Chapter Sixteen

Harrow blinked her eyes open. The stress responses she’d felt in the dream—shaking, sweating, nausea—didn’t transfer over to her reality. At first, she felt sleepy, relaxed. The warm weight of another body was curled around her from behind, a heavy arm wrapped around her middle. The room was quiet. Dark, save for the blue glow of moonlight.

Everything came back in a rush.

The shaking started immediately, but she froze in place, terrified. At any moment, Raith could awaken and…

And what? Kill her? Or just look at her in hurt confusion because he didn’t understand why she suddenly feared him? Goddess, that would be harder to face than him attacking her.

He truly remembered nothing. Darya had confirmed it. He hadn’t been lying about that, but had he lied about anything else? How much of what they’d shared was real? All of it? None of it? It didn’t matter anyway.

She could never meet his eyes again without seeing him for what he was.

A killer. An abomination.

Tears spilled down her cheeks to soak the pillowcase. She trembled with fear in his embrace yet still hesitated to leave it. What was wrong with her? She was lying naked in bed with the monster who had murdered her family. It was sickening. She would never recover from the shame.

Worse, she couldn’t just turn off her feelings for him. Her body wanted to snuggle back against his, burrow into his embrace, breathe his warm scent, savor that safe bubble he always made her feel she was in.

False security. False intimacy.

Killer. Murderer. Abomination.

With shaking hands, she lifted his arm and crawled out from under it. Sliding her bare feet to the cool floor, she rose from the bed, turning back around to face the man she left behind.

His body was a pure, inky void.

A scream caught in her throat. His hair, skin—even his lips—were utter darkness. No hint of his former brown, no depth of tone. It was like he was an absence in the room, rather than a being who occupied space.

Just flat black. Pure shadow.

He looked…wrong. Like an apparition that should not have existed in the world.

Salizar had told her about this, hadn’t he? And she’d just brushed him off, thinking him a cruel madman at the time. Raith had fangs, leathery wings, unnatural eyes, and skin made of shadows, and she’d thought Salizar the madman? How had she been so oblivious to the obvious?

Raith really was a wraith. The very wraith who had killed her family.

The unbearable weight of the truth settled over her, and a new pang of agony sliced across her heart—grief. Grief for her lost love. Because she had truly loved him, only to discover he wasn’t even close to what she thought he was.

The tears spilled down her cheeks freely, obscuring her sight. Not that she could see much of him. In the night, he nearly disappeared completely, disguising himself in the slightest shadow like a ghost.

A shadow of death passing over the full moon’s face.

Even now, she still loved him, or at least she loved who she’d thought he was. That was the hardest thing of all. As she backed slowly away from the bed, grabbing a dress and robe from her bag and donning them with shaking hands, one part of her was desperate to escape while another part longed to climb back into bed beside him. Knowing he was trapped in that dream reliving his memories didn’t help. Was he hurting? Afraid?

No. She steeled herself. He was a killer, and not just any killer. The very one who killed her beautiful mother and her entire clan. He was an abomination, as Darya had said. He needed to be put down.

Just then, Raith moaned low and twisted in the bed as if in agony. Oh Goddess, he was in pain right now, trapped in the horrors of his past. Her breath hitched. Her hands ached to reach for him. Her heart broke just looking at him. Her old wounds of grief for her family were torn open anew at the sight of him.

She could never look at him again without seeing that blood on his hands.

It was that thought that finally got her to turn away. She crossed the room to the door, eyes so blurred by tears she couldn’t see it. Reaching a shaking hand out to unlatch the lock, she pulled the door ajar and then hesitated. The urge to turn back was nearly overwhelming, but she fought it hard.

In the end, she prevailed.

Gritting her teeth against the searing pain in her chest, Harrow stepped through the door and pulled it softly shut behind her. Without a backward glance, she took the stairway out to the back courtyard to escape into the night.

…

Raith fought the dream prison with everything he had. Images of his violence and the violence done to him flashed in rapid succession, interspersed by the screams of his victims and the screams of his own self. Still, he fought to break free.

Agonized screaming. His own. Others’. Blood and death and destruction. Enslaved, bound to another’s will, forced to commit unspeakable acts…

Darya intended to keep him trapped here until Salizar arrived and captured him again. But the Water Queen had spent fifty years underestimating him, and it seemed she still hadn’t learned her lesson.

With a monumental expulsion of willpower, Raith finally managed to pull himself out of the mire of horrific memories. He jerked upright in bed, whole body shaking, skin slick with sweat. The sheets around him were torn to shreds from his claws. The images continued to swirl around his head.

The atrocities he’d committed… Centuries serving as one of Furie’s assassins. The pain he’d unleashed upon the innocent. Torture at his mistress’s hand for his disobedience. Fifty years in a mythical cage as Darya’s kill experiment.

He lurched out of bed, head spinning, heart pounding. The memories kept coming. Staggering forward, he crashed into the wall, knocking a picture to the floor. He stumbled back into the bed, then the table, then the couch, before finally ending up on the ground. On his hands and knees, he shook his head violently, trying to force them away.

But they persisted.

Captured by Darya in his weakened state. Blasted by wave after wave of magic, trying to break him. Darya’s frustrated screams at his continued defiance.

The images traveled back in time.

Furie screeching at him in rage. Why had he spared the Seer child? How could he have defied her? How had he been able to break his vow? Then, burning. So much burning. Beyond skin and bone, since he had none, the Fire burned his very essence. Incorporeal meant unkillable, so there was no end to the pain. An eternity of fire. Of agony and betrayal and hatred.

He traveled even further back.

The full moon cast a glow over a sleepy encampment surrounded by tall evergreens. Several small caravans were positioned around a fire, horses grazing nearby. Women gathered around the fire. One cast a small bag of stones upon the ground, studying the contents. The others shared food and drink. A small child sat beside a doting mother.

A shadow descended upon them from the darkness.

They stood no chance against him. His very existence was death, his only purpose to destroy. He simply touched them and unleashed the fire that was within him, and they burned from the inside out. Their screams echoed into the night. The horses whinnied in terror. Blood pooled on the pine needles. The caravans toppled in the chaos of unleashed powers. Defenses that did nothing to save them.

Only the small child remained.

She thought she was hiding, but he knew exactly where she was. He smelled her skin, could have heard her heartbeat from a mile away. He was death, and there was no escape from him.

He descended as a smoky shadow. The child was his final charge for the night. Perhaps then he could finally rest, free from the relentless compulsion to fulfill his vows.

The wraith hesitated outside her shelter, watching her. She didn’t cry, didn’t scream. He needed only to stretch a claw forward and stroke her tiny face, and she would burn just like the rest of them.

He was bound to do this. Powerless to resist.

He resisted anyway.

The start of fifty years of torture.

He made his own free choice for the first time in his existence, and the agony that consumed him as a result was a thousand times worse than the quick deaths he dealt to the Seers.

His essence dispersed; his power drained utterly. He was whisked away, blown like a feeble wisp of smoke from an extinguished candle, drawn back to the origins of his bondage to face his mistress’s wrath.

Raith’s spine arched. His claws shot out and dug into the wooden floorboards. His wings burst from his back. He was pure shadow again, but he didn’t try to alter his appearance, abandoning all pretense of blending in.

There was no lying to himself anymore, no hiding what he was.

Harrow was gone. He didn’t need to wonder what had happened or why she’d left. Everything had been explained in the dream. Darya’s intervention, reaching out to her last remaining Seer. Protecting her from the monster that had killed her family and now held her in its clutches.

Harrow had awoken and fled him in horror.

She should have driven a blade through his chest while he slept. He would have helped her sink it deeper.

The door crashed open behind him. Shouts filled the air.

Raith lurched to his feet, spinning around to face the intruders. It was Salizar, accompanied by several others. Raith recognized the blond hair of Loren in the fray. Salizar was armed with his lightning stick and a length of chain that gave off the strong scent of Air magic. They rushed into the room, coming at him. To capture him and deliver him to Darya for extermination. Just like he had exterminated Harrow’s family.

But Raith wasn’t hiding what he was now, wasn’t hopelessly wishing to be something he wasn’t. He spread his wings as wide as they would go, and the talons at the tips hit the ceiling. He flexed his fingers and lengthened his claws to their full extent. He may have been broken, but he still had one thing left to live for: vengeance.

He threw his head back and roared.

It was earsplitting, and his enemies stumbled back, hands over their ears. Salizar shouted orders to them over the din. They approached anew. Raith swept out with his claws, too lost in his rage to see who or what he was striking. Blood sprayed, painting his naked chest, painting the walls and the furniture. Screams filled the tiny room.

Salizar swung the enchanted chain, striking Raith in the shoulder. Agony erupted, his body crumpling beneath him—the weapon sapped his strength like a siphon.

He didn’t care. He would fight to his own death if he had to.

In this battle, Raith had two major advantages. One, he was a wraith—a living, breathing instrument of death—and he was enraged. And two, Salizar had orders to take him alive, which meant the Enchanter would be measuring his attacks. Raith had no such stipulations.

He swiped his claws again as the chain struck once more. More agony, more weakness. The maddened wraith roared again. The attackers stumbled, hands slamming back over their ears.

Tiny flames erupted around the room from his fury. He no longer possessed the ability to kill with a touch of Fire, but his rage still stoked it into spontaneous existence. He didn’t need the Fire to kill anyway. His claws, his teeth, and his body were sufficient. After all, he was the weapon.

Salizar struck again. Raith stumbled back, crashing into upturned furniture. Blood poured from his chest, but he was far from done.

The next time Salizar struck, Raith caught the chain in midair. The Enchanter’s eyes widened. The chain melted through the skin of his palm almost instantly, draining his consciousness like a sinkhole sucking down water. He ignored it. With a fierce yank, he pulled it from Salizar’s grip and tossed it away.

Snarling furiously, Raith advanced on his foe.

Salizar brandished his next weapon—the lightning stick. He swung out, stabbing the staff into one of Raith’s wings. Trickles of lightning erupted from the point of contact, spreading through the leathery expanse into his body.

Raith roared in pain, pumping the injured wing furiously to ward off the staff. Still, he advanced, stumbling now.

Salizar swung, striking again. More lightning, until Raith’s entire body was coated in it. Still, he advanced. Another swing, another strike. Raith stumbled again, blackness creeping into the edges of his vision. The light of victory shone in Salizar’s blue gaze. He swung again, close enough now to stab the sharp tip of the staff into Raith’s abdomen. The agony was unbearable, yet Raith had survived worse.

His clawed hand lifted and wrapped around the staff.

Lightning shot down his arm, but he didn’t let go. Salizar’s eyes widened, but he thrust forward, stabbing the point deeper into Raith’s stomach. Still, Raith gripped the staff, fighting to retain consciousness.

It only took one second of distraction for the tide to turn.

Beside them, a man with a bleeding chest wound tried to rise and join the fight but was easily knocked aside by one of Raith’s wings. It was Loren, he dimly realized. Salizar’s gaze flicked to him for the briefest of seconds. It was all Raith needed.

He jerked on the staff, the tip sinking deeper into his own flesh. It was yanked from Salizar’s grip.

Raith caught the other end with his free hand, the one injured by the chain. He didn’t even notice because a far worse sensation quickly overrode it.

Lightning shot down both his arms like he’d stuck them into the eye of a furious storm. It traveled over his whole body, frying him from the inside out. But Raith was used to burning.

Roaring with all the fury and agony and hatred of his entire fucking existence, he used all the remaining strength in his wasted body to push the ends of the stick toward each other.

With a booming explosion and a brilliant flash of white, the staff snapped in half.

Instantly, dead silence fell over the room.

He tossed the useless halves of the staff aside. Staggering forward, black spots peppering his vision, he moved toward Salizar and wrapped a clawed hand around his neck.

A blade sank into Raith’s abdomen, just below the ribs.

Raith stumbled, glancing down. Blood flowed out around the wound, down to his hip, soaking into his pants. Magic coated the blade—he could feel whatever enchantment it possessed seeping into his body.

Salizar’s palm was wrapped around the hilt. He’d pulled it from beneath his coat.

Raith looked back into the eyes of his enemy. Flexing his arm, he squeezed the hand around Salizar’s throat. The Enchanter choked, yet even then, pride and defiance still blazed in those brilliant blue eyes. He jerked on the blade, twisting it in Raith’s abdomen, but Raith just squeezed tighter, waiting to see a plea for mercy in that gaze, or even just a hint of fear.

It never came.

Raith tilted his head, studying him. This is for Harrow, Salizar had said before he’d blasted him with lightning until he convulsed into unconsciousness.

“You should have killed me when you had the chance,” Raith said quietly.

Surprise flickered across Salizar’s face.

Strangely, Raith felt a begrudging respect for him. Salizar did what he had to do to protect his people. He had cared for Harrow, kept her safe as long as he could. He obeyed his Queen and fulfilled his duty with honor and pride.

Raith had none of those qualities. Raith had no people to protect. The only person he’d ever wanted to protect was the one he’d hurt worse than any other. Raith’s Queen was an unhinged miscreant whom he hated more than he hated his own miserable existence. He had no purpose, no duty, no pride. His life was a curse.

But at least it was his life now that he was free of Furie, and it was his choice what he did with it. And who he killed.

Harrow deserved to have vengeance, and he wanted to give it to her. He’d told her he wanted to destroy whoever hurt her, and now, he was actually in a position to do something about it. Delivering himself on a platter to Darya would take care of part of the issue but not all of it.

Killing Salizar seemed unnecessary. After all, he had helped Harrow when she needed it, and he had only tried to do what was right by her.

So Raith shoved the Enchanter away by the hand at his throat, his back hitting the wall, and then he ripped the dagger from his stomach, keeping it in hand. He was going to need it later. Blood pooled around the wound and spilled down his leg. Salizar was already pulling yet another enchanted weapon from beneath his coat, still staring at Raith in shock.

Turning away, Raith folded his wings against his back but didn’t disappear them. There was no more hiding what he was. He stumbled across the room to the window, black spots obscuring his vision.

Rather than opening it gently as he had with Harrow, he simply dug the claws of his free hand into the frame and ripped it right out of the wall, tossing it away to smash on the far end of the room. Shards of glass rained down on Salizar’s wounded men, who were sprawled about the room in varying states of injury. Everyone was frozen, staring at the wraith as it turned away from the destruction and started to climb through the window.

“Wait,” Salizar called out in a hoarse voice.

Raith turned around, seconds before he would have slipped away.

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

Raith said nothing. He doubted the Enchanter would believe him anyway. The thought of Salizar’s death didn’t fill him with satisfaction anymore. He had something else to focus on now.

Vengeance for Harrow.

Turning away, he climbed out the window and scaled the building to the roof. Beneath the moon and stars, he spread his wings wide, shaking off the weakness from the fight. His body was a bloody mess, yet he barely felt it.

He was an abominable instrument of death, after all.

Bending his knees, he pumped his wings and sprang upward, launching into flight. The air rushed by his ears with a roar, the city of Allegra quickly shrinking away as he flew higher and higher, leaving it all behind.

He swooped right, using the constellation Harrow had shown him to navigate the night, though he needn’t have bothered. The direction he was heading sang to him, beckoning him to return like a tether on his tainted soul.

He flew directly south.

Raith moved with the deadly speed of his species, a blur streaking through the silent sky, the knife coated with his own blood clutched tightly in his grip. At his rapid pace, it would take him mere hours to reach his destination.

The Queens were immortal, but Raith had been in close contact with two of them, created by their very magic, and he knew their weaknesses.

He knew that not even an Elemental Queen could survive a beheading.