Instantly I knew something was very wrong.
A window must have been open because snow was falling inside. Cold wetness coated my cheeks, and there was a fine layer of white dust across my pillow.
I was lying on my stomach with my arm hanging over the bed, but Aran was not holding my hand like usual. Her fingers were limp in my grasp. Ice froze us together.
I opened my mouth to call her name, and I meant to shake her hand to wake her.
Nothing happened because I couldn’t move.
I was paralyzed.
A vibrating sensation pulsed inside my chest, and it felt like I was being stabbed with a serrated blade. It felt like my heart was being carved out.
The bunk shook harshly beneath me.
My mouth opened on a silent scream as agony tore through my insides. It took a moment to process that the bed rocking was coming from above.
Twin intuition filled me, and I knew without a doubt that John was not well. I needed to get to my younger brother.
I needed to save him.
As a young child, I’d promised myself that I would never stand by and watch him get hurt. I would sacrifice every bone in my body to protect him.
Body taught with unimaginable torment, I shattered the ice and released Aran’s hand.
I slowly turned myself over and stared up at the twitching bunk. Horror filled me as I realized Aran hadn’t made a noise of disgruntlement like she always did when I stopped holding her hand.
John twitched violently above me.
Aran’s bed below me was eerily quiet. Too quiet.
The pain intensified to another level, and my back arched as an invisible force dug my heart from my chest.
The only two people I lived for were suffering inches apart from me.
I was paralyzed.
Unable to help them.
Useless.
There was a snapping sensation as the agony in my chest crescendoed.
The bunk above my head went still.
Darkness blurred my vision, and I clawed desperately against unconsciousness, but it mercilessly pulled me under. There was nothing left of me as everything went black, just a peculiar sensation inside my chest.
A staggering barrenness.
I felt dead.
Chapter 33
Aran
FALLING TO PIECES
Apricity (noun): the warmth of sun in winter.
DAY 22, HOUR 8
I woke up to lilac morning light clutching the Necklace of Death.
My first thought—I’m going to learn how to fly today.
A strange dream about falling snow, vibrations, and glowing light teased the edges of my consciousness, but it drifted away into nothingness.
I shrugged it off.
Sadly, hallucinations were not uncommon with my lifestyle.
Once as a child, I’d had a string of dreams that I’d been abducted and probed by an alien creature from a faraway realm. Mother had slapped me when I’d told her.
There were two types of people in the world: those who were probed, and those who judged those who were probed. The latter were all secretly jealous that no one had abducted them.
My eyes struggled to adjust to the morning light.
I groaned and rolled out of bed.
Since I had no other plans for the days (other than annoy Malum), I might as well get some flying practice in.
There were wings in my shoulders and angel blood in my veins, and I was going to get airborne if it was the last thing I did. If not for myself, then I would do it to spite Mother.
It was time to succeed.
“I’m going to practice flying behind the barracks. I want to do this alone.” I announced to the room.
Malum paused his one-handed push-ups. “Don’t go too far. I don’t want to see you hurt.” His voice was extra gravelly in the morning, and I shivered at its deepness. Silver skulls twinkled in his ears, and he didn’t have socks on, so my name was on full display.
He’d 100 percent done it on purpose.
I flipped him off with both hands, just for fun.
He winked. “Don’t tempt me.”
I put my hands down as I realized what he meant.
Ugh, he was infuriating.
John and Luka groaned loudly as they woke up, and I smiled because they were not morning people. I was also not a morning person—or a night person, or a day person.
“Wait,” Scorpius said as he emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, a white towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. Orion followed behind him, similarly unclothed, toweling his blond hair.
They’d been showering together.
There wasn’t enough oxygen in the room, and I didn’t know where to look.
Scorpius smirked, and my eyes trailed downward.
He looked like he was carved from white marble. His Adonis belt glistened with water, and his dark hair was wet and messy around his face.
The two of them sauntered past me. Cherry blossoms fluttered down Orion’s golden biceps, and Scorpius’s neck tattoo opened, pupil expanding as it stared directly at me.
Their tattoos were much more brightly colored than I’d ever remembered.
I’d always though Orion’s flowers were a pale shade, closer to white. Now they were such a rich pink that they practically glowed against his golden skin.
He was mesmerizing to look at.
They both were.
I forgot what I was doing.
What was my name?
How old was I?
The pain streaking down my back turned into fireworks.
“Distracted, Aran?” John asked in a teasing tone, and his voice brought me back to reality.
My face warmed as I realized I’d been gaping at the half-naked kings like an idiot.
I wasn’t mad about objectifying them because I was a staunch supporter of bullying men. Everyone knew this. It was just a little embarrassing that my entire legion had just witnessed me ogle my enemies.
At least the twins were also checking them out.
“We got these for you,” Scorpius said as he dug into one of the mall bags beside his bed. His towel dipped dangerously low, and my blood pressure soared.
He stood up and handed me fuzzy black mittens.
“Wear them if you’re going outside,” Scorpius said, his tone somewhere between an order and a plea.
I stared at the gloves, dumbfounded.
“Here.” Orion gently tugged them onto my hands. My fingers were engulfed in warmth as my stomach filled with butterflies.
I turned my hands over.
“Ara” was written in tiny gold script across the wrist.
My throat was dry, and I forgot how to swallow as I looked at it with confusion.
“Why Ara?” I asked. “Did the embroiderer make a mistake?”
“No,” Orion whispered, the words like honey on his tongue. “It wasn’t a mistake.”
Malum looked up from the floor with confusion. “Wait, it wasn’t an error?” Scorpius narrowed his eyes.
I stared at Orion and waited for an explanation.
None came.
“You’ll figure it out,” he whispered as he took a step closer.
Bergamot and chocolate filled my nose, and pain streaked down my spine.
Orion’s golden abdominal muscles rippled as he stretched his hands above his head, and Scorpius’s chiseled chest expanded as he breathed deeply.
What were we talking about?