With nowhere to run, I take a deep breath and conjure every lesson, every training session, every skill I’ve developed over the past five months, and add it to the rage boiling beneath the surface. We clash in the middle of the street, fist to fist, foot to knee, elbow to rib.
If I’m surprised at my strength then I know he is too, but the training has changed me and with every punch and jab I feel an increase in confidence. His moves grow sloppy, his punches miss. I lasso the energy and fling it at him and a rope lashes out, snapping him across the chest. He dives for me and I duck, forcing him to land on his back on the ground. I stand over him, wishing I had my sword, because I’d run it through him. My nails spike again, itching to draw blood.
“Stay out of fights you don’t understand,” I tell him.
He’s dazed, probably concussed, but he still speaks. “You’ll never beat her. Her legions are only just now assembling. War will come to this realm.”
“As long as I am alive that is not an option. And when I kill her, death and destruction will end in her world, too.”
I kick him in the side, hearing the snap of bone. Headlights flash on the street and a horn honks. I leave the broken man—or demon, whatever he was-- on the street and get in the back seat.
“Take me home,” I bark, spilling the address.
Chapter 15
Dylan
I walk the foyer, pacing like an animal in a cage. At some point, Morgan slipped from the house while I studied Sam’s photographs. She got past me. The Sentinel. Shame and disgust wracks through me. A time like this is not appropriate for me to forget my true mission.
I couldn’t just run into the city chasing her down. I’d lost my wings—my ability to fly. Where would I even begin? Angry despair takes over and I wait. I’d give her an hour before I totally lost my mind. An hour or I’ll tear the city apart.
Forty-six minutes later I hear the car pull up to the curb and Morgan’s voice lilt up the front steps. Thirty-two seconds after that, she opens the door and I freeze in my spot.
“What the hell happened to you?” I roar. She’s dirty. Covered in forming bruises and blood. My heart plummets at the same time as my blood pressure rises. “Who did this?”
She sighs with annoyance, taking off her coat. “Some minion of the Morrigan’s, if I had to guess.”
“He attacked you?” The thought is incomprehensible. I knew there were loyalists out there but to actually attack Morgan on the street…
“Yes.” She glances down at a broken nail and mutters, “Fucker.”
“Morgan.” I am seething. Beyond seething, but I need to calm down. Need to. Will try to. Failing miserably. “Are you okay?”
She finally looks at me—like really looks at me for the first time since she walked in. She takes in my anger—probably my fear—and her eyes soften. “I’m fine, Dylan. I’m sorry if you were worried about me.”
Unable to handle her nonchalance for one second longer, I explode. “You don’t get to walk out of the house like that. Not now. Not anymore. We’re on the cusp of a great war, already in one, and your days of walking around freely are over. Do you understand?”
Her eye tics, a flash, and I wonder for a quick moment if I’ve stepped over a line. I don’t care, though. Her life is worth more than ten of mine. She’s the key to all of this. Always has been and always will be—until her final breath.
“I’m fine,” she says, instead of a million other words that threaten to cross her lips. I watch her swallow them back. “I beat him, without magic, just using the skills you all have taught me. I thank you for that.”
“Good.”
I have ten other questions. Where had she gone? Who did she meet? How did the attacker find her? Where is he now? What secret is she keeping, because she has one. I see the shadow of it in her eye.
I don’t ask any of them.
She yawns. “It’s late. I really do need to go to bed now.”
I nod and watch her go up the stairs. Once she’s in her room with the door shut, I grab a chair from the dining room and carry it up three flights of stairs. There, I return to my duty. Watching over the Queen. She won’t get past me again.
Chapter 16
Morgan
I do make time to shower and change, but otherwise my body gives out on me and I crash into bed. Tomorrow I’ll go through the gate and find my Guardians. Beyond that I have no plan other than to kill the Morrigan and return home.
I have no delusions it will be that easy, and those are my final thoughts before I drift into an exhausted, anxious sleep.
The castle ripples with the angry chill emanating from the Queen’s quarters. She’s not who I’m here to see—not this time. I walk away from the throne room and turn down a side hall. I have an inkling of what I’m looking for. The castle tower with the bedroom window, like the one I’d seen in the pictures. Someone lurks behind the glass.
The halls seem endless, a continuous, twisting maze. Tapestries hang on the walls. Voices echo off the stone. I pause more than once in an alcove, ducking from the soldiers wearing all black. Their feet move in unison, stomping off the hard stone. Blades hang from their belts, polished to a gleaming shine. There’s no doubt this is another dream, but everything about it--from the sound of feet on the ground to the chill in my bones--makes me hide. When they pass, I keep on my journey, finally making it to a stairway that goes up.
I take the chance, running up the steps. It feels warmer as I go higher—a slight break in the chill. I stop when I hear an angry voice, my heart pounding in my chest, both from adrenaline and exertion.
“Is it ready?” The man asks, his voice impatient and booming.
The response is said quietly—too soft for me to hear. I risk moving closer to the arched door that’s not completely closed. “Her Majesty has grown impatient. Her needs are growing—surely you noticed that yourself when you were in her chambers. She requires you to fulfill your duties, which at the moment are only half complete.”
The sound of the voice that replies rocks me to my core. “Surely having the Guardians here have kept the decline at bay. With Morgan not feeding, at least not at her typical levels, shouldn’t that slow the regression?”
Bunny said that. Bunny is just on the other side of the door. I know it’s just a dream but I want to lunge into the room and gut him with a sword. Watch him bleed out. Shake the truth from him. From the snap in the other man’s reply, I think he feels the same. “You do not get to presume what the Queen needs or not, do you understand?”
“Yes,” Bunny replies, his voice soft again.
“How long?”
“Tomorrow—maybe tonight. The paint is nearly dry. That’s why I built the fire. Otherwise it’s too damp and cold for the oil to set.”
The response to that is a growl, low and menacing, and I truly fear for Bunny’s life. I wish for the man to lose his composure and break him with a snap. He’d deserve it, but I need that gate open as much as anyone. I glance around for something—anything, and land on the tapestry hanging at the base of the stairs. Quietly I tip-toe down and yank on the cloth, bringing it and the iron bar holding it to the ground. I’ve started running before metal hits stone.