The Night Prince (The Wolf King, #2)(114)

I tip back my head, and my light brightens. The serpent hisses and whimpers. It tries to retreat back into the pit from whence it came. I won’t let it. It burns. Its head bashes against the ceiling as its flesh melts from its bones. It lets out a heart-curdling shriek that turns into a rasping laugh.

“She thought it would save you. He is coming.”

Burning scales float like snowfall from above. They scatter and cover the blood and destruction with ash. They hiss as they touch my skin, then dissolve into shadow. My scream dies with the beast.

Silence.

It shrouds the amphitheater. My glowing skin is the only light in the darkness. Dark shapes cover the floor, and the blood is black and glistening. The coppery scent of death is overpowering.

It should be sickening, but everything seems far away. It’s like I’m floating, and there’s a primal song in my ears. The Wolves have shifted back into humanoid forms—covered in gore and shredded clothing. There are hardly any left.

James stands directly ahead of me, in front of the trapdoor. His bare chest rises and falls deeply. Blood paints his face and dribbles down his chin. My light dances off the tattoos that mark his biceps. My enemy. The wolf who bit me, who ruined the small shred of freedom I managed to find.

His lips are parted, and his eyes fill with awe. He drops to his knees. “Cridche na Ghealach,” he breathes.

The remaining Wolves follow his lead.

Blake stands near the throne. His powerful shoulders move up and down deeply. Blood glistens across his scarred chest, and his dark hair sticks to his forehead. His lips curve into a slow smile, dimples springing into his cheeks. He opens his mouth.

Alexander appears behind him and slides his blade across Blake’s throat.

Time stops. Blake’s eyes widen as they hold mine. For a moment, I think he’s fine. Then blood spills from the thin line across his neck.

Adrenaline erupts within me. The ringing in my ears gets louder. I don’t hear Arran’s roar as he charges at Alexander, knocks him off Blake, and decapitates him. I barely register Jack lurching forward and catching Blake and dropping to his knees, or more of the acolytes charging toward the remaining Wolves.

The bond between Blake and me pulls taut. I feel as if my soul is being ripped from me. I see it between us, and it shudders. I follow it. I land hard on my knees beside Jack, who clutches Blake’s wound with both hands.

“You’ll be alright,” he is saying, though he clearly does not believe it. “You’ll be alright. We’ve been through worse than this.”

Blood dribbles out of Blake’s mouth. His skin is deathly pale. He tries to speak.

His pain sears my throat, and my breathing shallows. I shake my head. I lean forward and touch his cheek. He is cold. So cold. His eyelids flicker.

I wanted this, once. I wanted to defeat him. I searched for weeks for the answer to ending our connection. I wanted to break the bond. The power to do it crackles in my veins. I feel it. I could take it in my hands and snap it. If I don’t do it now, he will take me with him.

He tries to reach for me, but his hand flops onto the floor by his side. His body twitches.

Emotion surges through me, raw and primal. It has been so long since I have let myself feel the things I thought I shouldn’t—and this is the most forbidden feeling of all. It chokes me as the scent of his blood hangs in the air.

I need to let him go.

I cannot let him go.

He saved me once. I don’t know how he did it, what words he whispered into the darkness, but I feel for the bond. The life is draining out of me, and my limbs shake. My breathing is as raspy as his. I shut my eyes.

“Please. . .” he gurgles.

And I feel it. He wants me to break the bond.

I push my forehead against his.

Darkness.

***

We hurtle down toward a pit of shadow. The sound of scraping scalpels and screams fills my ears. I wrap myself around Blake, and press my head against his chest, but his arms are limp and cold. I catch a glimpse of a dark room, a candlelit cell filled with books and the scent of citrus, a torture chamber with workbenches that creak beneath the weight of tools and jars. We fall through the ceiling of a small room lit by a fire in the hearth. A woman holds a rabbit while a small boy cries.

Water splashes as my body makes impact with the ground. I’m sinking into soft mud. Rain pelts my back, and the air tastes like lightning. I claw my fingers into the earth, and push myself onto my knees. Thunder rumbles across the sky. I’m alone.

I’m not far from the edge of a small village. Small stone houses stand on either side of a dirt road. Lights flicker in their windows. Blake is nowhere to be seen, but something tugs my chest, and I turn.

Lightning forks across the sky and illuminates a well in the distance. A thread of light links me to it, spluttering in the rain and the shadow.

I put my arm in front of my face to shield me from the rain that is coming down so fast it feels like it’s cutting my skin. There’s another rumble of thunder, and the ground shakes beneath my feet. The ground is like sludge, and it threatens to swallow me with every step I take.

I walk. The wind hurtles into me and blows my hair into my face. It tries to push me back, but I fight against it. I grip the edges of the well, and the moss-coated stone is slippery beneath my fingers. A small boy with ink-black hair cowers in the darkness, half submerged in water that is steadily rising. He is crying.