“Because he’s going to tell everyone what I did.” I spoke in a harsh whisper. “He’s going to tell Kratos that I’m a fake, that I’m trying to kill them all.”
Hazel blinked, suddenly becoming more alert. “Oh, right. I thought we had more time.”
“So did I.”
Her dark eyes were wide, skin pale, and her forehead furrowed. “Is that him? That terrible howling sound?”
“I think so. Doesn’t sound happy, does he?”
In an instant, Hazel was by my side, hands pressed against the glass. Our breaths fogged the window as we stared outside. When a sentinel swooped past, my heart leapt. Would they report us—the two succubi with their faces pressed up against the window—as we waited for the angel to crawl from his shallow grave in the woods?
That hunger in my gut intensified, and I clutched my stomach. I’d never be full, never satisfied. My soul itself was starving, desperate for life. It was Johnny’s strange magic—ripping through the air like a tornado.
Kratos made me want to fall to my knees and submit to his power, while Adonis lured me toward either death or seduction—I wasn’t sure which. Johnny, on the other hand, filled me with an agonizing hunger.
Hazel pressed her palms to the window, and I could have sworn her cheeks looked thinner. “I’m starving,” she said listlessly. “Do you know what it feels like to starve?”
Dear sister. I’ve fought men over scraps of rat meat.
“Not really,” I lied. Through the confusion of hunger, I tried to scramble up a plan. Maybe we could pack what clothing we had, grab a few things from the kitchen—some bread, cheese, butter, a bit of meat...
Hazel’s eyes had taken on a haunted look. “I want to stay where the food is.” She shook her head. “We can’t leave. We’ll starve out there.”
“Hazel. Our minds are being clouded by Johnny’s magic. We’ll bring food with us.”
Bread, cheese, the pastries, lamb, venison, fruit… My mouth watered, and a wild hunger tore through me. How could we leave all this behind?
As we gaped out the window, dusty gray magic swirled from the trees, a sickly light tingeing the fog. And from the mist, a figure emerged—punctuated like a black hole against it. An angel stalked from the forest, his wings ragged, body gaunt and hunched.
My stomach dropped.
Definitely Johnny.
Frantically, I pushed all thoughts of starvation out of my mind, trying to focus. I ran for the wardrobe and yanked open the wooden doors. Unfortunately, these clothes weren’t made for survival—they were made only for strutting around a castle, looking pretty. I had two sets of leather leggings, a sweater, and one jacket, plus a pair of boots. The rest was a useless collection of flimsy dresses.
Fast as I could, I dressed in the warm clothes. As I scrambled to put them on, I tossed a pair of leggings at Hazel.
With my sweater and my jacket on, I snatched my poison-tipped knife sheathed in its holster from the wardrobe and tied it around my waist.
Hazel still stared at the window, her body shaking. Didn’t she realize what was going to happen here? I didn’t even want to think about how they’d execute us. Kratos had tolerated me because he thought I was a succubus. I didn’t think he’d tolerate betrayal. He demanded loyalty—worship, even.
My mind whirled in a fog of hunger, and I was dimly aware of Hazel babbling on about food—
Another sharp pang of famine ripped through my stomach, and I doubled over. In the hollows of my mind, images flashed of a woman starving, her ribs protruding through her back. A vulture circled overhead.
My fingernails were digging into my flesh, and I glanced at Hazel. We have to get out of here. I was ready to wrestle those leggings onto her slender body.
“Hazel,” I said through gritted teeth. “Get dressed, or I’m going to have to kill you and eat your corpse.”
“I’m going to the kitchen,” Hazel declared.
In the next moment, she was rushing for the door.
I took off after her, our footsteps echoing down the corridor. She slammed through the door to the stairwell.
We didn’t get very far when Hazel doubled over, clutching her stomach. She leaned against the stairwell wall for support. “It’s killing me.”
Only one thought could drown out the oppressive hunger, and only one thing terrified me more right now. It was the sound of the heavy footfalls coming up the stairwell.
“He’s coming,” I whispered. He’d chosen this tower—the Tower of Wrath—the one where I slept. He was coming to kill me.
I pulled the knife from its sheath and stepped back up the stairwell. “Hazel,” I whispered, grabbing her by the arm. “He’s coming for us.” She only seemed to care about one thing right now, so I’d have to focus on that. “That feeling of hunger that’s ripping you apart—it’s coming from Johnny. We have to get away from him.”
We’d have to find another way out—another stairwell.
She nodded listlessly, seeming to listen to me for once.
Quietly, I pulled her back up the stairwell, backing away from Johnny. Gray magic, tinged with that pale green light, climbed toward us.
Shaking with hunger and exertion, I backed through the stairwell door—and into a powerful body. Slowly, I turned, looking up into Adonis’s pale eyes. His midnight wings cascaded behind him.
Bizarrely—I actually felt relieved to see him.
“Johnny’s coming,” I whispered. My whole body was trembling. Pretty sure I was just a few minutes from passing out.
Adonis grabbed me by the biceps to steady me. “Johnny’s magic is affecting you. He’s not able to control it right now.”
He touched my shoulder, and a soothing sensation rippled through my core, assuaging some of the hunger.
“Can you get us out of here?” I asked.
Adonis nodded, but the starvation kept intensifying. A tortured scream from Hazel ripped through the quiet castle. I knew what she was feeling—that death hovered over her like a bird of prey.
Adonis let go of me, then swooped down to scoop up Hazel. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Just as we began to move, the stairwell door slammed open, and Johnny’s giant figure loomed in the doorway.
Chapter 6
Dirt covered his face, and streaks of green smudged the side of his mouth, as if he’d been eating moss and grass. His shirt hung ragged and torn over his bony frame, and his blue Mohawk hung limp and dirty over his skull.
There, in his chest, an open wound gaped through his clothing. Where his heart should’ve been was instead a ravaged, corrupted hole. Right where I’d stabbed him.
The three of us—Adonis, Hazel, and I—stared at him, waiting to see what he would do.
Johnny reached for the wound, tracing his fingertips over it. Then, he smeared the blood down the front of his torso. His eyes were locked on me as he moved, wide and staring.
I clutched my stomach, leaning on Adonis for support. The closer I stayed to Adonis, the more his magic seemed to protect me from Johnny’s, soothing that crippling hunger.
Johnny pointed a bony, blood-covered finger at me, and his jaw dropped.