Page 158 of A Storm in Every Heart
“Look at you,” I hiss. “You know you’re fucked, don’t you.”
“Don’t you…dare—” he wheezes.
I laugh again. “You weak, pathetic, coward. You were only able to kill my family while they were sleeping. You could only keep me subdued while I was drugged, and now you need your guards to save you because you know that I can kill you without even breaking a sweat.
He chokes, trying to get words out as I shift my grip to Magnus’s throat, pinning him against the wall with one hand.His eyes bulge, the blue irises ringed in frantic white. He claws at my hand. I let him flail for a few seconds longer, just to make sure he understands that he’s powerless. “You’re lucky I don’t get off on causing pain, and I’d rather just kill you now. It won’t even be hard, like squashing a bug.”
Then, I slam him backwards again and again until his head cracks against the hard stone wall and his body goes boneless. I release Magnus's limp body, watching as it crumples to the floor with a heavy thud.
“Is he dead?” Jett asks, more curious than anything
Kneeling beside him, I shake my head. No. That would be far too fucking easy.”
I rifle through the pockets of Magnus’s jacket, turning them inside out.
“What are you looking for?” Jett asks.
I don’t answer until my hand closes around a cool, metallic object in his pocket. I extract a syringe, its needle glinting under the dim light. “This.”
“What is it?” Jett asks.
I smile slightly, then shove the syringe at Jett. “Here. It’s a new tool for you to try. Just because I don’t enjoy causing pain doesn’t mean you should miss out.”
Jett’s black eyes flash with interest and his lip curls in a smile.
Ileave Jett to handle Magnus. I hope that by suggesting he exercise his talents he realizes that I’m not bothered by them, but I make a mental note to have a longer conversation about it at a later date.
Then, I sprint down the wet stairs, leaping over several unconscious guards.
I’m not worried about the wedding now, just Odessa. Maybe Lyra got to her and helped her escape? Maybe she got out on her own? I have to—need to—find her.
I run down the hall, past the closed dining room doors and the stone pillars along the balcony railing that open up onto the gardens below. I pause, panting, and look out over the grounds.
Beyond the colorful garden and low iron fence, the ocean is wild, and the sky stained gray as if it might rain. I sweep my gaze over the rocky cliffs, searching for movement on the small beach. There’s nothing, and I’m about to turn back when—there!
My heart thunders in my chest as I spot a redheaded figure in a white dress. She’s alone, standing right at the edge of the water, staring out over the waves. Relief and excitement wash over me and I grip the railing, leaning over to shout her name. “Odessa!”
She doesn't hear me and I watch, helpless, as Dessa steps into the surf. My relief shifts into confusion and then dread so fast I can barely keep up with my own wild emotions.
Dessa wades up to her knees, but doesn’t stop there, walking straight out, into the freezing, churning water. Her white dress is suddenly translucent, clinging to her skin, and her hair whips behind her in wild, streaming ribbons.
Cold panic slices through me, and for a second my body freezes on the balcony, paralyzed by the realization of what she’s about to do.
I launch myself down the stairs, taking them three at a time. I burst out into the gardens and sprint toward the iron fence. My boots sink into the mud, and I nearly trip on the uneven stones, but I don’t slow down.
The ocean is louder here, pounding the rocks in a sick, relentless rhythm. I reach the fence and vault over it, nearly tumbling down the rocky cliff.
Odessa is already thirty yards offshore, the water at her waist. Her face appears unchanged, but even at this distance I can see the scales crawling up her arms. The waves crash around her, salt spray flying, her head bowed against the wind. I skid to a halt on the sand, and cup my hands around my mouth and scream again. “Dessa!”
Finally, she stops, the water now nearly at her throat. She turns toward me, a question in her eyes, and the shock and recognition is so pure on her beautiful face that it steals my breath.
And then, right before my eyes, a long, dark tentacle snakes out of the water and pulls her beneath the waves.
I shout—half surprise, half agony—and before I’ve thought about what I’m doing, I pull my shirt over my head and toss it away, and step into the surf.
The cold water licks at my skin, but I don’t feel it. Following in the footsteps of thousands of men before me, I dive beneath the dark waves, chasing after a siren, prepared to drown rather than lose her to the sea.
ODESSA, PRESENT
