Page 82 of The Curse of Ophelia

The only sound in the cavern was the gentle tinkering of the blade within the lock, the distant roar of the volcano, and Malakai’s labored breathing. The rasp in his throat had me rotating the knife faster, forcing my hands to remain steady.

Malakai dropped his head to my shoulder and inhaled. “Why are you here?” he choked out, voice only a whisper against my skin, but I thought he sounded angry.

So many questions from us both, but I couldn’t waste time with answers. Not when whoever locked him here could return any minute. Not when that light in his eyes was growing more distant by the second and his head felt heavy against me. I flicked my gaze down his body and realized how slack it was. He’d lost some of his muscle, likely not having been allowed to work out, but the mountains kept him relatively strong. It was the drooping stature of his frame that concerned me more. Something beyond the chains kept him sedated.

“Listen, Malakai,” I whispered hurriedly, lowering one hand to lift his face and turn it toward me. He leaned into my touch with a sigh. “I need to get you out of here. I need to get these chains off.”

My free hand fluttered over his body, taking stock. So many scars. There were so many scars on his skin. His back, arms, and chest were all littered with them. My stomach turned over at the fresh-looking one on his right pectoral—directly opposite the Bind. Four points in a vertical line and two more to the right, forming a square with the top half of the line.

The Engrossian constellation—the Ax. Someone had carved that forsaken symbol into his flesh. I saw red when I looked at it.

My fingers slid through a sticky trail of fresh blood on his ribs. A puckered pink wound appeared to have reopened, exposing a deep slice into the muscle. “Fucking Angels,” I cursed.

Malakai released a breath of a laugh at my curse. “Spirits, I’ve missed you, Ophelia.”

The words tore at my heart, and I wanted nothing more than to hold him. Hold this broken man before me and never let go as I never should have let him go on his eighteenth birthday. But I needed to get us out of here first.

And murder whoever had dared to touch him. Looking to the Ax, I knew who my enemies were. Though that didn’t explain why he was here of all places.

I turned his face to me, gently brushing his cheekbone with my thumb and pressing one quick kiss to his lips. A reminder that I really was here. “Just give me one second. I’m getting you out of here.” The promise in my eyes was urgent even as his lids drooped.

“The drugs—they’ll move out of my system soon.” He sounded as though he was trying to reassure me.

Later. I forced myself to take a steadying breath at the mention of drugs. I will get revenge later. I placed my hand beside the Bind and kissed the tattoo, reminding him of what truly mattered; then, I returned my focus to the lock.

After what felt like an eternity, there was a click, and the first cuff opened. Malakai’s arm fell to my shoulder. I freed his other wrist and gently lowered him to the ground.

“Just one more minute, Malakai,” I encouraged us both, desperation and determination tangling in my voice.

He watched me work on the shackles around his ankles, only breaking the silence to whisper, “My spear?”

The weapon flared hot against my back, energy spreading through my spine. “I’ve been keeping her warm for you.” I looked up to him as the first ankle cuff sprang free.

His eyes softened, but something troubled lingered in them. “You hate spears.”

“I like this one.” I blushed at the memory of how right it felt to hold this spear, heat creeping through my body, but that agitation didn’t leave his eyes.

The second ankle shackle opened, falling to the floor with a clatter. I sighed in glorious relief and shot to my feet. “Do you know how to get out of here?”

Malakai shook his head, long black bangs falling into his face. “They’ve always kept me blindfolded or drugged when they moved me.”

Drugged. The word echoed through my mind, solidifying the vengeance in my gut into a burning hot need for revenge.

In the time it took me to free him, Malakai had regained a bit of his strength and color, and he leaned against the wall as he struggled to push himself to his feet. I slid my arms around his torso to help him up, but he tensed beneath me.

“What is it?” I asked.

A voice behind me drawled, “Leaving so soon?”

My head whirled, hands still supporting Malakai, and the figure in the gray cloak nearly knocked the breath from my lungs.

“Lucidius?”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Lucidius Blastwood rounded the edge of the cave, his gait oddly predatory. His gray cloak nearly blended into the stone walls around us, making him appear as a living piece of the volcano. His eyes went first to his son, standing weakly with arms around my shoulders. Beneath my hands, the muscles in Malakai’s scarred back tensed.

The Revered’s gaze swept across his son’s unchained wrists and ankles, then to the dagger returned to my thigh, absorbing the scene. I watched him process what I had been coming to terms with since my eyes landed on Malakai—the gruesome truth of what had happened two years ago when his son disappeared. I waited for the disbelief, the grief, the anguish to splash across his features.

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