He’d lost the best part of him. A mere shell remained.
It’s better this way. Harley won’t suffer under the curse. She’ll be free to live and love another. And if he kept telling himself that, someday he might believe it.
Harley’s mouth opened on a soundless shriek. Hands pressed to her chest, she tried desperately to hold on to Calan. The silken second skin, bonding their bodies and souls, slipped through her fingers. Fire replaced it. Her back arched, and the final piece pulled free. She slammed onto the ground. Air rushed out of her lungs.
For a long moment, she lay there unmoving. Finally, she turned her hand over. One by one, she forced her fingers to unclench. Where two circles had been, only one remained. Hers.
She gnashed her teeth. They’d never had a chance. Damned. They’d been damned. Dar was responsible. He had tainted her. Made it so she couldn’t live a normal life. To love. To be free. To have a family.
Jaw locked, fists curled, and muscles tensed, Harley sat there vibrating with rage. She wanted her father’s blackened heart. She’d rip it out of his body and crush the diseased organ, then…
No. I need to stop. I can’t give in to my hatred. I can’t turn, not yet. She held her plan close and took deep breaths. Her quickened pulse slowed. She pushed to her feet and shuffled the remaining few feet to lake. With each step closer, the water receded, and the shimmery veil covering the hidden sinkhole emerged.
No longer a calm body of water, the entrance to Calan’s prison greeted her. She glanced into the pit that looked deeper and darker than it had the last time she’d seen it. The sight of the churned earth and sulfur-scented smoke slipping from between cracks in the sloping ground sent a wave of nausea through her. Doubt and fear took hold. She shoved them aside.
She’d made her choice—Calan. Nothing would stop her. She would save him, so he could save the world.
Harley slid over the edge of the sinkhole, dropping onto the first step of the natural staircase leading to the bottom of the pit. The pure chaos mixed in with the smoke separated from the noxious gas and weaved its way toward her as it had the last time she’d stood in the same spot. It snaked up her legs, twined around her torso and lifted her hair. Instead of experiencing temptation, her skin crawled. She ignored the sensation and pushed forward, hopping from each protruding hunk of earth until she reached the bottom.
Wide-eyed, she stared at the entrance. The beam that had sagged the last time she’d seen it had cracked. The earthen roof, partially collapsed, allowed only a crawl space into the underground chamber.
“Oh God.” Tremors started, and memories returned of her time spent in the basement of her family home—plush carpet, comfy furniture, books, and videos. The image of Calan’s prison overlaid it—the chains, the silence, the isolation.
Harley forced her feet to move. At the opening, she dropped to her knees and breached the doorway. The soot in the air choked her lungs. She breathed shallowly and crawled forward. Some places, she had to shimmy on her belly, squeezing through the collapsed tunnel, but the farther she traveled, the wider the opening grew. Near the final stairwell, she stood, brushed off the dirt on her pants, and descended.
The unlit torch on the wall drew her eye. She grabbed a flint stored near it, scraping the small block over the stone. The spark caught, lighting the partially burned, cloth-wrapped stick. A flickering glow illuminated the space.
She swept her gaze over Calan’s bedroom. Her attention focused on the rumpled bed where they’d made love. Her heart dropped, and a sigh escaped. On shaky legs, she walked forward. She lifted the pillow to her nose and inhaled her Huntsman’s woodsy scent. She greedily let it seep into her, then forced her fingers to unclench, dropping it onto the mattress.
Movement caught her eye. She glanced toward where Calan had stood for a millennium. The chains hanging from the wall glowed, swinging softly on a breeze she didn’t feel.
“This is it.” Her voice echoed.
She swallowed around the lump in her throat and took a step, then another. Without allowing herself to think, she yanked the dagger out of her boot and clutched it while she backed into position against the wall.
The chains she’d thought would be too short for her small frame lengthened. The ones at her feet slithered across the ground. The manacle snapped over her left foot, her right next, and pulled. Her hips cracked with the tight stretch. She winced but didn’t have time to cry out. The one above her head snagged her free wrist and jerked it up. Fearing the other chain would capture her last limb, she raised the blade and slammed it into her chest. It sank, deeper and deeper, until her body absorbed it completely.
Fiery ice slithered into her veins. It seized her, locking her muscles, stopping her heart, and throwing her body and mind into the worst agony she’d ever experienced.
Words skittered through her brain. She couldn’t make sense of the guttural chant. The language was one she’d never heard, but the meaning of it settled into her heart.
Harley had to suffer for crimes she had never committed. The images danced across her vision—bloated bodies, rapes, torture, and utter destruction. In every one, a face repeated. Although she’d never seen him, she knew who he was—her father, the sick bastard who’d forced his seed into her mom. Hatred whipped through her. Pain followed. She welcomed it, hoped if she accepted it, the sheer agony would stop. It didn’t. More anguish added to the weight crushing her.
The earth around her trembled, groaned, and finally shook in a violent quake. The ground shifted. A boom rocked the world, and the sound of crashing and shifting rock filled her ears. I’m being buried alive.
