silly little boy, trying his tricks. He doesn’t know that I know. Best to keep it that way.
“You are going to go in and save our stormcloud.”
He stares at me like I’m insane. Which is fair. That’s how most people look at me. So, he just looks at me normally.
I dig into my cloak and pull out two crystals. Heat builds in my palm as I feed a little of my power into each. I slam one into his hand. “You will use this one. She will use that one.” As I place the other in his jacket pocket. He moves to shove me away.
“You will owe me a favor for these, baby Willshire. I had to trade some awfully brutal services for these. Sure, it was fun but that’s not the point.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, you lunatic—” He cuts himself off, staring down at his arm. Or where his arm should be. “What the hell—”
