Page 62 of The Fated and the Damned
“The thing about flies is they’re attracted to waste. Like you. You spin your words from pretty lips, but they fall on deaf ears, Sylvie. Because I will kill you. I will not stop until I crush your heart in your chest and melt the flesh from your body, because no one threatens the ones I love. You are a miserable, misguided creature, and it’s time the world forgot your name. So keep telling me, Sylvie, how you plan to blot out everything I hold dear. It only serves as fodder to feed my rage.”
Her power misted around her, the echo of my own. Blood-red and angry as an asp readying to strike. She searched my eyes and when I did not balk, she sneered. “We march on the morrow. Cherish what little time you have left, girl, because when I’m done with you, there’ll be nothing left of your soul to send the horseman.” She paused, a cruel glimmer entering her dark gaze. “Perhaps I’ll keep your new husband for myself. He’d be a fitting pet to entertain me.”
I snapped. My power burst out of me, exploding up the walls and fanning across the ceiling like living flames of red and black, crackling and licking at her feet. Her illusion wavered, but she could not be touched.
Sylvie’s eyes widened and she shrank back, half awed and half afraid as she studied the room, then studied me. I knew if I looked in the mirror, my eyes would be pitch black right now, but it didn’t scare me. The knowledge that Sylvie was afraid bolstered me, giving me the confidence I had so desperately needed to face this foe. “What is this new trickery?” she asked quietly.
“It’s no trick. Just a glimmer of what I can do. Now, if you don’t mind, kindly get the fuck out of my room. I’ll see you on the battlefield, Sylvie. And I promise you, I will not hold back.”
I increased my magic, sending it searing through her form, cutting her magic at the source until she was forced to end the spell from whatever creepy cult den she resided in. When I was done, I sat back on the bed and breathed a sigh of relief, clutching my shaking hands before me.
It had taken all my false bravado to look at that bitch without my knees knocking and my body melting into a puddle of fear. My power had grown, but alone, it was not enough.
I rolled onto the bed, pawing at Dante’s empty space and grabbing a tunic I’d scrounged from his chest. It smelled like him and I inhaled the scent deeply like an obsessive stalker, clutching it to my chest.
“Wherever you are, Dante, hurry home to me,” I whispered, allowing a single tear to slide down my cheek.
I’d never felt his loss more keenly than now. Even after months of not speaking, of longing stares and snide remarks, the empty space beside me seemed like a chasm. The thought of him being trapped in the Under World, of being found and tortured, was like a hand clawing at my heart, threatening to tear it from my chest.
The anger in my chest was raw and real, but it was tempered by the knowledge that he was actively trying to make things right. My dark knight. He was better than a hero in a storybook. Flawed and learning from mistakes, which only endeared him to me further. He’d gone to the Under World for me, for pity’s sake, even though I knew, deep inside, that he’d done it for himself too—an act of redemption for his past actions.
But deeper than that I knew … he did it because he loved me. He. Loved. Me.
And I’d been so caught up in the whole public affair of our wedding and the aftermath of Viktória’s betrayal that I hadn’t stopped to consider just how much that really meant. How much I’d been denying to myself for so long.
“Fuck.” Leaping off the bed, I quickly dressed into fighting leathers, strapping on my sword, dagger, and the throwing knives at my belt. A run wasn’t going to cut it. I dragged a hairbrush through my unruly waves and managed a pathetic braid that would make Mama cringe.
When I threw open my door, I jumped upon finding a figure standing there. “András,” I said, breathing heavily, one hand to my chest. “You scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here?”
He raised a brow. “Guarding you, obviously. After what happened on your wedding night, we haven’t the luxury of feeling safe in our own home.”
“Viktória has been dealt with. Even if there are witches still loyal to her, they’d be pretty stupid to try their luck at killing me now. I don’t need a guard.”
His next words were quiet, barely a whisper in the empty corridor. “What about a friend?”
I put my hand on my waist and popped a hip. “That I can accept. What I need right now, though, is a sparring buddy. You up for it?”
He grinned, pulling me close and pressing a kiss to my head—not in a romantic way, but a familial gesture. That’s what I adored about András. He didn’t give a shit about what was correct or otherwise frowned upon. He just … was. Unapologetically so.
“Correction: you need someone to release all that pent-up Bárány rage on.” I smiled sheepishly and he bumped my shoulder playfully. “You’re lucky I love you enough to take the bruises.”
I rolled my eyes. “So dramatic. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll make sure to refrain from whacking that pretty face of yours. We might need it to glean any gossip from the witches at court.”
“Always the ulterior motive,” he said, his smile suggesting he had no issue with that idea whatsoever. “I shall charm the skirts—or pants—off whomever your ladyship requires. Though I’m not sure what you hope to hear from them. After Viktória, the witches have been walking on eggshells, not a toe out of line. Do you really think there will be more attacks?”
I stopped, halting him with a hand on his arm. “Honestly? I am more concerned about how they will take orders from another High Witch. I don’t know these covens, András, and I don’t fully trust them. I just need us all to remain alert. Especially now that …”
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t make me make you finish that sentence Kitarni.”
My stomach did an uncomfortable little lurch as I slowly looked up at him and sighed. “I had an unexpected—and unwelcome—visitor in my chambers tonight. A message from the Dark Queen. The cultists march tomorrow. We have a few days at most before war is at our gates.”
András snorted. “And you call me dramatic. She should shove a trumpet up her ass to announce her if she loves an entrance so much. It would certainly be easier.”
Despite my trepidation, I laughed, looping my arm around his. “Will you promise me something? Don’t ever change. You’re a little ball of sunshine in a fucked-up world … and we can all use a little more light.”
He reminded me of a peacock the way he preened from that comment. “I promise, Kit, I’ll always be me. Who else would I be?”
My heart swelled, feeling warm and fuzzy. “That’s what Eszter calls me,” I said softly. “Her nickname for me.”
