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Windows in a musty dungeon where…
Where he’d told me a story.
Of being born wrong. Angry and twisted and cruel in a den full of monsters. Praised for drawing blood, for his cunning, for besting the other boys his age.
Of a little girl he loved. Loved, but shouldn’t have.
The little girl he hurt. Out of anger, of jealousy, not understanding why she wouldn’t fucking look at him.
The woman she became.
The way that he broke her. Betrayed her to honor a Bond with his queen.
The way he hated himself for enjoying it. For being just like the men that hurt him. That brutalized his innocence.
Born wrong. Bred wrong. Reared wrong. Everything was wrong.
But this—this would finally earn their respect.
I was looking at a young man who’d lost everything and thrown himself on a blade—too chicken to do the ‘honorable thing’ and take his own life—and volunteered for a suicide mission.
Because I’d never seen eyes like his.
One dark blue. And one gold.
EIGHTY-NINE
REMEMBER, ALLY
ALVARA
“Nix?” I blinked, the name appearing like a mirage between us. Mercurial and fleeting.
“Atta girl. These cocky fuckers thought they’d break Death’s fucking Angel. Not even I’m that ambitious.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Never been more grateful to be a nobody, lemme tell ya’. Now hurry the fuck up and read me—drink my blood, Ally. See the truth. Or these assholes are gonna use you against our people.”
A prickle at the base of my spine crept its way up my scalp, stinging like thorns and nettles.
“Moros stole you away to break you—to bend you until you snapped so he could sink his claws in you and turn you loose on Grayshell. Remember, Ally.”
Grayshell. I must’ve breathed the word aloud, because he was nodding vigorously. “You’re their second and based on what I saw that night, they still fucking need you, so drink, Alvara.”
See the truth. I didn’t understand. I glanced to Moros, and even from here I could see his eyes were slits. Darkness webbed away from them. That tingling intensified. Somehow that was the only confirmation I needed as the ground shook, beasts bellowing into the space.
His eyes snapped to something behind me, voice harsh as he barked, “Now, Alvara! Drink!”
I lunged. Pain slammed through my skull like someone had taken an axe to it, but Nix’s mismatched eyes remained pleading. Fighting through the agony reaching its talons down my spine, I slammed my lips to his outstretched, scarred arm. And drank.
Images flashed through my mind so quickly they blurred together, but one thing was clear:
I knew his people—knew his clan. Balance keepers. Cruel, but efficient. Creatures of shadow and vindication.
A girl with deep red hair saving a baby bird. Innocence. Innocence, he envied. Innocence, he wanted to protect.
The girl, older, destroying his people. No longer innocent.
