My life is in my own hands. Kelter is chained to the wall. Kaleida and Milo are back to battling roots, nearly overpowered by the purple menaces. And Eli… where did he go?
Sitting in a growing puddle of red from my foot and thigh, I look up at Zandrite’s towering figure above me, the blood still flowing from his chest down his belly.
“One last Scrape. Death is hard to come by in the Immortal Realm. I’ll miss it the most.” His smirk makes my throat burn with bile.
“You want to fightme?” Suddenly dying feels real, my body fragile, breakable. He’s huge. But I’m not here to be stepped on like I have been my whole life. I push myself up, grateful for the magic masking my pain. “It will be your final regret.”
“I want a reason to put my hands on you before I squeeze the life from your mortal body, some foreplay before I extract your essence. I won’t regret that.” He pats the slice over his heart as though the moment were sentimental, bloodying his hand, then reaches for my neck.
My hands slam onto his bare chest, pushing pain through the thick layer of curly hair until I twist out of reach and try to limp away. But his sudden grunt has me looking back.
Eli sits on Zandrite’s shoulders, his legs wrapped around his neck and a hand on each ear, pulling. He must have dropped from the roots above.
“I will make you suffer for every thought you’ve had of her!” Eli holds one ear in place and grabs his knife. “Do you fucking hear me?” Then he slices it off. Zandrite merely groans in frustration, a god-level tolerance for pain.
I put all my focus on getting the roots to go after Zandrite. They reach for Eli’s head instead, three of them ruffling his curls and another caressing his shoulders. Dammit!
“Maybe stick to knives for now,” Eli says, taking the time to grin down at me.
“At least they’re not choking you anymore!”
A fresh stream of blood pours from the side of Zandrite’s head and onto Eli’s thigh. He jerks around, trying to get him to fall. But Eli holds him tighter, wrenching back his neck and prying open his mouth. I watch in delighted horror as he shoves the severed ear inside. Thendown his throat along with two fingers. Zandrite coughs and gags, almost stumbling into his throne. Eli stays atop him without trouble as he pulls on the shell of his other ear, then cuts straight down. Death brims in his eyes.
He’s undeniably perfect.
Zandrite’s face warps out of shape with the furious roar that mounts in his chest and erupts from his throat.
Good. Take him down so I can kill him.I tear my eyes away from the gory mess, drop back down and crawl toward Kelter. Past the bloody mess Eli made of Zandrite. Past the red splattered throne. Past Kaleida and Milo dodging blows. I feel a resistance to my movements—probably Eli trying to stop me. But he’s too occupied with Zandrite to gain full control.
Roots dart after me as I crawl across the room, still not following my command, but not attacking either. I stop in front of Kelter and force myself to a precarious stand. It barely looks like him. He’s even thinner now, his ribs protruding from his chest, his stomach sucked inward. His hip bones are sharp, pants hanging so loose and low that he’s indecent, golden hairs showing below his waist.
I still see my friend, though. The hollows of his cheeks are deeper, causing his ears to appear to stick out farther, which makes me want to smile despite everything. The smell of potent urine stings my nose. Cracks part his lips in six places, crusted with blood. But it’s the soft hum from the back of his throat that eviscerates my heart. He’s trying to talk but doesn’t have the strength. Red lightning strikes have taken over the whites of his eyes. He winces through every slow blink, his head moving sluggishly from side to side, as if he were saying no.
Kelter.I mouth his name, unable to give voice to the pain of seeing him like this. I take a weak step forward and hug him, my hands finding their way between his back and the smooth wall. How could we be linked, and I had no idea what he was going through? I turn my head and rest it on his chest. His heartbeat is faint.
To his side, a hook cut from bone is driven into the wall. A lock stone hangs from it, as though the cuffs and chains are only for show. I rise onto my tiptoes to lift the strap from the hook while glancing at Zandrite again and wobbling on my blood-soaked legs. He’s still fending off Eli’s knife attack, fresh stab wounds below his ribs.
I free Kelter’s ankles first, jamming the stone up against the lock. Itfalls open. I loosen the heavy chains and drag them aside. His skin is raw and bruised, purple indentations left where the metal pressed into him.
When I stand again, agony crimps his face. His hazel eyes are streaked dark brown. “Leave me,” he rasps.
“Eli lied. He said you wanted to stay behind.” I get as close to him as I can and reach the stone up to his wrists. If his arms weren’t bent, I wouldn’t be tall enough for the task.
“No,” he pleads as I release his arms. He drops all the way to the floor in a heap, so close to death he can’t function, can’t run out of here or fight. I sit by his side. I can’t feel what he feels or know what he thinks, but as his link, my own being suffers. My heart in particular. I can’t look at him like this. He’s not whole, not himself. I thought he’d be able to help us, but not like this.
“I lied to Eli,” Kelter forces out. “Lock me up again.”
His normally soft golden brown hair is in tufts and clumps. I push them from his face. “You’re okay.” I try to think of something more reassuring. “I’m going to kill Zandrite, then we’ll get out of here.”
Kelter pushes himself up and knocks me back, pinning me to the floor with a hand around my throat and a knee holding my hips down. He’s unrecognizable, his strength returning out of nowhere, freckles disappearing with the red of his cheeks. His eyes roam my face with such hunger and hostility that I shrink beneath him.
I turn my head toward Eli as Zandrite throws him backward. His spine slams into the marble floor. And the back of his head follows. The crack is fierce. Deafening. I’m not sure if it was the floor splitting in two—or his skull.
But an answer comes too quickly in the form of a black puddle around his head. He stares at the ceiling, unmoving.
Give him a minute. He’s not dead.I talk myself through it, but it doesn’t get any easier.
Kelter squeezes my neck tighter and turns my head so I’m looking up at him again. “I need…” he starts, but his entire body is shaking. It’s not pain and weakness that have him unable to function—it’s restraint.
