She would do it all over again. For him, for Prue, for anyone she loved. He knew that much.
“Live, Mona,” he urged her. “And I will try to do the same. I swear it.”
Evander pressed one last kiss to her lips, this one much more tender. Her lips were soft and smooth, and he wanted to taste them one last time.
Then he released her and stepped away. If he continued to touch her, to hold her, he knew he would never let her go. His eyes lifted, glancing behind her to see the entire cavern of witches watching them, unabashed.
Evander’s eyebrows drew together. He knew he should feel embarrassed that so many people had witnessed his fight with Mona. But he couldn’t bring himself to care—not when this might be the last time he ever saw her.
He looked at her then, drinking her in fully. Everything from her long and disheveled hair, her dirty and bloodstained tunic and trousers, and her tear-stained cheeks. He wanted to memorize every feature, every blemish and mark on her body.
He nodded at her, trying to convey everything he felt in that singular look.
Then, he turned and left, striding down the tunnel toward the portal that would take him to his future.
Or his doom.
PUNISHMENT
PRUE
The privacy cavesconsisted of one long tunnel that resembled a hallway, with several rows of small, closet-sized caves on each side. Piles of pillows and blankets took up the floor space in each hollow, providing a soft cushion for sleeping. Snores echoed throughout the tunnel, indicating other witches were taking advantage of the makeshift sleeping quarters. There were no doors, but it was far better than trying to sleep on the rocky ground in the main cavern, surrounded by other people.
Prue and Cyrus followed Wren down to the very end of the tunnel. The last niche was farther from the others, allowing at least a modicum of privacy. Prue was certain if she shouted or screamed, the others in the tunnel would hear. But no one would overhear a conversation in hushed tones.
Cyrus was rigid beside her, unease rippling off his body in waves. It put her on edge to see him like this. He washaunted. Tormented. She could see it in the darkness of his eyes, the set of his jaw, the downturn of his lips.
He was not himself.
But then again… she wasn’t, either. The moment Lagos’s neck snapped kept replaying in her mind, over and over.
Crack.
The twist of Atlas’s hands.
The way Lagos’s body crumpled.
The feral grin on the Titan’s face, as if heknewhow much Lagos’s death would break her.
He hadn’t done it in self-defense. He had done it to wound her.
“Supper will be served in an hour,” Wren said, jerking Prue from her anguished thoughts. “Just shout if you get lost. Someone will find you.” She offered a wry smile, then turned and walked back up the tunnel, leaving Prue and Cyrus to stand awkwardly in their privacy cave.
Prue stared at the pale blue comforter and cream-colored pillows that lined the floor. She should feel exhausted—her body still ached from her injuries, and a dull throb pulsed through her skull. Her head felt foggy as she adjusted to the sounds around her being much duller, since she only had one ear now.
But her mind was racing, her thoughts frantic and unhinged. She would certainly not be resting.
Cyrus inhaled deeply and turned to face her, his expression guarded. “What do you need? What can I do for you?”
Prue looked at him, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. He stared at her chin, that same hollow look on his face.
“Cyrus,” she whispered, drawing closer to him.
He took a step back. “Stop.”
She froze. “Stop what?”
“Whateverthisis…” He gestured between them vaguely. “Stop it. I don’t deserve it.”
