Page 59 of The Sacrifice

I shake my head. “Not really.”

I don’t stop. I twist harder until the little bones in my hands snap.

“What in savage Waste are you doing?”

Grinning, careless over the throbbing pain I’ll feel later, I contort my wrists and wriggle my broken hands through the shackles. Energy rushes into my veins as soon as I free myself. And drop!

“You owe him nothing! You owe none of them,” Qora tries to convince me even as I rise and survey the opening of the cavern, preferring that impossible Veil of Souls compared to this dark, constricted space with the jagged walls ready to crush my spirit.

Naked and unashamed, I lift my chin high like the Ash Queen Drago called me, I pinpoint that exit and take my first step. Until Qora swings her shadowy form before me, burning her amber eyes against mine. She goes so far as to project her shadow-vym and binds her icy hands around my throat without squeezing or strangling. A warning. A hollow threat.

“Don’t, Quinn. If you step outside this cavern, if you leave, you’ll prove him right. You’re leaving me. You’re choosing them.”

Shaking my head, I curl a broken hand toward my Shadow, knowing I’d shed tears if I could. “No, Qora. I’m not choosing them. I’m choosing me. For me. You’re staying behind.” No matter how many nerve endings Kronos may ignite within me, I’ll never feel anything with him but the regret of desire. No spark. No flames. “If I stay, I’ll lose myself to Kronos,” I tell her, stroking my fractured fingers across her shade cheek. “But with them, I find myself every time. I’d rather set myself on fire and feel its heat one last time rather than become their ghost.”

“No, you’ll become mine instead.”

I offer a meager shrug and lower my hand. “It’s about time.” I lean in to touch my lips to her shadowy cheeks, then step right through her drifting figure. I don’t turn back. I don’t tell her about the undeniable ache constricting my chest or the burning in my throat or the bitter taste on my tongue. I deny how my breaths have thinned. With every step I take, it’s like my bare feet stagger across broken glass. Losing a million little pieces of myself to splinter and attach themselves to Qora, penetrating to her very Shadow-roots.

More vulnerable than ever, I stand on the edge of the cavern with a host of souls like shooting stars before me. Already, the sharp and cold energy of their raw hunger licks at my body, longing for my warmth. Imprisoned within this hollow, the lost souls will seek whatever heat and life they may. I’ve never identified with them more.

Creeping my fingers toward the ever-stirring sea of souls, I curl my palm up, my spindly fingers curved toward those souls in understanding. I echo a quiet plea, remembering the last time I crossed the Veil. Now, I am more than a half-soul. It doesn’t take them long to tangle around my cracked hand, which already shows signs of swelling.

Before I can talk myself out of this, I leap into that spirit ice. They sink their sharp teeth into me, their invisible energy tethers me. They spin their webs. My body becomes heavier than a nightmare, heavier than any guilt I bear. I shriek from the pain of them crushing me, but I don’t stop. Dragging my feet through the Veil, the souls thicken until I’d swear I’m traveling through water—the kind of water that is icing over with every moment. Too cold. Too cold. My lungs burn, but my skin turns number than aged ash.

This time, Qora’s voice is not here to encourage me, to urge me onward. Instead, I picture their faces: Drago, Mayce, Merikh, Kyan. Those images contrast the thousands of whispers collecting around me, hoping to divert me, to slow me down. But I didn’t break my fucking bones to end up caged here for eternity unless Kronos releases me. Then, I will be in his debt.

Beyond the shroud of ghostly wisps, I make out the dim border of the Waste. Weeping roses droop their weary gray heads, petals shed. I hold onto that sight. Battle the death swaddling me, hoping to bring me down. When my footsteps slow, so close to that border, when the tethers hook into my spine and tear me back, panic surges through me. Horror curdles my blood. I close my eyes. Use all my strength to simply hold my ground, raise my fingers toward that border. If I could jump, I’d dive through the Veil and land upon those roses.

When a strong hand breaks through the barrier, I open my mouth in a silent scream. Because the skin begins to shrivel, disintegrating into pieces. But I don’t stop to wonder. Not when the decaying hand closes around my wrist. One simple tug. He hauls me forward—through countless spirits, through the Veil. But I don’t land on the weeping roses. My naked body falls into Kyan’s arms, into the warmth of his muscles and those tattered wings that surround me. He holds me as the tremors rock through me, as I breathe to steady them and bite my tongue hard to prevent sobs from breaking through. Instead, I lean into every touch. From his one hand stroking my hair to how my breasts flatten upon his lower belly to his heartbeat thundering beneath my cheek. The stench of rotting flesh curls in the air, and I jerk my head to the side to discover his hand. And gasp. No more skin. No more muscle. Nothing left but a skeletal corpse hand.

“Kyan...!” I sob, only comforted by the tears lashing at my cheeks, by my sense of touch returning. I creep my broken hands toward his, wishing I had my vym, but I can’t begin to know when it will return.

The next thing the fallen angel does is remove his jacket to drape it around my shoulders before tucking tendrils of my hair behind my ear—with that hand of bones. I suppose that explains why they never could have traveled through the Veil of Souls unless it was Hollow Night.

“Will it heal?” I gesture to his hand.

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

A jolt of panic electrifies my nerve endings, and I swing my head to each side. “Mayce and Merikh, are they—”

“Goddammit, Quintessa, they’re fine! Looking for you, but they’re fucking fine.”

“And Drago?” I almost lurch while pain throbs at the back of my throat.

“Give me your hands.”

“Tell me!”

“The Hag took him to her hollow. He won’t be coming out.”

I try to pull away, but he snatches my wrists. Pain splinters from the busted bones, distracting me from thoughts of Drago. Unable to stop my whimper from escaping, I wince as he examines my swelling hands and softly thumbs the skin above the fractures.

“I don’t have my vym. Kronos took it.”

He presses his lips into a scowl. “Not the only thing he took. I could reset the bones, but it would be painful. And healing is slow. The bathhouse is buried under castle rubble. And you need your hands, Quinny.”

I lift a brow, surprised by his pet name for me. But I like it, I like how it sounds coming from his voice. While a muscle bounces in his cheek, he flicks those blue eyes to mine, but they don’t seem as serene as usual. Darker but more lustrous like shimmering steel. Locks of his dark hair eclipse those eyes in shadows. For the first time, I register fur growing along his lower neck, but it’s softer fur, mottled with feathers, like owl tuft. And I wonder if it’s his monster side. I resist the urge to shiver, wondering why is he transforming now.

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