Winifred gracefully sprints across the dry leaves and twigs of the Melsheim Forest, barely making a sound as she chases her prey. The crisp air brushes against my skin, sending a shiver down my spine as I race after the misnac. The sound of the elk galloping in the distance is the only sound surrounding us. The sole of my foot pushes off a large boulder, propelling me into a nearby tree. I kick off it, thrusting myself further on Winnie’s trail. My own steps are equally silent. Years of training to keep myself light on my feet haven’t faded after almost a hundred and thirty-one years, give or take.
Winnie has caught her prey. Her paws sink deep into the flesh of the elk, blood and sinew caught in her large teeth. It reminds me of the day Cyan and I first found her. She was so small, and yet she took down boar three times her size so easily. Smiling at the memory of that tiny little misnac, I lower myself into a crouch, watching the now-large animal rip shreds of bloody meat away. Her ears tilt back and forward as if listening for something. I strained to hear what it was she could have heard, but all I could hear is her wet chewing.
She’s forgone her camouflage. Her magnificent horns are out in all their glory, curving around her ears. Their brown-bone colour shines in the stream of sunlight that cuts through the thick canopy of the forest. One set of eyes solely focuses on her kill while the other pair briefly glances over at me.
“You enjoying yourself?” I ask, collapsing onto my arse. I rest on my arms on my bent knee.
Winnie lets out a satisfied screech before pawing at the carcass, something she’s done since I first took her hunting. I shake my head, my breakfast attempting to claw its way back up my throat. Her large foot dips into the ripped opening, a wet sound as she searches for the organ she deems to be the most important.
“Win, please.” I cringe as she drops her face, her large teeth wrapping around a rib bone and snapping it free. “I’m fine. I don’t need part of your kill. Enjoy it.” It was a joke. I groan internally. You’d think after all this time, she’d have learnt that sometimes I need to speak aloud to feel less alone. Perhaps I should just learn to keep my mouth shut.
Winnie, having found what she deems to be the best part of the beast, carefully plucks the liver out and holds it carefully between her teeth, looking at me expectantly.
I sigh and reluctantly reach out, taking the large, brownish-grey organ. Winnie drops her arse onto the forest floor, her large tail swishing happily through the bloodied leaves. “Only for you, Win,” I say, lifting the still-warm liver to my mouth. Its silky exterior brushes against my lips as my teeth easily sink into the meat, and the iron-rich taste of blood fills my mouth, a vast improvement over the bitter taste of raw elk liver. Which is saying something.
Winnie’s red eyes blink happily as her long, forked tongue flicks across her lips and nose as I take another bite. When she’s satisfied that I am eating her offering, she turns back to the deceased beast before her and continues to eat her fill. I drop the piece of meat on the leaves behind me and wipe my bloody hands on my trousers.
Winnie’s whole body goes taut.
I open my mouth to apologise for discarding her offering, but her ears twitch again. Winnie’s hearing is far better than mine, and I strain to listen to what has her heckles raising. When I hear nothing but notice her claws sinking further into the bloodied ground, my hand finds the leather handle of my sword over my shoulder. As I draw the blade, it is a comforting feeling to know that those whose souls are trapped in there for eternity will never enter Vraska or the Afterlife.
Finally, I hear the subtle sound of wings cutting through the air. Hesper lands on a branch far enough away from Winnie. I can’t help but smirk about the standoff the two of them will soon encounter. Winnie positions herself over the dead elk, protecting it from Hesper.
“Tell the beast that I am not here for its kill,” Hesper hisses into my mind, which is still deeply disturbing.
“What—”
“You need to come to the town right away,” Hesper interrupts me. “Charleston has taken Cyan and Morana.”
Even before Hesper has finished speaking, I am on my feet, magic seeping through my veins and out around me, slowing time to race faster towards Datura.
The stench of the town is overwhelming, but it’s the last thing on my mind as I race across the rooftops. Usually, I would blend in more, not wanting unsuspecting citizens to glance up and spot someone jumping from rooftop to rooftop. Hesper silently flies overhead. The two guards on the roof of the government building raise their guns as I land on the rooftop. Their shouts are a muffled sound as I race towards them. The first—a stocky man—fires his gun. Time slows and I reach out, catching the bullet between my fingers and flicking it back in his direction, speeding time up on the small pebble of iron. It finds its mark in the shooter’s kneecap. I’m onto the next guard, my elbow crashing down onto their arm, holding the gun, snapping the bone and disarming them. Their scream is cut short as I grip their face, rendering their feeble attempts to disarm me useless, and knock their face into the brick wall beside the door. Before their body hits the floor, I swing open the door and stride down the stairs, straight to the basement. My heart beats erratically in my chest. It’s not adrenaline. I’m used to the race that sends through your body, but this seems different.
My sword is in my hand as I kick open the door to the basement.
Something sharp sticks me in the throat. I spin, my sword singing through the air, a swift blur of lilac. There’s a muffled scream as my blade slices through flesh and bone. I pull it back and swing it again, removing their head from their neck and trapping their soul forever. Another person who’ll never enter Vraska and be shepherded by the fae into the Afterlife. Another life taken and trapped. Another stain on my soul.
The room before me becomes blurry, my feet stumbling over one another. Someone steps forward and grabs my arm. I react too slowly, but react nevertheless. The gurgled sound of my assailant as my sword drives up in their stomach. Another soul. Another life. Another—
Something blunt knocks me in the back of my head, and everything goes dark.
A groan slips through my parted lips as my head rolls across my neck, a pain blooming at the base. The room becomes less of a blurry mess and more of a foggy haze as I blink. “C-Cyan?”
The mop of bloodied blonde hair next to me could only belong to my brother. A sob wracks his body, which is far more bloodied and bruised than I’ve seen it. Even at the hands of Atherton’s abuse, I’ve never seen Cyan this close to Vraska’s grasp. I try to take a quick inventory of his injuries. It sends a wave of panic coursing through me. It reminds me of what Hesper said.
“Morana?” I look around at Cyan’s bloody and broken body. Another heartbreaking sob shudders out of Cyan’s body. “Fuck,” I breathe. Her head rests against her chest, her dark hair a tousled mess and her usually rich skin tone is now a sickly pale that only clings to those who’ve passed through Vraska.
“You’re awake. Excellent.”
The slimy, egotistical voice of Edgar McQuoid echoes from the corner of the room. Cyan thrashes against his restraints, a broken sound ripping through him as he tries to kick his broken leg free.
“What have you done?” My voice breaks as Cyan thrashes his broken body against the chair, next to his lover’s body.
“A simple mistake, but as they say, you must crack a few eggs to make a cake. Perhaps now you and your brother will listen to me with a little more clarity.”
Edgar steps into view, his slicked-back hair and grey eyes boring into me as I seethe silently at his brash words.
“I will murder you,” Cyan snarls between gritted and broken teeth. “I will feel your blood on my hands and I will ravish—”
“That’s enough of that,” Edgar monotones, waving a hand and the sound of a gun firing sends my heart plummeting. I try to summon my magic, but it’s too far down that well inside of me I cannot reach. My mind feels sluggish as Cyan’s muffled groans fill me with a type of anxiety that I haven’t felt for a lifetime. His head hangs low between his shoulders as blood seeps from his chest. A sigh slips from my lips as I thank the Fates that the shooter is a piss poor shot. Someone shoves a filthy rag into Cyan’s mouth to stifle his groans. Yet more blood stains his shirt. “Now, if you’re prepared to listen, I have a few things I need to get off my chest.”
Edgar rambles about grand plans, but I am only partially listening. I’m tracking how many thugs he’s got down here. There are only three left after I murdered the two when I entered. His people lack training and are unobservant. They’re more focused on Edgar than Cyan and me.
“She was a miscalculation, I’ll admit,” he’s saying, gesturing at Morana. “One I feel Cyan will keep his promises to. But you and I both know that will never happen. I’d say look into the… what do you call it? The Timeline. But you can’t access your magic now, can you?”
My teeth grind together, but my hands are busy trying to undo these knots. He’s right. My magic may be in that distant place that Charleston figured out to place it, but my mind is still sharp and my strength is returning—slowly. Far too slow for my liking.
“Fine, don’t talk. I think I prefer your silence.” Edgar is now pacing before me, his suit well-fitted and not a dot of blood on it, which is a miracle, considering how much of Cyan’s is on the floor.
The ropes loosen, and I catch them in my left hand, a smirk spreading across my face. I don’t give a shit about what Edgar prefers. Nor do I give a shit what his grand plans entail. All that matters right now is that I get my brother out of here. Morana’s body, too. I mightn’t have been able to get here in time to save her, but I will die before I let Cyan enter Vraska before me.
Snapping my wrist, the length of the rope snaps out, hitting the thug standing by my chair in the eyes. He hisses a string of curses. I push myself up and fall back onto the chair, splintering it into pieces, one of which I pick up and throw at the second guard. His head snaps backwards as the broken piece of wood smacks him right between the eyes.
Edgar’s eyes are wide with his horror as he stumbles back a step as I lunge for the final thug, who’s fumbling with getting his gun out of his holster at his chest. My elbow meets with his nose, which crumbles in a spray of red. They stumble back a step. I advance, keeping Edgar in the corner of my vision. My body feels tired, but Atherton had trained us to be warriors. Even when exhaustion would cling to my eyelids, he’d push me further. There’s not much that I am grateful to my father for, but I am for this. I swing my leg, the leather of my boot colliding with the man’s face, knocking him unconscious.
The muscles in my shoulders scream in pain as I turn to face Edgar, cowering in the corner. I’m between him and the exit. “You’ll regret this,” I grit out between my teeth.
“Oh, I’m sure I will someday, but sacrifices need to be made. What’s one life taken to protect hundreds?” Edgar reeks of fear. It’s in the sweat dotting his temples and the way his body is rigid, but his tone conveys none of that fear. It’s pure, elegant nonchalance.
I swing my fist, and somewhere deep and distant inside of me, something shifts. Edgar moves gracefully and with rather impressive agility. Something flashes in the corner of my eye, and then searing pain radiates through my wrist.
No matter how much training Atherton forced into me, no matter how many times he berated me for showing my emotions, there is no other way one would react to a butterfly knife being stabbed through your wrist other than screaming out in pain. My knees collide with the cement floor as I grip my bleeding wrist.
Edgar fists my hair, angling my head up to meet his cold grey stare. “No, listen to me, Mallrie Delacroix, because I am not one who likes to repeat themselves.”
I spit a mouthful of blood onto his pristine suit. “You could have fooled me.”
Edgar’s grip tightens, and though he was quick and caught me off guard, he’s still not as observant as he should be. “Trust me, you’ll want to cooperate. If not, well, neither you nor your brother are leaving this room.” His icy glare shifts beyond me. “As it is, Cyan might be a lost cause. But you—”
Edgar’s words are cut off as I rip the blade from my wrist and jam it between his ribs. He stumbles back and I punch him in the side of the head, blood spraying everywhere from the wound on my wrist. “Fuck you. Fuck this town,” I growl as I catch his stumbling body and force his eggshell blue tie from his neck. “You all can fucking rot.” Wrapping the tie around my wrist, I race over to Cyan and unbind his unconscious body from the chair. Footsteps are storming towards the basement, and I’m not strong enough to take them both. I fear I am not strong enough to even get my brother out of here. Hoisting Cyan up over my shoulders, his quiet groan is a sigh of relief as I head towards the exit, stopping briefly by Morana’s body. Closing her eyes, I whisper. “I’m sorry.”
Content Warnings
This bonus chapter contains graphic scenes and violence, course language, the death of a pregnant mother and child, consumption of raw animal organs and torture.
Some content in this bonus chapter may be triggering or disturbing for some readers. Reader discretion is strongly advised.