She turned to him, taking a deep breath, not noticing Warwick was catching every single nuance of their interaction. His gaze burned into them, a nerve in his cheek twitching, his jaw locking. He was about a second away from lurching up and tearing Zander’s hand off his sister.
“Look.” I tried to distract him. “I wish we could keep Tad far from there too, but thousands of lives are counting on us. Do you want Ash or Killian to die in there? Kitty? Sloane? Almost the entire Sarkis army?” I flinched at the last part, fighting to keep back the haunting memory at bay.
Sarkis was leaderless now.
“Of course not.” Eliza folded her arms.
“Brexley?” Zander ambled closer to me, concern etching his face. “What aren’t you telling us?”
“Andr—” I cleared my throat. “Andris.” My nostrils burned with tears. “He and Ling are both dead.”
“What?” Zander jerked back as if he had been shoved. “Andris is dead?”
All I could do was bow my head.
“Istvan killed him?”
“Yes,” Warwick growled.
“No,” I replied at the same time.
“Istvan is the reason Andris is dead,” Warwick stated, his gaze drilling into me. “Ling, Zuz, and Maddox too.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I am.”
“No, you aren’t. Do not put that on yourself,” Warwick’s shade hissed next to me, but my focus stayed locked on the man. I wouldn’t hide from the truth.
“Istvan pitted Andris and me together in the Games.”
“Oh, gods,” Zander uttered. He knew what that meant better than anyone. Only one walked out.
Sorrow started to worm back up, wrapping around my esophagus.
“The blame is on Istvan,” Warwick spoke. “He had Andris thrown into a firepit, burning him alive.” Eliza gasped, putting her hand over her mouth. “She was only putting him out of his misery.”
“Brex...” Eliza twisted to me. “I’m so sorry.”
I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to discuss it.
“I will do everything I can to get the rest of his people out. Everyone in that hell.” I lifted my chin, clamping tightly down on my emotions.
“We can’t do it alone.” Tad slumped deeper into the chair, appearing exhausted. “The prison is too much for just us to take on. And it will take me some time to break all the spells. What we need is a distraction.”
“Now that I can do,” Warwick smirked, his hand absently running over his nephew’s head, the boy sleeping soundly through all this.
“We need more than bombs. They are a good diversion, but not enough. Bombs won’t hurt the prison since they made sure to build it deep.” I tracked back and forth over the rug. “What we need is an attack on the prison. For all the HDF to be so focused outside the walls, then they won’t realize the prisoners are breaking out from within.”
“And where do you plan to get these people to attack?” Warwick lifted his arms. “We’re not swimming in numbers here, Kovacs.”
“But my uncle is.” I faced the group, the fire flaming behind me. “The leader of Povstat should probably be aware of what his prime minister and fae mistress are doing.” The plan formed in my head. “He has a lot to lose too. His people are also in the prison. If Istvan wins, the entire Eastern Bloc goes down. Prague has just as much stake in this as we do.”
Everyone let it soak in, a sober mood descending on the room. Tad barely staying awake.
“So, we head to Prague tomorrow after dark.” Warwick nodded, rising from the sofa, picking up Simon with him. “We can plan in the morning, but I think right now, all of us could use some sleep.”
Eliza moved to take her boy, but Warwick shook his head. “I got him.”
She smiled, motioning for Warwick to follow her down the hall.
“I can’t believe Andris is dead. And Ling.” Zander stepped to me when they left, wrapping me up in a hug. “I am so sorry for your loss. Andris was a true hero.” He squeezed me, patting my back. “Get some rest. You can take Killian’s room at the end of the hall. Warwick can sleep on the porch like a good doggie.”
I batted his arm with a bemused chuckle. “Better be careful. I think he noticed.”
“Noticed?” Zander stepped back.
“Please, I see the way you look at Eliza. And so does he.”
“We’re just friends.” He tried to deny it, but his cheeks colored.
“Sure,” I scoffed. “He’s gonna kill you anyway, so you might as well go out being more than friends.”
Zander made a noise in his throat as if I were being silly, moving over to Tad.
“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Zander helped Tad up to his feet. The old man shuffled past me and stopped, peering back at me.
“You are a mystery to me, my girl. What you are. What you are capable of.” Tad’s eyes narrowed, as if he were trying to see into me. “Which at one time I would have found exciting. There is not much I don’t know. However...”
“However, what?”
“I’m beginning to fear you.”
Chapter 19
My eyes jolted open as if someone screamed my name, my heart smacking against my ribs. Darting around, my sight adjusted to the dark room, a sliver of moonlight streaming in from the window. The silence in the cabin echoed in the dead of night.
Restless, my muscles ached to move, an unexplainable need to get up spread through my limbs. Propping up on my elbow, I peeked over at the huge figure lying next to me. Warwick was naked, sprawled out on his back, arm tucked under his head, one leg butterflied, only a sheet covering his lower half, his face relaxed in sleep.
Nibbling my lip, the need to climb on him, waking him up with my body, with my mouth, and take all this unsettled energy out on him almost triumphed. He had made sure I had fallen asleep absolutely boneless, claiming me on Killian’s bed like he wanted our scent and moans to mark this room forever, making the fae lord very aware of who had me.
The frame creaked as I slowly slid off the enormous bed, the pads of my feet touching the soft fake fur rug. It might be a cabin, but Killian still made sure it was fit for a lord. It was simply decorated with only a king bed, nightstands, dresser, and small walk-in closet, but the textiles, chandelier, and unique carved wood furniture were top-notch.
Grabbing Warwick’s discarded shirt from the floor, I pulled it over my head, the hem reaching my thighs, before finding a robe and slippers of Killian’s hanging on the hook next to the ensuite bathroom.
Sneaking down the hallway, I pretended to be heading for the kitchen to get a snack, but both my mind and gut knew where I was headed. Pausing at the back door, I tried to deny it, willing myself to turn around and climb back into bed with Warwick. It was pointless. The draw continued to pull me to the door and out.
Fog misted the damp ground, rolling and coiling through the trees, and the dense wet air filled my lungs and nipped at my skin as I stepped outside. Stars shone brightly, and only a few clouds rolled across the moon, leaving the night fresh and cool. Step by step, I proceeded closer to the firepit. The thump in my ears grew louder. My fingers wiggled with the need to touch it, to feel the power in my hands, to have that piece of me back. The connection to it was intense, almost hard to define. It was akin to a witch’s familiar, an extension of myself, a bond no one else could possibly understand. It protected me, saved me, and completed me. When the wall fell and Aneira was killed, it took a lot of the magic that could destroy any other person, fae or human, baby or adult, and shielded me.
Lowering myself to the lip of the firepit, I stared down at the harmless-looking box. The only sign something was off was the scorch marks tattooing the lid. Shifting closer, my hands shook. I could feel the force slipping through the box tangling around my fingers and pulling them down farther to it. It wanted me to take it, to combine our powers as if it craved my magic as much as I craved it.
“We need to destroy it; it’s beyond dangerous. This tiny substance is the most powerful thing in the world. The damage it can do.” Andris’s voice whispered through the back of my head, but I shook it away. I could never destroy it. It was part of me.
The nectar didn’t speak to me the same as the fae book, but the lure to it screamed loudly in my head, sweat beading at the base of my spine.
The tips of my fingers grazed the box. Images flicked on the cusp of my mind, going so fast I could hardly decipher them.
Thunder crackled in the clearing sky, as wind swept through the trees, rustling the leaves together.
A vision of a battlefield, blood and death littering the ground, the air smelling of the sweetness of magic and the acrid tang of blood. But this time I was alone, covered in gore, but what I felt—the power and magic—electrified me inside. No high could rival it; no thrill could compete. It was euphoria. Something you would chase for the rest of your life to feel again.
I wanted more.