Shadows Before the Sun

He was here and close. All I had to do now was play a game of “Getting Warmer” to figure out where he was being held.

I straightened and made it two steps before I realized he had to feel it, too. His mark would’ve warmed just like mine. A grin spread across my face. Wherever he was, he knew I was coming.

* * *

Something had changed, he sensed it.

His body was healed enough to begin the lashes again, yet the whip master hadn’t returned. He must be close now to reaching the six hundred and forty-two lashes. Christ, it felt like he had endured six thousand.

Perhaps his sentence had been fulfilled, which didn’t mean shit. He might be going mad, but he knew enough to know they’d never be done with him, never let him go, never let him die.

Fucking bitches.

He couldn’t wait to kill them. He was going to bathe in their blood, decorate his cell with their entrails, and use their heads for footstools. He was going—

Warmth spread suddenly through his chest.

He lay there frozen, heart pounding, holding his breath for fear this strangely familiar pleasure would just as suddenly leave him.

No, he couldn’t take it.

Whatever new kind of torture this was, he’d rather be whipped than to feel this goodness and hope.

He roared in pain because, goddammit, he wanted none of it! No reminders, no marks, no dreams, no flashes of memory, of a life that could never be his!

“Circeeeee!” he bellowed. “Face me, you spineless old hags!” He started laughing until his gut hurt from it.

Then, he clutched the mark over his chest and began digging it out, ripping the flesh with his nails, wanting it gone, off of him so it couldn’t be used against him.

* * *

The deep yell thundered down the hallway, making me freeze in my tracks. It was too distant, and so ringed in echoes that I couldn’t understand the words, but the sound made goose bumps crawl along my flesh. It was a wounded, angry, maniacal sound.

Hank was down there somewhere. That was my partner, my friend, my . . . something. Didn’t matter if I was out of my element. Didn’t matter that I had no idea what I was walking into much less how to get back out. There was no conceivable way to formulate a plan until I knew where Hank was, the condition he was in, and how he was being contained; right now, nothing mattered except finding him.

I started running down the hallway, finally finding a door. I eased it open, ready to fight. But inside, it was empty. And then the smell hit me. Fresh blood. Dried blood. Urine. Sweat. Leather. I covered my mouth and nose with one hand, noticing the manacles chained to the far wall and the dark pool of blood on the floor beneath them. So much blood.

A rack of whips and barbs lined one wall.

But everything stilled inside me at the sight of the small, narrow door to the right of the rack. I was across the room in a second, grabbing the key ring on the wall with shaking hands and unlocking the door.

As the lock clicked and released, a deep voice beyond the door spoke.

“About time. I thought you forgot about me.”

For a moment, I thought he was talking to me, but his next words corrected that assumption. “Shall we bet again on how many lashes it takes to kill me this time?”

Oh God. Hank.

I pushed the door and it swung wide, bouncing gently against the wall. I froze in the doorway at the sight of him spread eagle, facedown, shackled to the floor by two ankle manacles and a collar around his neck, holding him down.

He was naked, and covered in blood and wounds. I’d never seen anything like this before on a living person, one who was still able to speak. I couldn’t move. My throat went thick and fat tears slipped from my eyes. His back was ripped open in clawlike slashes from his neck all the way to the backs of his thighs. There was hardly a clear bit of flesh to be seen. His wounds ranged from fresh to every stage of healing, which told the horrifying tale that this had been done to him over and over again, new wounds on top of old ones.

“God,” I said, barely above a whisper. “Hank.”

I entered the room on shaky legs. His hands were free, one flung out and the other tucked under his chest, fresh blood pooling on the stones. His hair was bloodied and matted and he’d gone completely still and silent at my voice.

I knelt down beside him. “Hank? It’s me, Charlie. I’m going to get you out of here. Everything is going to be okay.” My voice came out startlingly calm for all the chaos going around inside me.

I got up, intent on freeing him, intent on finding the fucking key. My hands shook. Christ, they had him chained facedown on the fucking floor.

Hank started laughing. The low, raspy chuckle grew until his body shook.

What—?

Before I could process his reaction, hands slid beneath my armpits and jerked me out of the room. The cell door slammed closed and locked. Manacles were slapped around my wrists as I came to my senses and tried to break free.

The amulet protecting me from the siren lure was yanked from my neck.

Arethusa’s face came into view and her smile gave me chills. “Stop struggling.”

And I obeyed.

Her voice . . . it was like a drug, an intoxicating, wonderful drug. Poisonous, a small voice inside my head said. But it was just a small voice, nothing compared to the rapture of the Circe’s power.

“Well, this changes things, sisters.”

“Oh, I do love a tragic romance. How marvelous!” Calliadne exclaimed.

I swayed.

“We must begin interrogations at once.”

Somehow, even in the fog of hearing them speak, I wasn’t surprised by Ephyra’s comment; she did seem the most brutal of the three, but her voice was so beautiful, like an angel, I didn’t care too much about what she said.

I was handed off to a male siren, barely noticing the rough handling as he pushed me out the door and down the hallway. I stumbled, disoriented by the Circe’s power and grief-stricken for Hank. I couldn’t seem to get my bearings and when the guard shoved me into a small room, I fell to my knees.

I wasn’t sure how long I stayed that way on the floor, eyes wide open, tears leaking out, knees bleeding. The only thing I saw was Hank lying on the floor.

Eventually, the fog lifted and I moved off my sore knees and onto my rear.

Okay, Charlie. Time to think. I lifted my manacled hands and rubbed both hands down my face. You can’t change what you saw. You can only move forward.

I’d made it this far. They hadn’t killed me, hadn’t even harmed me, which meant they were saving that bit of fun for later.

Whatever the Circe planned, the first thing I had to learn was how to brace myself against their voices. I had to put the force of my will and my power behind keeping their voices from overwhelming my thoughts. I had to be prepared before they spoke because if I wasn’t they’d have me enthralled with the first syllable. My power was strong enough. It had to be. And though the Circe were far stronger than the siren who’d attacked me, I knew it was possible. I knew my power could, at the very least, lessen the impact of their power.

And I had to find out what had happened to Alessandra because if the Circe knew about me, then everything about the oracle’s presence in Fiallan was in question. I hoped like hell she was currently lying her heart out, telling them I’d tricked her, that she had no idea who I really was.

And lastly, and in keeping with my mantra, I had to kill the Circe.

“No problem. One step at a time, right?” I let out a hefty sigh and scooted so my back rested against the