Unmade (Unborn #4) - Amber Lynn Natusch Page 0,7

“Tell me how to get to Oz…” Instead of fighting, as Persephone had fought Muses’ command, Kaine seemed lulled by my touch, leaning into it. I placed my other hand on his head and arched him back until my lips were at his ear. “Tell me how to free him, Kaine. Give me what I want, and I will let you go.”

“He is in the prison, far below the mountain.”

“Which mountain?” I asked, brushing my nose through his hair. “Point to it for me.”

I looked over his shoulder to see his raised arm indicating the peaked mountain in front of him. There was only one entrance that I could see, and I wondered if it was the only way out as well.

“Is he alive?”

“Barely…”

“Show me what has been done to him,” I whispered, keeping my growing rage from my tone. I shut my eyes to search his mind for the memories of Oz’s torture—and there were many to find. Images of whippings and seared flesh and violently plucked feathers assaulted my mind, but my hold on Kaine never faltered. I wanted to see everything—every horrid moment in detail—so I could turn it into the fuel I would need to wipe out the Dark Ones when the time came. There would be retribution for their actions.

I would see to that.

“Is that everything?” I asked. He nodded in my hands.

Then I ripped them from his head and crushed my knee into his spine. I followed my attack with a devastating kick to each knee, then pushed him to the ground. With him wounded and addled, I capitalized on the moment and took to the air, headed for the mountain. Wings beating hard, I flew through the narrow entrance. Time would not be my friend in this endeavor; I knew I needed to get to Oz as quickly as I could so Kaine could not call upon his army to come after me en masse.

Though I wanted to call out to Oz, I kept his name from escaping so I could maintain the element of surprise should I encounter Dark Ones along the way. He would be heavily guarded, no doubt. As the tunnel narrowed, my wings scraped along the craggy surface. With every beat, pain shot through my appendages, and I used that pain to drive me harder, headed for the one I sought.

I could hear echoes behind me, angry voices in the distance growing louder with every passing second. My plan to rescue Oz did not have a solid exit strategy. I hoped he would be conscious enough when I found him to help construct one, and quickly.

Light began to radiate ahead of me, beckoning me to it. I could practically feel that Oz was there. The corridor tapered to the point that I dropped to my feet and ran, the sound of my footfalls announcing my arrival. Two large shadows appeared, haloed with warm torchlight. One look at me charging them and they drew their weapons.

“Kaine will not want you harmed,” one said, bracing himself for my attack, “but I will skewer you if you do not yield.”

Anger boiled up from my gut as I increased my speed. The glint of their blades blinded me for a moment as I reached down to harness the rage I felt. It came out in a breath of fire. Flame and molten liquid spewed from me like never before, the Dragon’s firebox still very much a part of my arsenal.

The Dark Ones’ screams lasted only a moment before they were snuffed out entirely.

Choking on smoke and the stench of burnt flesh, I staggered into a cavernous room, its vast space and lofted ceiling home to just one thing: Oz. He was shackled to the wall with an intricate set of chains, straps, and other painful implements. His head hung limp on his neck, his body a bloody mess of lacerations and bruises. He looked half dead, and my desire to cut him free and then bring down the mountain burned so deeply that I could not move. Could think of nothing else but vengeance.

Then I heard the clink of metal, and my mind cleared in an instant.

He raised his head just enough to take me in, his cruel, beautiful face marred with swelling and blood.

“New girl?”

I was at his side in an instant. “Do not speak,” I said, assessing his restraints. They all required keys, which I had undoubtedly just melted when I had scorched his guards—his torturers. Thinking of them gave me