"Yeah. You?"
He helped me to a sitting position. "Winded, but okay. Can't see a goddamn thing, though."
"No." I dusted my hands, then reached back and drew Amaya from her shadowy sheath. Flames flared along her blade and spread across the darkness in lilac waves.
"And where the fuck did that come from?" Jak asked.
"Long story."
My gaze swept our cage. The pit was about ten feet square, and smelled of earth and age. I squinted up. Even if I stood on Jak's shoulders and jumped, I wouldn't be able to catch the edge and haul myself out. And I doubted I'd be able to take my energy form. If the magic in this place prevented Azriel from entering, it was a fair bet it would also prevent me from changing into Aedh.
It was also a wonder both of us had come through the fall relatively unscathed. But then, I guess werewolf bones were stronger than human ones, even in those of us who couldn't actually shape-shift.
But our going through the floor was no accident—the concrete slab had been neatly cut, as had the timber that had covered this hole. It had held only long enough to catch the two of us.
"It can't be a traditional sword," he murmured, and reached out.
"Don't—" I said at the same time that Amaya hissed and spat tendrils of fire at his fingertips.
He quickly withdrew. "Shit, that thing is alive."
"Alive and aware."
His gaze jumped to mine. "How the hell is something like that even possible?"
"It's not—not in this world, anyway. She was born on the gray fields—forged in the death of a demon—and she has a life and a mind of her own."
"So you control her?"