Page 70 of Cruel Moon
“Stop.” The word scrapes out of my raw throat, tasting of copper and despair. Neither guard spares me a glance. They’re focused on getting the manacles off Emma’s wrists, already holding the smaller transport cuffs ready. These aren’t the standard restraints—these are the ones designed for interrogation. I remember their bite all too well from training.
Time slows. In the heartbeat between shackles and cuffs, something shifts in the air. My skin prickles with recognition—magick—ancient, untamed and ancient. It tastes like lightning on my tongue, nothing like the sterile precision of Court spells. Power crackles through the cell, wild and hungry, as the torchlight flickers and burns green. The guards convulse, their bodies jerking like puppets with cut strings, and the sound of their bones cracking against stone turns my stomach. Emma’s eyes go wide with surprise, her hands still raised in instinctive defense.
They hit the floor hard. Neither moves. The green light fades, leaving only the normal orange flicker of torches.
Emma stands frozen, staring at her hands like they belong to someone else. “I didn’t… I didn’t cast anything.” The words catch in her throat as she sways between horror and wonder, her fingers trembling in the torchlight.
Brianna leans forward in her chains, squinting through her good eye. The other is swollen shut and purple-black. “Are they…?”
Emma drops to her knees, fingers pressing against throats. “Dead.” The word stumbles out between shuddering breaths. “Both dead. I killed them. But I didn’t mean to—I just wanted them to stop.” Her hand returns to her stomach, protective. Instinctive. Already a mother’s gesture.
“Meredith’s power.” The words taste like copper on my tongue. “She’s protecting you. Protecting the baby.”
Emma snatches the keys from one guard’s belt, hands steadier now. Purpose replacing shock. Then she’s moving to me, cool metal clicking as my shackles fall away. The Court’s magick-dampening spells lift, but it barely matters. Everything inside me feels shattered, like someone took a hammer to my soul and scattered the pieces.
“We’re getting out of here.” Emma deftly unlocks Brianna’s cuffs. “All of us. Now.”
Brianna hurries to help me stand, pulling me into a fierce embrace. Her familiar scent—cedar and sage, unchanged despite everything—brings tears to my eyes. We cling to each other for one precious heartbeat before my legs shake, threatening to buckle. The room spins in nauseating circles. But there’s no time for weakness. No time to mourn what they took. My sister needs me. Emma needs me.
I won’t fail them. Not again.
The spiral staircase seems endless, each stone step worn smooth by centuries of use. Every movement sends daggers of pain through my body, aftershocks from whatever theMathairsdid to break my bond. Brianna’s arm around my waist is the only thing keeping me upright. The empty space inside me screams for Bast, a void so complete it makes me want to claw out my own heart just to stop feeling its absence.
But I force the pain down. Lock it away with all the other hurts they’ve given me over the years. Focus on breathing. On moving. On surviving.
Emma leads the way, her bare feet silent on stone steps. The torchlight casts strange shadows, making the walls seem to writhe and dance. Or maybe that’s just my blurred vision. Blood drips from my nose—an aftereffect of their assault. I wipe it away with shaking hands.
A door creaks somewhere above us.
We freeze.
Footsteps echo down the stairwell, growing closer. Each step sends ice through my veins as Court training kicks in—measuring pace, weight, weapon probability. One person. Light-footed. My mind catalogs escape routes even as my battered body screams in protest. The guard is probably coming to check why her companions haven’t returned with Emma.
My fingers curl into fists, muscle memory taking over despite my weakness. Even broken, I remember every lesson. Every way to kill and fight. I was trained to be one of their best. TheMathairsmade sure those lessons stuck, carving them into bone and blood until violence became reflex.
The guard appears around the curve of the stairs, the pewter buttons on her uniform catching torchlight. Her eyes go wide at the sight of us—three prisoners where there should be none. I recognize her from training sessions, one of the younger instructors who specializes in defensive magick.
Emma moves first. Raw power pulses from her, but this time she tries to direct it. The guard’s hands fly to her throat as she chokes on something invisible. Meredith’s magick responds to Emma’s intent now, less wild than before.
But the guard is already casting. A binding spell whips toward us like a striking snake, sickly yellow light promising pain. These aren’t practice bonds—these are meant to hurt.
I shove Brianna aside, letting instinct and training take command. My counterspell feels wrong, jagged where it used to flow smooth. Without Bast’s strength humming beneath myskin, my magick stutters like a broken engine. But it works. The binding shatters midair in a shower of golden sparks.
“Together,” I rasp out. Because that’s how we trained. That’s how we survive. How we should have fought all along, instead of letting their rules divide us.
Brianna’s spelled punch catches the guard’s jaw—a move I taught her in secret years ago. My blast of power hits her chest, weaker than it should be but enough.
The guard crumples, body bouncing down several steps before coming to rest.
“Dead?” Brianna asks, but Emma shakes her head.
“Just unconscious.” Her face falls as she stares at her hands. “TheMathairsare going to kill me for this, aren’t they?” The same fear I’ve heard in countless voices over the years. The terror of defying their perfect order. Fear I’m very familiar with.
“No.” The word comes out fierce, certain. “They’re never touching any of us again.”
We leave the guard sprawled on the stairs. Keep climbing. My legs are steadier now, adrenaline burning away some of the weakness. But each step reminds me of what’s missing—that vital piece of my soul they ripped away. I wonder if Bast feels this same hollowness, this same screaming absence. The thought makes me stumble.
The top of the stairs looms ahead. Beyond that door lies the main hall of the castle. It’s a crossroads for the entire complex. Anyone could see us.
