Marcus twisted back to me, and his magic pulled me into his arms. "They're going to execute you, aren't they?"
"Spank, place in the dunce corner, execute...what's the difference?"
"The difference is that you shall be dead, and it will be my fault." His breath was hot against my cheeks. "You must collar me and take me back."
Wow, I'd never felt so bad about succeeding before.
Marcus pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of my mouth. "I shall be fine."
Yet a rush of flames roared through my Power of Confess with such violence that I shook; it seared me, and for a moment, I thought that I was blinded. Except, it was embers.
Truth: The Empire will burn.
My chest was tight, and my pulse pounded. "And what about your Court?"
Marcus stiffened, before he wrapped me so tightly in his magic it was like being held in the heart of the sun. "My cousin, Lash, is not as interested in peace as me. When my brothers and I were snatched, he ruled in my place. I’ve been struggling over these last few days to hold together a kingdom that’s beset by criminal gangs, the Vampire Court, and deadly plotting. I fear bloody conflict if I disappear again, leaving my Court without its ruler. You see my choice? Yet why must an innocent die to save the warriors from burning?"
Chapter Four
SLEIPNIR
On Odin's cock, I'd been certain that breaking Marcus' collar and then allowing Fox to see the beauty of a free shifter had been the chaos moment.
As the son of Loki, coiling fragments of time caught my attention like light glinting off broken glass, and I'd seized that blindingly light fragment, knowing that it was for me alone.
It was the chaos moment.
Yet had I been wrong? Had I screwed-up instead because now I'd been caged, and the guy who I...
Valhalla! Why was it so hard to admit that I loved Fox?
Except, my kind of love would stain him. But I needed him the same as I needed Bask and Magenta. We were connected across death and veils by blood and purest pleasure. Trust me, there was no stronger magic than that which resurrects and calls across time.
An asshole archduke, however, clutched Fox like a pet, while I couldn't protect him because I was trapped in the dragons' dungeons.
How many hours had it been now?
My stomach rumbled, and I grimaced. Struggling to swallow, I licked at my dry lips.
Ten hours? Twelve?
If it was the early hours of Saturday, then it was half way through our mission, half way towards our failure, and half way towards Fox’s death.
This was my fault and responsibility. My dad, Loki, had taught me many things — how to hunt, swim, and lie under pressure of hexing (in typical dad-son bonding) — but also when to accept that I'd messed up.
In that case, why did the light still blind me like I'd seized a true moment of chaos?
My pulse thundered in my ears, and I rested my sweating forehead against the wall. Even though the tiny cell was like a furnace, the glowing golden walls were shockingly cold. The jerks probably didn't want the prisoners to fry, before they dragged them out to burn alive or however the sons of witches executed traitors.
I drew in a ragged breath.
The walls were too close...if I could just breathe in this damn heat...too close...
The walls were arched and low like a cave. Magenta, Bask, and I had disappeared in the hold of the Letter Magic like puppets on an invisible thread and reappeared alone in this oven of a cell.
I slammed my fist against the wall. My knuckles cracked, and pain radiated up my arm. I could’ve been bound in Willoughby's cursed silk suit, which crushed his mind, body and Soul because the Letter Magic crushed me in the same way. The pain was dulled, and I barely felt the way that Bask grabbed my arm, examining each finger in turn to check that they still bent or Magenta's questioning, as she slipped her arm around my waist.
The Letter Magic was like a gentle noose, which tightened every hour. I reached out to my two brothers, Fenrir and Jormungand, who'd been pushed deeper inside me than they'd ever been. Panic rose at our separation.
I'd never been alone before.
Fenrir howled, scrabbling at my mind, as Jormungand's glittering coils restlessly wrapped around my insides. They were as caged as me. I ran my uninjured hand through my aquamarine hair. Why had I ever craved to be my only personality?
We were triplets. This separation was death.
I whined.
Once, Loki and I had been camping on the Blue Ridge mountains in Georgia. We'd hunted in the forests and fished in the large lakes. Well, I'd mostly practiced on my guitar, and Loki had done the chores, watching me like every wrong note and chord was a miracle because of the joy the stumbling songs brought me.
On the World Tree, it was because he'd been able to provide me with that happiness, after so much despair.
"Why, look at that, my little stallion has become a musician." Loki had smiled, fondly. "It appears that you can't buy happiness, but a guitar is reasonably priced."
Yet one night, Loki had gone missing in a storm that'd flashed jagged lightning from the black sky and rumbled thunder across the blue haze of the mountains. When he'd dashed back through the treeline, soaked and shaking, he'd snatched me to my feet and dragged me from our camp.
I'd tried to pull away, but his grip had been like steel. "Hey, what about my guitar and...?"
"Leave it." He hadn't even looked around as he'd yanked me after him into a crevice between the rocks. I'd slipped on my belly after him into the muddy cave. "Trust me."
And I had with every breath in me.
Yet I'd just abandoned my guitar and meager belongings to whoever had been hunting us because I'd known the look. On Bor’s beard, I'd had centuries to learn dad's pale and haunted expression when the witch followers of Bacchus had been close.
I’d reached up to my neck, closing my fingers around the silver plectrum that Loki had gifted me. It’d been all I had left, but it’d been enough because Loki had been safe.
"Who is it?" I’d demanded, as the wind had driven the rain in stinging tears across my cheeks.
Loki hadn’t appeared to hear me, staring out at the darkness intently, before pushing his shoulder against a fallen boulder and rolling it across the entrance.
"Dad, wait...stop..." I'd scrabbled at the slippery boulder, which had shut us into the damp, earthy darkness.
He'd buried us alive.
Loki's long fingers had settled over mine. "Would you call down Ragnarok? I'm sorry, but we must remain hidden and quiet. Can you do that for me?"
I'd swallowed and forced myself to nod.
"The leader of the Bacchus Cult herself...that fucking bully," I'd startled at Loki's whispered snarl; he'd never sworn in front of me before, "is leading the hunt tonight. I'm masking our presence with magic, but they've learned many of my tricks by now."
His worry had threaded through mine.
How long would it be before they caught us?