The guard’s steps echoed, his boots thudding dully as he went, and Niko placed the vile plate of food on the floor, pushing it as far away from him as possible to avoid the revolting stench. The prison quieted, save for the sound of metal against stoneware as his fellow inmates, the next cellblock over, partook in their sorry excuse for dinner. A vestige of guilt flickered inside Niko; they were mere humans, without the enhanced senses of a Shadow. Should he warn them that their meal would doom them to a night huddled over their waste buckets, as their bowels sought to turn themselves inside out?
Under other circumstances, he would have done it, even if it meant punishment at his jailers’ hands. But now, he could ill afford anything that would draw his captors’ focus. He needed them to ignore him—poor, broken creature of the Dark, condemned to die for their entertainment. And isolated as he was, the only way to command the other prisoners’ attention would be to shout, which would bring the guards running.
No, they were on their own. At least the food was only spoiled, not poisoned. And at least he would be long gone from here by the time it wreaked its havoc. He shuddered to think of the assault on his senses otherwise.
He sank onto the cold stone, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall. His black dog was a predator; from it, he had learned the art of patience, of stalking his prey. He would wait, then, until the prison grew silent around him, until snores flickered from the next wing over and the guards had grown complacent.
Images flickered behind his lids: Alexei standing high in the gallery of the arena, the silver eyes that marked him as a Shadow flickering from Niko to Katerina and back again. Ana beside him, back ramrod straight, her expression grim. That wastrel of a prince, rings glinting in the sun as he turned his thumb downward, signing their death warrants. Berezin’s smug, self-satisfied grin as he pressed his blessed blade to Niko’s throat. And Katerina, devastation stamped on every feature as she peered into his eyes as if begging him to come back to himself.
It had taken every bit of his strength to force those two words—Have faith—past the barrier that blocked their bond. Even now, he didn’t know if she’d heard him.
Around him, the prison grew silent. Soon, then.
His shades stirred, happy to be put to use. To consume. They were prisoners, as much as Niko was. Prisoners of his conscience, he supposed. What was left of it.
He would control them, until he couldn’t anymore. Until employing them in service of the Light had devoured the man he had once been. And then… Well, then it wouldn’t matter anymore. If he succeeded in defeating Gadreel, if the Void took him after he had done all he could to save his Dimi and defend Iriska, he would go, and welcome. Better to vanish into nothingness than to serve at Elena’s hands.
You are nothing but what I made of you, she whispered in his head, the way she did every night in his dreams. She did other things, too. Things he woke from with cold sweat dripping down his spine and the memory of her touch staining his skin.
He’d hoped that Katerina’s touch could erase Elena’s, and for a few incandescent moments in the clearing after the battle, it had. But the shades had come, and with them, the horror and the memories. His own body, a Shadow’s instrument in his black dog and out of it, had betrayed him. Deep inside his Dimi, the only place that had ever felt like home, he had surrendered control—and the shades had crept from him, twining around Katerina’s body as if they had the right. They had done the same the other night, hungry for her heat, and Saints help him, he had savored every moment of it. He could still taste her, sweet on his tongue.
He would never use her that way again, the way Elena had used him against his will. But he would fight for her, until the last bit of strength seeped from his body. He would bend the shades to his wishes and together, they would become an unstoppable force unlike anything Iriska had seen since the Grigori fell to earth. And if he had to cross every line for her, to blur right and wrong until the Saints themselves cried out for mercy, then he would do it. She deserved no less.
Yes, better for him to reign here and burn out in a blaze of cold glory than to cling to the remnants of his Light and kneel, shackled, at a Vila’s feet for eternity.
“Darkness, be my guide, not my jailer,” he whispered, and set his shades free.
They crept from him, slow at first, then faster, streaming along the floor of his cell and then twining up the bars. Though the onyx infused in the iron did nothing to repel them, they recoiled from the runes engraved on the metal, tangible evidence of the blessing with which every Shadow’s blades were imbued. That was fine; they did not need to linger here for long.
He focused, channeling that cold energy on the lock that held the cell door closed. The shades slipped inside, and he felt the shift in his own body as they expanded, contorting and reforming to fill the space. At last, they hissed. Take what is yours…leave no prisoners…
The vicious glee spread, consuming him until nothing lived inside him but that ancient, twisting hunger. And for once, he didn’t fight it. How could he be one with the shades, demanding they do his bidding, and separate from them at the same time? It was too much to ask. Maybe it always had been.
Bloodlust settled over him, red and craving. He would be free. He would free her. He would have his revenge, and revel in it. He would bring ruin as he had been ruined.
The shades slipped and slid within the lock with the delicacy of a lover, seeking purchase, and Niko’s breath came harder now. Victory gripped him as the tumblers began to turn.
The lock flipped, and the shades curled around the door, pulling it open. Rising to his feet, Niko strode forward, his shades clearing the way for him. But halfway to the door, he froze, head cocked, scenting the air. A growl simmered in his throat, echoing off the moldering stone walls, and his shades drew together, looming above him, a protection and a threat.
He was not alone.
Chapter Nineteen
ELENA
Restlessness clawed at Elena, driving her to pace her prison’s polished floors. For days now, she had been unable to sense her Shadow. It was as if a wall stood between them, one she couldn’t penetrate no matter how hard she tried.
Was he dead? No, surely not; she would have felt it. He was tethered to her, after all. But then, what had happened? Had Katerina managed to sever the connection Elena had forged when she’d cast the spell, binding Niko’s soul to hers? And if so, did that mean their bargain was forfeit…that her Shadow was no longer compelled to return to her side?
Nausea washed over Elena at the thought, and she sank onto the window seat, gulping the clove-spiked tea that one of Sammael’s minions had left for her. The weight of the Darkness that had become her constant companion, by turns oppressive as a raincloud and comforting as a blanket on a frigid day, crushed her lungs. Desperate for air, she clawed at her chest. Her vision darkened, narrowing, and she blinked, then blinked again, trying to clear it.
Light flooded her eyes, so bright she had to wipe away tears. Her hands were empty; the teacup had vanished. She glanced left, then right, and gasped. Somehow, she was standing on the sidewalk beneath her window in her frayed wedding gown, the brimstone-scented wind whipping the fabric around her ankles.
Except, she wasn’t really there at all. She lifted one of her trembling hands, only to find her flesh transparent; through it, she could make out the speckled limestone facade of Sammael’s palace. In a panic, she glanced up toward her room, and sucked in a breath: the smudge of her blonde hair was clearly visible, pressed against the glass.
There was only one explanation: Her body remained in the room where Sammael had imprisoned her, but somehow, her spirit walked free.
Elena straightened, her lips rising in a smile. This was nothing to be frightened of. This was an opportunity, and she had no intention of wasting it.
