reaching the slowest of them and cutting him down in an instant, the dark seizing hold of the one beside him and ripping him asunder. Looking ahead, she caught a glimpse of a purple toga among them, her heart racing quicker. The rest of the guards turned, ten remaining, blades flashing, eyes bright.
She Stepped between them, cutting through them, shadow black and silver quick. But even as she danced, her gravebone blade writing red poems in the air, she realized
She realized …
Something’s wrong.
She couldn’t feel him. The familiar sickness. That ageless hunger. The presence of another darkin crawling on her skin. Her heart sinking, she saw the purple toga she’d glimpsed had simply been slung around one of his guard’s shoulders—another deception from a master of it, easy enough to believe in this gloom. Mia wondered for a moment if Scaeva might be cowering somewhere in the shadows. But even if he were hidden beneath a mantle of darkness nearby, still she’d feel it, sure as she could feel the fear creeping slow into her belly.
Goddess, he’s not HERE.
Desperation budding in her chest, rage that she’d been duped, peeling her lips back from her teeth. She snarled and stabbed, swayed and Stepped, cutting his men into nothing, slicking the floors and walls. Standing at the end, chest heaving, wisps of ink-black hair stuck to her skin, sword dripping in her hand. Searching the dark with narrowed, burning eyes.
She Stepped on, flickering down the twisting hallway in the pulsing warmth until finally she arrived at Adonai’s chambers. Lunging through the doorway, she saw the speaker knelt at the head of his blood pool, thick chains of black iron wrapped about his wrists and ankles. Crimson runes gleamed on the walls, the light was low and bloodstained. Adonai’s eyes were closed and he was breathing slow, but as she entered, he looked up, pink irises on hers.
“Hello, little darkin.”
“Scaeva?” she gasped.
The speaker frowned in confusion. Then slowly shook his head.
Shit.
Could he have been hiding out in the gloom while his guards led her on this merry chase? Could he know some trick of the dark? Could he have already escaped?
Could he have doubled back?
O, Goddess …
Mia looked back down the corridor she’d come by.
Dread certainty turning her belly to ice.
“Jonnen.”
* * *
Jonnen’s brow creased as his stomach rolled.
He looked up the stairs. First to the western door, past the looming form of Butcher. Then to the eastern stair, where Naev stood poised by the railing, sword raised in steady hands. Jonnen’s heart was beating quicker. He could suddenly feel it—that strange, never sated hunger. That feeling of a missing piece inside him. Searching for another just like it.
“Mia?” he asked hopefully.
Naev turned at the sound of his voice, eyebrow raised. “She is returned?”
“I don’t—”
The woman lurched sideways on the stair, grunting in surprise as something heavy collided with her. There was no sign of what had struck her, but still she crashed backward into the railing, gasping, arms flailing as she fought for balance. The Something struck her again, hard in the chest, smashing her back against the balustrade. The woman cried out, eyes open wide.
“Naev!” Jonnen cried.
She was struck a third time, a brutal blow right in her face. Nose bloodied, Naev bent backward, fingers clutching at nothing as she lost her balance. And with a wail, the woman fell out into the empty air. Her arms pinwheeled, robes billowing about her, veil whipped back from her terrified face as she plummeted forty feet into the stable below, hitting the stone floor with a gut-churning crunch.
“’Byss and fucking blood,” Butcher breathed.
Eclipse growled beside him, her hackles rising.
“… BUTCHER, BEWARE…!”
The gladiatii had his sword raised, stepping back into a defensive stance.
“What’s th—”
A blade flashed, bright and gleaming in the dwindling light. Butcher’s throat opened wide. The big man staggered, hand at his neck to hold back the flood, squinting at the vague, muddied shape now standing on the steps in front of him. The gladiatii lunged with a bubbling curse, his gladius moving swift. Jonnen heard a ragged cry, saw the shadows shiver, his father appear on the stairs. A bloody gouge was carved through the imperator’s forearm, his purple toga abandoned, blood-red spattering the white robes beneath.
Whisper was coiled about his throat, the shadowviper lashing out at Butcher’s face. The big man struck out on sheer instinct, slicing