Chapter 30

 

Clad in a bright, crimson coat, the woman trotted forward on shoes Zara was positive weren’t made for winter. They matched the coat and were about seven inches high, putting her nearly on her toes. Her long legs were bare, the hem of her skirt aligned with the hem of her coat. Her pale locks were twisted up into a high ponytail that swung with her every hurried step.

“There you are,” she said, coming to a stop a foot from Zara. She fidgeted with the edge of her cat-shaped glasses, making the cluster of diamonds along the corners wink seductively. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it.”

“I know you,” Zara said, squinting at the woman. “You’re the woman from the market. The one who helped us get past the wards.”

The woman stopped a respectable and almost nonthreatening two feet. “Jacinda.”

Zara peered past her to the car, expecting to spot a shadowy figure lurking inside. The car seemed empty.

“What are you doing here?”

Jacinda clasped small hands together in front of her. “Mr. Baron has asked me to take you somewhere safe.”

Zara stiffened at the name. It seemed ludicrous to be wary of someone offering a helping hand, except she didn’t trust the pretty blonde in front of her, nor was she fully convinced Baron wasn’t evil. The Maxwell’s did, and after reading their thoughts, she almost had to agree. Her only doubt was the way Baron had looked at her, like she was the most precious thing in the world. Evil people weren’t capable of faking something like that.

“Why?” she asked instead.

Jacinda peeked at her watch. “Now isn’t the time for this talk.” She lowered her arm and fixed Zara with her cool, yellow eyes. “I’ll explain everything in the car.”

She may have been new to that world, but even she wasn’t stupid enough to get into a stranger’s car, no matter how good their intentions.

Jacinda seemed to realize Zara’s lack of participation, because she expelled a plume of breath into the chilly evening and swiveled her eyeballs upwards. Without asking, she extended her hand, palm up, fingers unfurled. The nails were painted a bloody crimson that matched her lips. Capping each long, slender finger, they reminded Zara of cat claws … after the cat had gouged its owner’s eyes out.

“Go ahead.” She opened and closed her fingers quickly. “Read my thoughts so we can get going.”

Her mind had been as blank as it had been the last time Zara had seen her. There wasn’t necessarily a wall, or door, but a vacuum of darkness that extended into eons, like looking down a wall filled with things that stared back. Touching her was even less appealing, but her curiosity was peaked.

She accepted the woman’s hand. She settled their palms together and gripped the fingers, and waited for the thoughts and voices to flood her mind.

It wasn’t a flood, but a steady trickle, a carefully selected cluster of memories pulled from their shelf and laid before her. Images unfolded, a black and white recording of her mission starring Baron himself.

The demon sat behind a desk. Hair the same white as hers gleamed in the harsh light radiating around him. His blue eyes gleamed, two perfect gems sewn a bit too tightly, creating deep creases in the fabric around it. He peered straight at her with that same glimmer as before, as seeing her was his greatest joy.

“Hello Zara,” he said.

“Hello.”

“I’m relieved to see Jacinda was able to find you. When I heard you were in trouble, I was worried she might not make it.”

Zara frowned. “Heard from whom?”

He gave a careless wave of his hand. “That is not important at this moment. Let’s get you somewhere warm and safe. We’ll talk once you’re ready.”

She wanted to tell him she was ready now, but he was right. It was too cold for any discussion.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Home.”

It had been a long time since she’d heard that word in reference to herself. Home had always been a word from a fairytale, something magical and impossible. Even now, the idea of such a place for her sounded ridiculous, but it was the word warm that convinced her.

She released Jacinda’s hand and gave a nod.

The blonde led Zara to the car and motioned her to the seat next to the wheel. She didn’t open the door for her as Magnus had always done, but slipped into her own seat and let Zara figure her own way in.

She jiggled the flap a few times with no success. She was beginning to think there was a trick to it when the latch gave with her hard yank and she nearly went sprawling when the door sprung open and slammed into her. She caught herself quickly, staggering under the weight; it had never looked so heavy when Magnus was doing it.

Resigned, she slipped in with no small measure of difficulty. Her wings were too bulky, too long. There was no simple way to adjust them comfortably between her and the seat, but somehow, she managed without leaning back and crushing them. The interior was warm and smelled of heated leather and held the lingering scent of pine. The seat cradled her in welcome, and she had to suppress the urge to cuddle in deeper. The cold had her teeth chattering and her muscles stiffening. The flesh of her thighs burned from being exposed to the elements, and it took her a full thirty seconds to drag the door shut.

Jacinda was watching her, never once lifting a finger in assistance. She seemed fascinated by Zara’s reaction to everything, which served to irritate her, but she bottled back the retort burning a hole on the tip of her tongue.

Show over, Jacinda turned back to the wheel and put it into drive.

Zara watched her, watched the motions of her small hands and the way her feet moved from one metal pedal to the next. She was captivated by the lights and switches that moved the roaring machine through the settling dusk. There were others maneuvering in a strange, mechanical dance around them. Everyone seemed to know exactly what they were doing, where they were going. They passed and wove around each other in a ballet of colors, surrounded by an array of glowing smears blurring past the windows. Buildings as tall as mountains glittered with their walls of glass. Beautiful people clung to each other as they tumbled out into the chill, laughing hysterically. Music blared before doors clipped shut behind them.

“Clubs,” Jacinda said.

Zara wasn’t sure if the woman could read her mind, or if the question had been written on Zara’s face, but she didn’t ask.

“What are clubs?”

“It’s a place humans go to dance and drink.”

Zara tried to turn her head and watch a group of girls, but they were already mere blots in the little side mirrors. She opted to let it go. She had bigger questions to ask anyway.

“Where’s home?” she asked.

Jacinda made a turn, a fluid of her arms. “Mr. Baron requested that you be returned to your people.”

Zara frowned. “My people?”

“The Draconians,” Jacinda pointed out. “You will be welcomed there, amongst those who will understand you.”

How could someone who killed a woman in cold blood possibly understand anything? The very idea that she could have anything in common with such a person was nearly laughable. It certainly didn’t make Zara want to be anywhere near the murderer.

“I don’t want to go there,” she told the she-demon.

Jacinda seemed to have been expecting that response, because she was unsurprised by the refusal. She gazed with unconcerned dispassion at the road while Zara tried reasoning with her.

“That’s too bad,” she said at least. “Because those are my orders.”

“He killed Kyaerin,” Zara said, not sure it would make any sort of difference, but feeling it needed to be said.

The blonde nodded. “That was unfortunate, but a necessary conclusion to a problem. She was a casualty of war. It really had nothing to do with you, or your relationship with your brother. I know who he is to you,” she added when Zara opened her mouth. “I know who the Maxwells are to you, as well. But you need to look at this strategically—war has no family or friends. War is war. People will die.”

As explanations went, it made no sense. There was no logic behind the statement at all.

“How can I go there after what he did?”

“Easily.” She turned down a long, dark road. “You have nowhere else to go.”

She had a point. Zara really did have nowhere else to go. If not Kyros’s home, and not Magnus’s home, there was nowhere else. Even if she found a way, she could never return to the temple. That left her homeless.

“Is there nowhere else?”

Jacinda shrugged. “I’m sure there is, but this is where Mr. Baron wants you.”

She could refuse. She could throw herself from the car and take her chances with whatever awaited her in that world; Mr. Baron had no control over her. He couldn’t actually make her do anything. Grandfather or not. Yet that left her having to face the cold with no promise of finding shelter for the night. She couldn’t risk freezing to death before morning. What she needed was a solid plan and a better understanding of that new world. The Maxwells hadn’t been very helpful. They hadn’t taken her out, and when they did, they hadn’t explained anything. Everything had been a frightening jolt, like that elevator business, nothing had terrified her more than the sensation of plummeting down several floors. Then there was the car he’d shoved her into that first day, but the very worst was the noise, the voices and useless chatter. The people of this world were filled with an ocean of mindless thoughts, a clattering chaos of hate, self-doubt, self-pity, self-loathing, self, self, self. Selfish, narrow minded, shallow. Even when they smiled and feigned happiness for a friend, their minds were choked with bitterness, a bitterness Zara now recognized as jealousy. It was a very dark, unwelcoming place and she had no desire to be part of it.

“That’s your demon half.”

Zara jolted from her thoughts with a startled blink. She turned to the woman next to her, slightly embarrassed she’d forgotten about her.

“I’m sorry?”

Jacinda made a twirling motion in the air with one extended finger. “What you’re feeling right now, it’s your demon half. It’s ingrained in your DNA to automatically dislike humans, to find their faults and shortcoming. It’s stronger if you’ve never been around them.”

It made sense, because despite not wanting her around, the other girls at the temple had never fueled this level of emotion from her. Their many shortcomings had never been an issue. Even the Maxwell family, until the trip to the mall place, Zara hadn’t been entirely aware of their humanness but the moment she’d been surrounded by mortals, something in her had changed. Her tolerance had decreased into annoyance. It was a shame, because they also fascinated her.

Just not nearly as much as the woman next to her.

“Can you read thoughts?”

Jacinda shook her head. “Nothing that exciting.” She pulled them off the main road and down a narrow path of dirt and rocks. The metal frame rattled around them, drowning her words slightly. “I can sense feelings, which can sometimes be like reading minds.”

Empathy wasn’t permitted at the temple. Emotions clouded judgment. It might have made them do something stupid and reckless, but it hadn’t been that simple, not for Zara. Controlling the lives of others and deciding who lived and who died twisted her insides. Granted, she wasn’t the one who decided, but she hadn’t done anything to change it. Stop it. Had they not betrayed her, she probably never would have tried to escape.

“How did Baron know I needed help? Or was this the plan all along? To kill Kyaerin and wait for my life to fall apart?”

She was being overly dramatic, but Jacinda was the only person willing and able to answer her questions.

“Kyaerin was already listed to die.”

It didn’t answer her question, nor did it explain why Kyros had to do it.

“It’s not my place to tell you,” Jacinda finished simply.

The car rumbled down the path. The windows vibrated with the force. Neither of them spoke again for a long stretch of time. It was only when they arrived at the base of a narrow opening in a wall of shrubbery that Jacinda finally took a deep breath and turned to Zara.

“Someone will be waiting for you on the other side. They’ll take you the rest of the way.”

“You’re not coming?”

The blonde adjusted her glasses and shook her head. “This is as far as I’m allowed.”

Zara glanced at the shivering leaves and knitted branches drenched in the pale gold of the headlights. It illuminated the delicate lace of frost decorating each blade. They seemed to shimmer in welcome.

Zara swallowed and realized her mouth tasted pasty. She thought of the brush she’d left behind and hoped she’d get a new one.

“What am I supposed to do here?” she asked no one in particular, but since she wasn’t alone, Jacinda answered.

“I don’t know.”

That was no help, and a lie, Zara didn’t need to read her mind to figure that out.

“Why can’t I hear you?” she demanded.

Behind the cat shaped lenses, Jacinda’s eyes glittered in the dark interior of the car. “Because I am centuries older. The older the demon, the more the power. Unlike humans, we get better with age. Now, it’s time to go.”

It took Jacinda’s guidance to help Zara open the door. The freezing air rushed in with the breaking of the seal. Zara gasped as it slapped her in the face. She squinted and pushed out.

“Zara.”

She glanced back at the woman still inside, highlighted by the dull light that had gone on when the door was opened.

Jacinda stared back with hard intensity. “Tell no one you saw me at the market that day. It won’t go well, but I saved your life and you owe me.”

She never even gave Zara a chance to react. She stomped on the pedal and shot backwards with such unexpected violence that Zara had to scramble out of the way before the tires could roll over her toes. The momentum when she swung the wheel around slammed the door shut with a loud crack. Then the car was roaring out of sight, leaving only a fading glimmer of taillights disappearing into the distance.

Zara watched it until it was just her, the cold, and the darkness. The latter two surrounded her like an uncomfortable embrace. They burrowed beneath her coat to whisper along her exposed skin, urgent little fingers propelling her through the opening.

The dark was thicker, almost tangible on the other side. It slipped over her vision, obscuring the world behind a blindfold of black. It brought her to an immediate standstill on the threshold, hovering between the frigid cold at her back and the sweltering heat ahead. It pushed against her with an urgency of a swamp. The sheer humidity was enough to wilt her hair and dampen her clothes with sweat. It stank of foliage, stagnant waters, and the lingering musk of sex. In combination, it reminded her of the underground baths, minus the potent overwhelming stench of sulfur.

It hurt her lungs. Every breath burned as if she were inhaling hot ashes. It stung her eyes and left a gritty sensation on her tongue.

Where the hell was she?

Her fingers fumbled with the clasp on her coat. She shook the heavy fabric off and let her wings snap open. The momentum, even with her braced, sent her staggering sideways. She nearly hit the ground only to be jerked back onto her feet. The rush swam through her head, disorientating her completely, which was why, when sparks of light flickered in the distance, she nearly thought nothing of it. It was the same swaying dance of vertigo, the same sensation of getting up too quickly.

She blinked, rapid squinting in some fruitless attempt to clear the world back to darkness, but the lights stayed. One divided into two, then four, then eight. They bobbed and weaved, growing closer and brighter with every clip of approaching feet.

Zara held her ground, held firm as the eight, miniature balls of sun spilled orange and red strokes over hulking frames, illuminating broad shoulders and naked chests. Light glittered through strands of glossy black hair and shone bright in dark eyes.

Then he was in front of her, a full head and shoulder taller than the others flanking either side of him in a tight entourage. The torch in his hand was hefted higher to encase a wide circle around them, including her in their confinement.

They were all bare chested and built for battle. Toned muscles glinted under the light, hard valleys and deep grooves cut into taut flesh. They wore no trousers, no shoes. There was a leather cloth fastened around their lean hips as their only cover. But Zara kept her eyes above his shoulders.

“You made it,” Kyros said in that same husky tone as he’d used mere hours earlier, just before plunging his blade into Kyaerin’s chest. “We were getting concerned.”

She wondered what she would hear if she could slip into his brain, if she could upend his thought baskets and rummage through his closet of memories. It was amusing, because, before Magnus, she never would have restrained herself. Since him, all she could hear was his voice telling her to stop invading people’s privacy. The switch was infuriating, but another part of her was simply too exhausted. It had been a day of loss and heartbreak. It had started and ended so quickly she barely remembered more than a blur. All she wanted was a place to sleep, even if that bed was offered to her by the enemy.

“I don’t want to be here,” she told him flatly. “At my first opportune moment, I will be leaving and you will not stop me.”

“This is your home now, Zara.” He paused slightly before murmuring her name, as if they shared an endearing secret. “You’re free to come and go as you please, but we will discuss that once we return to the palace.”

Her feet hesitated. It was an odd little twitch that jerked her upper half, while her lower half remained stubbornly frozen to the cobblestone. She tried again, forcing her foot up, one after the other in a stiff march forward. Kyros swept back a step while the others parted seamlessly to the sides and falling in line behind them when Kyros fell into place at her side. It was a practiced dance she wasn’t sure she cared for. The whole process made her feel surrounded and isolated. Her apprehension extended to the new appendages connected to her body and her wings jittered against her back. Their erratic movement combined with their weight sent her forward in a stagger that was righted by the firm hand Kyros clasped around her elbow.

“How do you not have control of your wings?”

She pulled free of him. “I’ve never had wings before.”

She didn’t glance at him, but the full impact of his horror bore into the side of her head.

“How is that possible? Draconian children are born with their wings extended. They don’t learn how to pull them in until they fully understand how. Like walking, it needs to be taught.”

Zara thought about that, thought about herself as a child during the auction and found no memory of ever having wings, or claws.

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

To her relief, he didn’t push the subject any further. They followed a path deep into the night. The heat never wavered, never grew, or lessened. It remained its oppressive density all throughout. Unlike the dry heat in the Isle of Cree, the heat in the forest was wet. It left everything it touched damp and clammy. It was just another aspect of that world that irritated her; everything was wet. Their cold was wet. Their hot was wet. The whole ordeal left an itch down her spine she couldn’t reach.

“How is there no snow here?” she asked the lumbering man at her side. “How is it so hot?”

“The village is built on an underground volcano,” Kyros said. “The ashes grow our crop and keep our homes warm. We can’t live in the cold.”

Zara had never experienced cold, not the kind she’d been brought into. The Isle of Cree dropped in temperature at night, but the temple was always warm and lush. It had been a sacred paradise. An Eden.  It had been the closest she’d ever come to peace.

“Is that safe?” she asked, pushing her own thoughts aside.

The trail ended at the lip of two steps and another path through an arched gateway. The cobblestone became a smooth, reflective surface she could have sworn gleamed gold, but couldn’t be certain it wasn’t just the light from the torches.

Kyros offered her his hand, a square palm with long, blunt fingers. The hand of a man capable of cold blooded murder.

But was it cold blooded murder when it was time for Kyaerin to die? She would have even if it hadn’t been Kyros, but then it wouldn’t have been him. It would have been someone else, someone who wasn’t her half-brother.

Maybe that was the problem; all her life, she had longed to find the people she belonged with and ask them why they didn’t keep her, what was so wrong with her that they couldn’t stand to have her around. And here was one of those people, a brother, an older sibling who would have seen what happened, and he murdered the mother of her mate, leaving her torn between her own excitement at finding her family and guilt for not being more loyal to the Maxwells. She knew she should hate Kyros, but she couldn’t.

Nor did she take his offered hand.

She ascended onto the path on her own and waited for the others to join her.

“How did you know I would come here?” she asked as they continued.

“Baron informed us of your arrival.”

She glanced sideways at Kyros. “How did he know?”

Kyros snorted, a strange sound coming from a man his size. “No one knows how the Chief Demon knows anything. He just always does.”

There wasn’t adoration in the simple statement. If Zara had to put a name to the grumble, it almost sounded resigned. Annoyed.

“You killed for him.”

To his credit, he actually paused before answering, “People die in wars. Some are unfortunate.”

“Why did you kill her? Because you were told?”

“Yes.”

The atmosphere changed the moment they left the close confinement of the wilderness and entered the slumbering streets of a closely centered village. Each structure was a squat square stamped with a glassless window and a wooden door. Torches were built into sconces alongside each entrance, lighting a clear path through the streets … streets paved entirely of gold.

Zara gasped. All thoughts of any further questions she may have had vanished at her first glimpse of her mother’s world. It cycloned down into oblivion with every restless sweep of her eyes.

The entire village was made of solid gold. It trickled down the walls and laminated the floors. It rose and flowed over benches, fountains, and even the trash bins. It all gleamed, new and stubbornly polished, preciously cared for. Everything glowed, blindingly illuminated by firelight. It was almost too much to gaze directly upon.

“Welcome to El Dorado.”