We’re sucked back into the present, and I yank my hand back. I push off the couch, moving away from him in an instant. He knew. He knew everything. All the questions, more than I ever thought possible, he figured out with witch magic.
“Now you see I’m not lying. This isn’t something I take lightly.”
It’s not a threat, but it’s also not a suggestion. He wants this—feels /we should be together. His touch did something to me, but that vision was so powerful, so real.
He gets up from the couch and walks over to his bedroom area. I squint at him, readying a dagger in my hand in case he tries something, but he only steps over to the draw and pulls out a cloth.
He walks over to me and extends his arms like offering me a gift. My eyes flick over his face to see if this is a trick. When I see nothing but openness, I sheath my dagger and take the bundle of cloth.
I open it, sucking in a breath. It’s the dagger from the vision. Its hilt is filled with purple stones, but comfortable enough to grip. The blade is curved and honed to perfection. They infused the black onyx with purple lines. But I don’t understand what it means.
“It’s yours. It’s always been yours.”
And I don’t think he’s talking about the blade.
Twenty
ANIMA
The walk back to the room is a blur. My mind is pulled in three different directions. I clutch the dagger so tightly that I cut my palm before I trudge inside.
Four startled faces stare at me as if I’ve grown four heads, but now I know the real reason they look guilty—because they are.
“You sold me to the Death king.”
My voice isn’t pleasant. I’m burning with the need to hit something or someone. Namir comes up to me and tries to comfort me with his body, but I step away from him. I don’t want to be touched.
“It wasn’t like that. We were at war. Nox was nowhere to be found. I had to make a sacrifice to appease him. He’s a ruthless leader. We were all going to die. You weren’t even a possibility. I didn’t know you existed.”
Tears stream down her face, and Togmerin pulls her into his shoulder. Her confession does nothing to quell my anger. Sitting in this room with them is making me feel like I’m choking. I need to get away from them.
Throwing the balcony window open, I look down. It’s not far. I’ve jumped from worse. With one more glance at the room full of people I almost trusted, brought into my life, and considered family, I jump.
The wind blows my hair back, and I land with a soft thud on the dust-coated ground. The sun is no longer streaming down on me as harsh as before. The evening is turning into night, the cooler air pushing against my leathers.
I walk, having no idea where I’m heading. There is a thicket of trees tucked in one corner, but not enough to get lost in. When I round the edge of the palace, there are several buildings. One looks like the stables and another a storage unit.
The third is covered in a thorny vine. The only thing visible is the door. Never one to let a mystery go, I jog over to the strange building. Its brass handle is smaller than my hand, but the door opens easily enough when I push.
Inside is what I’d call heaven. Weapons of all kinds line the sides of the structure. Knives, blades, guns, and even a flame thrower. I get giddy walking farther in and touching all this hard steel.
A shooting range sits behind the studio, which has a huge hearth in the middle. Maybe this is where the smithy works?
I pull out my SIG and clean it with a cloth and gun oil I find on one table. As I go through the motions, I try to let myself relax. The movements of doing something that reminds me of my actual life are like a balm over my nerves.
I click the gun back together, then load it up before pulling a pair of earmuffs from the hook and stepping into the booth. Loading up the dolly, I send it back five hundred yards. I’ll start with something easy.
I slip on the plastic goggles on the podium, then aim for the bullseye.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Three rounds in a row. I place my gun down as I flick the switch to bring the target back to me. One clear hole through the dead center.
“One out of three is good enough.”
I turn around to frown at Caedis. Still stalking me.
“That wasn’t one round.” I hand him over the paper, and he looks at it. The hole is bigger than his index finger. “It was three through the same hole.”
Smirking, I turn back around, sliding another paper on the rack and sending it out again. I put the safety on my SIG before placing it back in its holster and waving in the target’s direction.
Caedis smiles and picks up a 9mm from one rack. He takes his stance. His enormous frame practically takes up the entire booth. His jeans are formfitting, and his t-shirt hugs his back muscles like a second skin.
Now that I know the truth behind it all, I look at him with interest. It may not be a romantic interest, but I realize I want to get to know him. He’s been the only one during this whole ordeal who has been honest.
I don’t even hear him fire the rounds, just see his smile when he turns around to me, holding up the bullseye. It’s a blinding one, reminding me of true happiness.
“Seems like you met your match.” He beams, wiggling his finger through the giant hole.
I can’t help but return the smile. There’s not much I love more than weapons.
“What is this place?
