I stare at my enemy and thank the gods that Bunny opened the gate. Did he mean to? I doubt it, but from the scene I find them in, there’s little question it may have been fate and my link to Morgan that led me here.
Casteel snarls when he sees me, blood dripping down one arm. He’s inexplicably shirtless, but I note the dishevelment of Morgan’s hair. The anger and rage on her face and the heightened protective stance Bunny maintains tells me that something dangerous has happened here.
Morgan is savvy enough not to waste the distraction of my entrance. Her sword arcs through the air, aiming for his throat. He reacts quickly, jumping out of the way. Casteel earned his title of Commander for a reason, just as I earned mine as Sentinel.
His movement disrupts his use of magic—the forceful ability to manipulate another person—and I waste no time in catching Morgan’s eye. “Go. I’ll take care of this.”
My wish for her to leave and go back to the safety of The Nead is futile. I know this without a word passing between us. She came here to complete a mission. The best I can do is give her the time to accomplish it.
Bunny follows her out the door and I stop him with an outstretched hand.
“You harm her and I will peel your skin off with a knife and leave it to the wolves surrounding the castle for feed.”
“I won’t hurt her.” He swallows. “Not again.”
It takes everything I have not to pierce him in the heart. But that is not my job to handle. Morgan will have the final say on the consequence of his betrayal and right now is not the time.
With them safely out of the room, I turn and face the soldier that tortured and held me captive the last time I was in this realm.
“I never thought you’d return,” he says. “After you ran so quickly the last time.”
I step forward, assessing everything about the room. The layout, the furniture, the scent of lavender shampoo in the air. Morgan’s hair had been wet. And there are damp spots on Casteel’s pants.
“Did you harm her?” I ask, unconcerned with his petty taunts.
“The little princess?” He runs a hand down the jagged scar. “Not yet.”
“And the Morrigan wanted you to…defile her?”
“No, that was all on me.” I hear the sharp click of metal and see he’s found his own weapon, stashed away on his body. “I figured she could pay your debt.”
“My debt?”
He laughs. “For letting you live.”
I take him in. The weak point of his injured arm. His ego. The fact he doesn’t even understand what’s going on here and how much bigger all of this is than petty grudges. I let him laugh and then give him a smile of my own.
And then I launch my attack.
Chapter 30
Bunny
There’s no hesitation when Dylan tells me to run. My behavior is out of instinct—out of the need to keep Morgan alive. Now that all hell is breaking loose and any semblance of control I had over the situation is gone, I have little choice but to get Morgan out of here alive.
At the turn leading to my studio—back to the portal—she stops, refusing to go further.
“Take me to them.”
“To the dungeons?” I shake my head and keep an eye over her shoulder. “Not a chance.”
Her grip tightens around my fingers and her voice turns cold. The glint of her sword, still tipped in blood, hangs at her side. “Fine. I’ll go alone.”
“Morgan, this is your chance to escape—get away from the Morrigan while you can,” I plead but she pulls away, disappearing down the dark stairway that leads to the dungeons. In seconds her boots are nothing but an echo and I curse, chasing her down.
By the time I arrive on the floor, she’s taken one soldier down by surprise and has another on his knees, her sword at his neck. “Hand me the keys,” she says.
He spits in her face. She moves with efficient speed and indifference, smashing him in the head with the hilt of the sword and snatching the metal ring of keys from his waist. Her chin juts forward in defiance. Her are shoulders straight. I feel like I’m seeing a different side of Morgan—the one that wants her Guardians back. Someone who will stop at nothing to protect those important to her.
The magnitude of my betrayal rains down on me as she approaches the gate leading to the dark cells. She will do anything for her Guardians. Maim and kill. Travel from one world to the next. I’m terrified to think of how far her sacrifice will go.
And how in one defiant, selfish move, I endangered us all.
She fumbles with the keys and I step forward and take them with steadier hands. The stench from the cell is inhumane and it’s so dark, I can’t see any of my brothers. “Are you sure about this?”
I expect wrath. Rage. Anger or some smart remark challenging my question. She just says, “Yes.”
“Okay, just…it may be…just be prepared.”
She looks at me, searching for intent, but I have none other than to serve her. If she sees that, I don’t know. The emotion reflected back at me is intense confusion and pain.
The lock flips, echoing off the rock walls. Morgan takes the keys back and steps over the threshold, peering into the dark.
“Hello,” she calls in a nothing more than a whisper. “Damien? Sam? Clinton?”
The response is the clank of chains. The scrape of metal against the floor. She pushes deeper into the cavernous dark and I wait at the entrance, keeping guard. She doesn’t speak but chokes back a sob, and I know she’s found them.
I’m moving to help her when I hear footsteps on the stairs. I take a deep breath and prepare for another fight.
Chapter 31
Morgan
I see Sam first, his pale skin stained with so much dirt that it was hard to see him. He’s curled in a fetal position and my heart nearly cracks at the sight. I fight back a gag at the smell, then the tears when I look at the sores on his back.
“Sam?” I touch his shoulder. He flinches but doesn’t respond otherwise. “I’m here. I’m getting you out of here, okay?”
Again, no reply. I reach down and touch him, feeling for the cuffs around his wrists, and shove the key into the lock. Then I do the same for the ones around his swollen, stiff ankles.
“Hey,” I say, pressing my forehead to his. The faintest energy pulses between us. “You’ve got to get up. I can’t carry all three of you out of here.” His eyes flutter and he blinks like he can’t fully focus. I kiss his brow. Then his nose. My lips are wet from tears of anger. I kiss him on the mouth and finally, I get a reaction. It’s nothing more than a sigh and a deep groan but he’s alive. I kiss him again, pressing my warm lips against his chapped, cold ones.
“Stand up if you can—or at least sit. I’m going to get the others.”
He nods, like a man coming out of a dream, and as much as it pains me, I leave him to feel around the dark crevices of the cell. It only takes a moment before I bump into something solid. I hold my hands out, palms flat and hear a hiss. He’s chained to the wall, upright. He sways back and forth.
“Clinton?”
I feel his chin, his chest. A low growl rumbles in his throat and I say, “It’s me. Morgan.”
“Don’t trick me, witch.”
“What?”