If they can pop up anywhere, why even bother running?I thought.They’ll find us wherever we go.And I would be dead, one way or another.
The fear I’d experienced the night before when my skin was burning had been overwhelming and terrible—I’d felt like I was drowning. But this was different—this fear made me numb and cold.
And then, much sooner than I was expecting, the car stopped.
By the time I lifted my head, Octavian and Radven had already jumped out. Alastor practically threw me into Octavian’s arms.
The big, blue-eyed brother didn’t throw me over his shoulder as Alastor had. Instead, he scooped me up in his arms like a baby and began running.
We were at their home. As Octavian darted up the front steps, I twisted my head and looked down their driveway, expecting to see dozens of shadowy Tendrils flailing in our wake, but there was nothing. The entire estate was perfectly still—I don’t even think a blade of grass moved.
Somehow, that unnatural stillness was evenmoreterrifying.
The brothers ran as if death was on our heels. They didn’t even bother closing the doors of their fancy sports car, instead leaving the vehicle flung open like some mechanical, cherry-red butterfly.
Radven still had his knife out, and Alastor pulled one of his own out his belt. The pair of them furiously scanned our surroundings as they darted up the stairs behind us. Clearly, the threat was still very real.
When we got inside, I noticed that the familiarshiverhad returned, and that it was strongest in the places where Octavian’s skin touched mine. It wasn’t painful yet—and certainly not as distracting as the throbbing, burning pain coming from the welt by my elbow—but it was getting stronger.
“You can put me down,” I said, tugging on Octavian’s shirt.
He glanced down at me without breaking his stride. “I’m faster.”
I didn’t argue that point. And he seemed to know where he was going, so I just clung to him and tried to enjoy the ride in his muscled arms—at least as much as I could enjoy anything when I was potentially moments away from death. And when theshiverin my skin served as a reminder of how much more pain might come.
I turned my head, pressing my cheek into his chest. His natural scent wasn’t as strong as his brother’s, but it was distinct—like musk and amber, natural and warm. It was the sort of scent that would have lulled me into sweet dreams under different circumstances. But there was something deeper there, too—a sharper scent that reminded me of the wilderness.
And of blood.
I jerked my head up, startled. But either Octavian chose to ignore my reaction or he was too preoccupied to notice it, because he didn’t even glance down at me, didn’t even break his stride. For the first time since meeting him, I realized that there might be another side to Octavian, one that wasn’t all charm and protectiveness.
He carried me down into their secret lair, and only when he reached the bottom of the steps did he finally set me on my feet. Radven and Alastor were just behind us.
“We don’t have much time, Marigold.” My name sounded luscious in Octavian’s deep rumble, but there was no time to appreciate it.
I twisted around, still expecting the Tendrils to pop out again at any moment. “Time for what?”
When I turned back to Octavian, he was holding that strange, starfish-like artifact I’d noticed on display the last time I was here. It looked much smaller in his huge hand.
“This is from our world,” he said. “It’s a powerful relic there. Here, it is mostly useless. But you should be able to feel its essence.”
Tentatively, I reached toward him. Right when I was about to touch it, though, he abruptly drew back.
“This may cause you pain,” he said. “Just like last night. You understand that, don’t you?” His eyes bored into mine, concern swirling in their depths. “You still have a choice, Marigold. You always have a choice.”
“Except the other option is death,” Radven cut in. “The curse knows who you are. The Tendrils won’t stop now, not unless you break the curse completely. Even if you walk away, they will find you.” Somehow, when I wasn’t looking, he’d grabbed three sheathed swords—probably from a hidden compartment somewhere in this lair—and he handed one to each of his brothers.
“She still has achoice,” Octavian insisted, holding the artifact in one hand and his sword in the other. “We will not take that from her.”
I had no way of confirming if what Radven said was true, but it sounded terrifyingly plausible.
“I’ll do it,” I told Octavian. “Give the relic to me.”
He still hesitated, but his desire for me to break the curse—or perhaps to avoid death—won out. He extended the strange object to me once more, and I reached out and grabbed it before I could change my mind.
He was right—the moment I touched it, theshivery sensation that had been building under my skin intensified, becoming instantly, acutely uncomfortable—though not quite painful yet.
“W-what…” Even my voice sounded shaky. “What does this do?”
