Page 33 of Ivy & Bone

“Bad how?” Prue had complained often of Mona’s inability to articulate when she was frightened. This instance was no exception. “Mona, I need you to tell me more. What’s going on?”

“The Underworld . . . is dying. The s-souls are fading. I’m fading.”

“Mona.” Prue’s voice rose with panic. “What does that mean? What can I do?”

“The gods here, they are toying with forces that should not be meddled with. The delicate fabric binding this realm together is coming apart from their scheming.” Mona’s voice gained strength, her studious tone returning as she described the realm.

Cyrus’s brothers, Prue thought in realization. They were destroying his home while he was stuck in the mortal realm. “I’m on my way to you, Mona. Just hold on.”

Mona shook her head. “It’s happening now, Prue. Here. They are coming for you.”

HUNT

CYRUS

A white glow burned against Cyrus’s eyes. The orb of a wayward soul floated before him, capturing his attention. This soul was . . . different. He could sense power emanating from it, unlike the souls of most mortals. A witch perhaps?

Gods, he was so sick of witches.

But that wasn’t it . . . This soul was untethered. Unbound. Instead of being linked to the Underworld, as most souls were, this one was free.

And it was dying.

Well, not so much dying, as fading. Souls were already dead. But their essence, their aura, continued to live on after their mortal death. This one, however, had an aura as feeble as a feather.

“What happened to you?” Cyrus murmured.

A cry resonated from the orb, burning through Cyrus’s skull until his ears throbbed. He groaned, shutting his eyes against the tormented wail, the screams of anguish . . .

Cyrus’s eyes flew open. Light streamed in through the curtains, bathing the room in a soft morning glow. He blinked, his mind strangely muddled. His limbs felt stiff and awkward. He shifted, then froze.

Prue lay atop him, her head resting against his chest, her curly hair sprawled around them both. Her steady, slow breaths indicated she was still asleep.

Oh, gods. Not only had Cyrus actually slept, but he had slept with Prue. Like this. Like lovers.

Uncertain if he should be mortified or furious, he carefully extricated himself from her embrace. His skin felt warm and sticky, and he wanted nothing more than to cleanse himself. How could this have happened? He was an immortal. He wasn’t supposed to need things like sleep or sustenance. This wretched place must have been rubbing off on him.

Cyrus tried moving as gently as possible so as not to wake the witch—though he had no idea why—but his efforts were in vain. She moaned slightly in her sleep, eliciting a coil of heat in Cyrus’s belly. He glanced down at his nakedness and swore at the stiff member that Prue would certainly taunt. He snatched his trousers and hoisted them up just as she rubbed her eyes and squinted at him.

“Mona?” Her voice was a croak, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. It was raspy and deeper than her usual timbre. Then, her eyes widened and she sat bolt upright. “Mona!”

Cyrus stared at her, frowning as she brushed strands of hair out of her face. Her shoulders rose and fell with heavy breaths as awareness settled in her expression. “It was . . . a dream. Just a dream.” She sagged backwards with a deep exhale, then turned to scrutinize Cyrus. “You’re awake.”

“Astute observation,” he said dryly, while fetching his shirt. Just before donning it, he sniffed it and recoiled. “That’s awful.”

“I know.” Prue yawned and sat up. “That’s why we’ll be stocking up on supplies while we’re here. We need more than just one outfit.”

“Well, hopefully we can get something more fitting. These peasant clothes itch like hell.”

“You’re such a snob.”

“I’m a god.”

“Are you?” She pressed a hand to her chest in mock surprise. “I had no idea.”

Cyrus just shook his head, his brain too muddled to manage a snarky reply. He finished buttoning his trousers and noticed Prue staring at the window, her gaze solemn and distant. She gnawed on her lower lip, her expression troubled.

Cyrus wanted to ask what was wrong, but he worried he would seem affectionate if he did so. But it wasn’t affection that urged him; it was burning curiosity. A dark, haunted look shadowed her gaze. Her mindless blathering about her sister and a bad dream made him wonder if his dream had actually been real. Had something happened last night? Had that strange orb visited them both?

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