Or maybe they’ll sway our murder babies to the dark side and we’ll be royally fucked.
Smart or not, there’s no way Dorian or I will be able to land a killing blow on any of the three psychos if they turn on us. Despite giving him a hard time, the three of them have wormed their way into my shriveled little heart and I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Atlas or Lucien, though? Probably. If it meant protecting us, they’d do it so we wouldn’t have to, would bear that pain to save us from it. That isn’t to say they don’t care about them too, but the two of them are able to flip that emotional switch far better than I could ever dream.
A crash to our left may as well be a clap of thunder with as loud as it echoes in the halls. But it’s just a painting that lost its battle with gravity, the nail slipping free of the giant crack splitting the wall. The frame snaps upon impact, adding one more thing to the rubble piling up around us.
“I’m going to have a heart attack before we ever actually run into anyone.” Atlas groans, bracing his hands on his thighs as he bends over to draw a breath, briefly closing his eyes.
With a curse, Dorian swipes Atlas’ feet out from beneath him with a hard kick. An arrow flies through the air where his body was before his ass even hits the ground, Raziel darting down the hall in Lucien’s form to tackle the guard that capitalized on our distraction at the noise. There’s a series of grunts as my eyes strain to keep up with the blur of movements, and then the guard is screaming as Raziel snatches an arrow from his quiver and drives it through his eye.
“So I’m guessing we switched our votes to ‘no’ in regards to sparing any fae?” Lucien asks with dry humor, gripping Atlas’ hand to help him to his feet.
“To be fair, he didn’t even check the eyes; he fired at Atlas’ back,” Dorian points out. “One thing to spare someone getting attacked or that isn’t attacking us, and another to just let people shoot us and not expect there to be consequences.”
All of the commotion draws too much attention, the sound of footsteps racing from the adjoining hallway. Simply for the fact that we can hear them do I assume they’re guards coming to back up one of their own; the changelings move so fast, their steps are nearly silent.
“Come on.” Dorian grabs my hand and races in the opposite direction.
We aren’t here to fight in their war, we’re here for the sole purpose of trying to rein in the changelings to give Elorie a shot at reviving Cody. If we waste all of our energy on the guards, we won’t have any left to do what needs done. We’ll fight if we have no other choice, but if there’s an option of avoiding it, we’ll gladly take it.
Jumping over a fallen pillar, I toss out to Luce, “So you want me to do what exactly? Just hum a little diddy in the middle of the hallway until everybody’s singing Kumbaya and holding hands?”
He huffs out a breath as he puts one palm on the fallen pillar, throwing himself over sideways and landing with bent knees in a fluid motion. “It’s fun in your head, isn’t it?” he simply asks as we continue running. “Just a ridiculous hodgepodge of caffeinated chaos?”
Banking left, I lead them out of the main hallway to a series of shorter ones with frequent turns so that we have a better shot of losing them or finding somewhere to hide. “Pretty much,” I breathe, skidding to an abrupt stop.
Halfway down the hallway, two changelings toy with a lone guard, doing a damn good job of holding his own. He manipulates a stream of water into blocking their blows, throwing up a shield to guard his back while he sidesteps in a graceful dance to avoid them landing a death blow, whipping that water out to keep them on their toes or yank their wrists back before they break free.
I don’t want to steal their energy, because that’s just going to piss them off, and it will actually make them a bigger threat. But looking into their cold eyes, I’m not exactly inspired to do a little jig in the hallway amongst the fallen bodies and sing about how I’m the best thing ever.
I freeze, crippled by doubt and not sure why I ever thought this was a good idea. Lucien doesn’t have the same reservations, jumping right in with Azazel and Loki to intercept the changelings, helping the guard. The man gives them a cautious look, but doesn’t sneer at their help.
Raziel stays with us, appointing himself our personal guard, always convinced that Atlas would keel over if it wasn’t for his efforts. And every second that I stay rooted to the spot, paralyzed, I watch Lucien fight for people he owes no allegiance to for my sake and spiral even farther.
When they manage to pin the two changelings, the guard raises a hand like he means to deliver the killing blow when Lucien grabs his wrist. The guard’s eyes harden as he snarls at Lucien, but he’s having none of it.
“You can walk away with your life, or you can die here among your friends. Your choice.” Lucien eyes the guard, gripping his wrist so tightly that I’m astounded it doesn’t break.
Wrenching his arm free, the guard gets to his feet, backing up a step. “Who’s side are you even on?” he spits in Lucien’s direction, taking another step back as he sees that barely restrained rage in his amber gaze.
“Mine.” A single word, embodying all of the confidence that I’m lacking, and it’s wielded sharply enough that the guard doesn’t question it, jogging down the hall to follow the screams of his brethren.
The two changelings struggle, but Luce, Loki, and Azazel’s holds are steadfast, glancing up at me like I hold any of the answers. My voice lodges in my throat, and only a pitiful squeak comes out when I open my mouth, closing it just as swiftly.
“I think she’s got performance anxiety,” Dorian supplies, and as much as he thinks he hasn’t developed an ability yet, I wonder if he was actually the first one to, able to read minds as well as any telepath.
“Seriously?” Atlas turns to face me. “I was convinced that you thought your dick was bigger than anybody’s.”
Swallowing, I clear my throat. “I mean, obviously, but the mood just isn’t doing it for me.”
He raises an eyebrow. “What kind of mood are you after, beautiful?”
My heart starts sprinting, not from arousal, but fear.I can’t do this.
My mouth stays pressed into a thin line as I try to work through my mental block. When a pained shout sounds out not far away, we’re forced into motion, Luce and the changelings staring at the new ones and not sure what to do. On impulse, Lucien bashes his head into the one pinned beneath him, knocking it unconscious, and Loki follows his lead on the one beneath him.
Hefting them up so they won’t be murdered while vulnerable, we start running again. On the next bend, my knees threaten to give out. At the end of the hall, at the top of the stairs, Cody stands beside Elorie.
Even though he’s aged eighteen years since I last set eyes on him, it’s undoubtedly him. Pale blue hair above darker blue eyes, like he was preserved in ice for all of this time. His hair is the same shade as Elorie’s, but even that unfortunate trait doesn’t sully the aura he gives off, that state of innocence, like he’s the same six-year-old boy I remember.
