Page 45 of Cursed Shadows

“If we fail now, all of this will be for nothing!” Eilish whispers, her eyes wide.

“You say nothing!” Cambion rails at her with fuming eyes. It’s no secret he doesn’t trust her and never has. His dislike seems overdone though, and I believe it merely hides something else. I imagine thatsomething elseis simply the fact that he lusts after Eilish as much as we all do.

He returns his gaze to Dragan. “And I’m sick of taking orders from you!”

Before I can say a word, Cambion lunges at Dragan, his arm pulled back to deliver a blow. Dragan’s wings are fully extended, his powerful legs pushing against the ground as he attacks the elf, in turn.

Thoradin and I are there in an instant, fighting our way between their intertwined limbs and trying desperately to separate the men so we can talk sense into them. They are mere children, and I hope to hell their foolishness doesn’t incapacitate us all.

I can hear Eilish’s voice over the loud crashes and grunts, but it takes some effort to determine what she’s saying.

“We have to get off the road!” she finally shouts loudly enough. “I hear someone coming!”

But it’s too late. I turn just in time to see a man behind Eilish, a large demon dressed in the traditional black leather of Precinct Five, Anona’s territory. As I watch, he hoists a burlap sack above her head and brings it down with alacrity.

I don’t waste any time, disappearing in a blur and reappearing just within the limits of the graveyard. I thrust my hands into the rich earth and summon my shadows forth.

“Raise Dead.” I whisper the enchantment as I envision the corpses arising from their forever sleep and rejoining the world of the living. I stand and watch as my vision comes to fruition. The dirt above each grave begins to shift as the inhabitants below crawl out of their enclosures, according to my will.

A minute or two passes before the dead are fully separate from their caskets. Some are merely naked skeletons while others still wear their flesh, old and rotted, falling from their bones. I invoke the zombies forward, to attack our aggressors. No, these dead won’t do much damage, but they’re a distraction all the same. And they’ll allow me more time to devise a secondary attack plan.

Looking back at the scene I’ve just vacated, I see Cambion fighting two demons. Dragan, Eilish, and Thoradin are nowhere to be found.

The world around me suddenly grows blurry when I feel the stinging pinch of a needle in my neck. Unable to stay upright, I drop down to my knees. It feels as if my surroundings are spinning.

I’m not certain how it’s possible, but I’ve been poisoned.

CHAPTER TWELVE

EILISH

Mortal Realm

When I come to, my body is violently jostled.

My head’s pounding, I assume from where I’ve been knocked unconscious.

We must be in our captors’ vehicle, the uneven road crunching beneath our wheels. I can’t see anything; my vision is blocked by what I imagine is a bag over my head—the fabric is fairly heavy and thick, itchy and rough. It smells foul, like it once housed something rotten. The air inside is suffocating.

My hands are bound behind me and the twine immobilizing them is beginning to cut off my circulation. Not to mention how it chafes my skin, burning with every bump in the road.

I feel a hand come to rest on my thigh, so cold it feels damp through the fabric of my cloak.

“Dragan?” I ask urgently into the darkness that surrounds me. The only response I get is a deep chuckle from beside me, one that definitely doesn’t belong to Dragan. The hand slides further up, closer to the midline of my closed legs.

“They’re passed the fuck out, baby,” the man responds as he shoves his hand between my thighs and I clench them shut even more tightly, trying to roll away from him.

“Leave ‘er be,” another man says. “Plenty o’ time for that later.”

The man just laughs but removes his hand, all the same.

The others are passed out.My heart starts pounding as I wonder why.

When I’d tried to warn them, I’d only just seen the vehicle—a large, rumbling old truck—come into view. I never got a good look at our captors, so I have no idea who they are.

The silence disturbs me, because it allows my imagination to run wild and I find myself creating all sorts of horrible scenarios inside my head. Furthermore, it’s unclear why I’m awake when my companions aren’t. My mouth grows dry as I realize the predicament I’m in. There isn’t much room for hope in this scenario, but even so, I can only pray these people are just thugs rather than servants to Variant.

There’s a chance they don’t know who we are—and, if so, there’s still an opportunity for escape.

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