Page 30 of Worse Fates
Kai is dragging my shocked body back, chanting ‘what the fuck’ under his breath.
Then the whirling pool becomes a bloody spear, long and sharper than the knife. It spins above Jace’s hand, his mouth pulled into a too-tight grin, then—hurls it at us.
Before I get a chance to scream I’m moving. Or falling. Or flying. But one second I’m under the overhang, and the next me and Kai are standing in the rain, away from Jace—who hangs struggling in the air, Lucero’s fist around his throat and face twisted in pure fury.
“What the hell is happening right now!” Kai cries out.
That’s what I wanna know.
Chapter Eleven - Lucero
The monster who hurt Golden struggles in my grasp—face turning a painful purple and eyes bulging like a toad. He’s also a blood mage, even if the rancid stink of his magic didn’t give it away, his flesh spellbook floating at his side does. And here I thought I couldn’t despise this piece of shit more.
The bitter smell of Golden’s fear hangs in the air, unlike Jace’s crude show of power. He’s not powerful enough to maintain the spell and fight weakly against me, so his swirling orb of blood falls to the wet dirt with asplat.
My fangs drop, wanting to spill more of his blood, and Jace’s panicked heartbeat increases. A plea to ‘let me go, let me go,’ against my fingers. Leached of power, this human stain on Golden’s past is nothing.
“I’m going to rip your throat out,” I growl. Jace might think he’s a predator, but I plan to show him where the real danger lies.
A pathetic gagging whimper splutters past his paling lips.
But before I can make Jace suffer, a cry pulls my attention away. Golden has flung himself on the back of a large white man, whose forearm locks around the neck of Golden’s friend with the bleached braids.
A sudden blinding pain slices into my shoulder. Cursing, I drop Jace and find a knife stabbed deep into my shoulder, the handle buried so deep it plugs my blood from escaping.
Released, Jace scurries away like a rat, his spellbook slipping itself back at his thigh. But I don’t give him—or the knife—a second glance.
Within a blink, I’m grabbing the man fighting Golden and his friend, and with all the effort of a flicked wrist, I send him crashing into the building Golden had been hiding under. Theman makes a satisfying crunch, but I keep my smile to myself as Golden winces.
Golden staggers, damp curls hanging in his shocked gaze, clothes dripping wet as he pants.
He’s trying to look fierce, angry. But bless him, Golden only looks scared.
“Golden.” Weight drops from his overburdened shoulders when I say his name. More so as I wrap an arm around his middle and press him flush to me. His fingers—long and purposeful—find purchase on my chest and, with an exhale that travels into my heart, he buries himself under my neck.
Sweet cherries, sea breeze.Home.
Our connected souls mean he’ll always wish to draw close to me, as I’m drawn to him. If only I could cleanse his fears and take him in my arms for real. One day soon, I have no doubt. For now, I simply find joy in finally embracing his smaller, shivering body after so many days.
“Who the hell are you?” his friend cries, and whatever spell Golden was under snaps. Ripping himself away, Golden’s gaze is a flipbook of changing emotions.
“He’s…” Golden’s Adam's apple bobs. Then unbridled fear stops him in his tracks. “Lucero—oh my God, you’re hurt!” he cries, waving at the knife still lodged inside me.
“Oh this?” I cast a dismissive eye to the protruding black handle, slicked with rainwater. “Ignore that, you—”
“Ignore it? Are you goddamn crazy!” His trembling hands hover before me, terrified to touch but desperate to save me from an imagined fate. How endearing. I should endanger myself in battle more often—but then again, I’d worry for poor Golden’s heart, always fluttering like a startled bird behind its cage. Surely that can’t be good for his health. “We need to get you to a hospital or—”
“Don’t worry, my love.” Then I simply pull the blade out, which makes an unpleasant wet sucking noise, and toss it aside.
His friend doubles, heaving.
Golden chokes on a wretched gasp, eyes pinned to my shoulder; however, my drenched black coat and shirt hide the blood spilling from my already healing wound. Before I can say another word, he’s pulling my jacket aside, tugging the collar to examine me closer.
“See, I’m all fine,” I coo, my hand coming up to cradle the back of his head. But he can’t seem to stop shaking. “Say it for me, beautiful. Tell me I’m fine.”
“You’re fine…” Delicate fingers run across the gash, the skin already knitted together.
“What the fucking hell was that!” His friend screams.
