The Night Prince (The Wolf King, #2)(110)
We start to move. I grip the collar of his shirt tightly, and every time my side bumps into his, I whimper. Every step is torture. My knees are weak, and if his hand was not firm around my hip, I would fall. Men and Wolves blur around us, black cloaks and kilts and chains. Arran is by my brother, pulling him to his feet. Jack and Ryan fight back to back. Claire twists the head of a man who straddles James, and he falls dead at her feet.
There is blood. . . blood everywhere. Nausea rises inside me.
“Why?” My voice is dry and hoarse, barely audible over the roars and the swishes of steel. I’m not even sure what I’m asking. Why did Alexander torture me? Why am I here? Why did Blake come?
“You know why.” His mouth is close to my ear, and I’m not sure what he means. “Shh. It’s okay. We’re almost there.”
The corridor I was brought through looms ahead. I let myself dare to hope, to water that small flower that raises its head in the darkness. We’re going to escape. We’re going to be free.
I grit my teeth. I grip Blake tighter and straighten my spine. He quickens his step.
The muscles in his shoulders tense beneath my fingers. The torches around the circle flicker, then die, and the amphitheater plunges into darkness. We turn our heads toward the trapdoor. Alexander has crawled to it, his black shirt slick with blood. He pulls a key out of the lock, and meets Blake’s eyes, as Arran—blood spilling from his nose—charges toward him.
“You fool, Alex,” Blake hisses.
Alexander grins and flings open the door. Dots dance before my eyes, and I squeeze them shut. I can’t afford to lose consciousness. Not here. Not now.
I dig my fingers into Blake’s shoulders and make myself look.
An unnatural quiet fills the amphitheater. Chains groan, then scrape along the floor, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. A low hiss vibrates over the walls, and even the men in cloaks shrink from it. A sour scent, like decaying meat, floods my nostrils as a slithering sound fills the gloom.
“Moonlight and darkness. Freedom and chains. Power and destruction.” An unnatural rasp seems to come from everywhere at once, and it reminds me of the voice that came from Kai when he first awoke. “Does he know, do you think?”
Blake hurls me back, and I withhold my scream as a tide of shadow spills out of the trapdoor and rears up, contained only by the ceiling. It winds around the circle, blocking the exits. The darkness moves like mist around a serpentine face and body. It blinks down at us with eyes of onyx.
“You’ve been so naughty.”
Something rattles in the cage inside me and floods my body with ice. Sweat beads on my skin, and my vision begins to fade.
“Oh, I am so hungry. So very hungry.”
The darkness crashes down into the amphitheater like a stormy obsidian wave. Shouts fill the air as men and Wolves scatter, and two males are plucked up as if they’re weightless. A horrible crunch is followed by a squelch as they disappear, screaming, into the maw of the beast. Black blood spatters the ground.
My pulse is racing so quickly, I think I’m going to pass out. The fever is coming for me, and I can’t keep it at bay. I fight it with everything I have, even though darkness would be a relief. I can’t give up. I can’t expect someone else to save me.
There’s a flicker of darkness to my side, and Blake pulls me out of the way of the thing’s tail. We land hard on the ground, Blake’s arms curling around me, and I bite down hard to stop myself from screaming as the welts in my back are exposed to the air. It strikes again, scooping up cloaked men and Wolves, dead and alive, and swallowing them whole.
“Pick up your weapons!” James roars. “Next time it strikes, go for its eyes and mouth! Kill any southerners that get in your way.”
I try to push myself up, and Blake helps me to my knees. He kneels before me and clasps my face in his hands. “Aurora, listen to me. You need to stop suppressing your power. You’re the only one who can save us. If you don’t, we will all die.”
I shake my head. “I’m not a wolf.”
Out of the corner of my eye, Alexander staggers forward, eyes set on me as the shadows writhe around him. Ryan is on the floor, bleeding. Philip is standing by James, the two of them barking frantic orders and getting the Wolves into formation, only for another three men to be plucked into the maw of the beast. Claire plunges a sword into a hooded male that lurches for her before turning to face the shadows—her eyes bright and feral, even though the blade trembles in her hand. Ian lies dead on the floor.
“Not your wolf, Aurora.” Blood and gore splatter the ground beside us. Warm droplets drip down my cheek and onto his hand. “Your power. There’s a reason why you didn’t shift on the night of the full moon. A reason why Ghealach shone for you on the night of the battle with Sebastian. A reason why the ?ithne doesn’t work on you, why Callum has struggled with his wolf—gods, why I have—since you have been around.” He grips me tighter, sliding his hands into my hair. “I think you’ve started to suspect it too. You feel it. It’s not your wolf that you keep suppressing when the fever comes for you. It’s a different power. The Wolves thought it was literal. A heart turned to rock, fossilized by time. What if it was not?”
What he’s saying, it can’t be true. I shake my head. “Even if you’re right, it’s deep within me, and I’ve been holding onto it for so long that I cannot let it go.”