Page 72 of The Bones of the Cursed

A HELPING HAND

“What makes you think I’m the key this prophecy is talking about? It could be absolutely anyone.”

Iclas tilts his head in a creepy manner, letting his sharp-toothed smile take over his face. “I have been around for hundreds of years, researching, biding my time until given a sign. The Hell Gods warned me I would have to be patient. Then I found myself in the Rorane Mountains two decades ago and overheard a bitter conversation between their beloved matriarch and her daughter. Turns out lovely, perfect Odessa fell in love with a Fae warrior. I felt it then, this gravitational pull. Like a whisper in my ear telling me that the power I seek was within reach.”

Iclas turns his back to me, lost in his story. “I planned to grab Odessa. If it was the matriarch I needed, I was definitely going to need a better plan, but I could manage Odessa. But then the little bitch disappeared. I must have gotten sloppy with my stalking, gotten too close. I’d had men follow her at a distance for decades. I ordered them to grab her, and everything went wrong. I thought I lost my only chance, so imagine my surprise whenthat feeling returned about a year ago.”

His smile is a slimy, despicable thing on the face of a man who has nothing left to lose. “I searched everywhere, but could only leave this Isle for short periods. I started sending the ghouls to do my bidding, but they are quite stupid. But then one of my smarter men tells me they found someone who resembles Odessa. I had to see for myself, of course, and wouldn’t you know it, that fateful little tug showed up as I watched you walking through Percius. Then, as if guided by the Gods, this human falls into my lap with all the answers I seek.” He points to Elion, making him flinch. “Now I have everything I need.”

Elion growls, which only makes Iclas laugh.

“What do you plan to do with me?” My voice shakes, no matter how hard I try to keep it steady.

He licks his lips, which makes the hair on the nape of my neck stand on end. Is that blood coating his tongue? What the hell is he?

“I plan to fulfill the prophecy,” he says, like it’s obvious. “From my understanding, I must claim you under the crescent moon. If I bond with you, then sacrifice my blood to you before drinking yours, it should break this damned curse. The details are still a bit fuzzy, but I have someone helping with that.”

The blood freezes in my veins.

“You can’t,” I all but whisper, my voice unable to go any louder.

He leans down, getting in my face, and traces one long, dirty fingernail over my jugular. “Oh, I assure you I can.”

“It won’t work. I have a mate.”

I see Elion jerk back in surprise.

With a hiss, Iclas peels away and paces the floor. “No worries. I’ll find whoever your mate is and kill them. There is nothing good about mates, anyway.”

Before I can get a word out, he leaves us in this Godsforsakenroom, slamming the lock into place.

Shit. What have I done?

- KAILU -

Malakai and I exchange a look. We need help.

I turn to Jensen. “I need a favor.”

He stands at attention—or, at least, how straight he can when injured. “Anything.”

“I need you two to return to the palace. Tell whoever greets you that the crown prince sent you to deliver a message to Siveral: he’s needed here.”

When they both nod, Malakai says, “Take my horse and get back to the castle as soon as you can,” and leads them to where Atlas waits.

As soon as the two soldiers are out of sight, I inhale deeply and step onto the edge of the well. “Well, here goes nothing.” I hover my foot over thin air and, with one last breath, take the plunge through the portal.

I slam into the ground, and grunt as Mal lands on top of me before I can even gather my breath. Shoving him off, I scan the chamber and grimace at the skeletons. Malakai sighs, as if disappointed, and I only need to glance at him to know he hasn’t felt Alanis again.

Panic blooms in my chest.

I might not be able to feel her, but I can smell her—the hallway to the right carries her smell, but it’s very faint. Her scent lingers a bit heavier in the middle passageway, as if she was only here minutes before. Just as I go to step through the passage, footsteps coming our way catch my attention. I turn, quickly guiding Malakai into the archway that, by the smell, must lead to the sewers and the portal back to the meadow. Westand silent in the darkness, waiting to see who emerges.

It’s by the skin of my teeth that I manage to hold in a gasp at who emerges: Iclas himself. I’ve seen his portrait in many books, though none depicted him with a facial tattoo. It takes up the whole right side of his face and looks to be a sun and a moon to represent the Gods and Goddesses, but a sword of flame stabs them through the center. The only time I’ve seen the sword of flame was when a book referenced Ames, the God of Hell and Shadows.

Iclas stops, sniffing the air.

Anger overtakes his face, and the chill in the air isn’t the only thing causing shivers to rack through my body. He storms down the far right hallway. The silence is interrupted by a massive roar that shakes the foundation of whatever building we’ve found ourselves in. The stone walls are cracked and showing their age, but without more to go by I am at a loss. When he reemerges moments later, there’s nothing but pure, undiluted rage in his eyes. He marches back down the center passage.

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