Chapter 33 Stop the TED talk
Eva
I woke up with a gasp, my heart pounding frantically against my ribs. I blink a few times, trying to clear the fog from my vision. The memory of the hotel room felt so real, so vivid, that for a moment, I expected to see plush carpets and mahogany furniture.
Instead, I am lying on a stone altar, cold and hard against my back. The torc around my neck was warm, humming with a faint, steady energy. Above me, the sky was a deep, star-dusted indigo, and a full moon, silver and perfect, hung directly overhead.
Panic. That’s what I expected to feel. But I didn't. I feel... calm. Centered. I try to move my hands and feet, and they respond. I wasn't tied down. I sat up slowly, my muscles protesting, and looked around.
I was in the middle of a weathered stone circle. The monoliths were etched with symbols I somehow recognized. The same symbols from the torc. The same symbols from my dreams. The air was thick with the scent of incense and, as I now realized, old magic.
She stands across the circle from me, her back to me, facing a large, central monolith. She wears the same black cloak and silver circlet. Her hands are raised as she chants in a language that feels both foreign and familiar.
I watched her for a moment, my mind strangely clear. My head snaps to the side as I hear a pained groan.
Malach.
He was chained to a massive oak tree at the edge of the clearing, his body battered and bruised. His head was slumped, but I could see the rise and fall of his chest. He was alive. I glance back at the woman; she seems so absorbed in whatever she is doing that she has not noticed I am awake.
I am up and moving without thinking, my bare feet silent on the mossy ground. I was halfway to him when the woman's voice cut through the night.
"I wouldn't do that, priestess." Her voice was calm, devoid of any emotion. "He is the stain. The wound. The curse. He is why you suffer, lifetime after lifetime."
I stood frozen, hands on my hips, and let out a slow, dramatic sigh. “Lady, I just woke up on a rock-hard altar after getting roofied by you. My head feels like a mariachi band is rehearsing inside it, and you’re monologuing about stains and wounds?” I rolled my eyes so hard the stars probably felt it. “Skip the TED Talk.”
She finally turned. Her violet eyes narrowed, and her lips thinned into a line sharp enough to cut glass. Malach lifted his head from where he was chained to the oak, one eye swollen shut, the other gleaming with pure, exhausted amusement. Even half-dead, the bastard looked proud.
I turned on my heel and sauntered the rest of the way across the circle like I owned the place, towards her. My bare feet on moss made no sound. The torc warmed against my throat.
“Let me get this straight,” I said, stopping ten feet from her. “Your plan, after five thousand years of cosmic failure, was to kidnap me and… what? Give me a bad perm? Sacrifice me to your moon goddess? Your résumé is as weak as your villain monologue.”
The Cultist of whatever-the-fuck’s face went from cold fury to pure, unadulterated shock. She clearly hadn't expected sarcasm. She had expected pleading. Crying. She had prepared for Evangeline, not for me.
“You speak with the insolence of this modern world,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But I see the soul of my priestess beneath the grime. And she remembers Her.” She raised her hands, and the air between us crackled. The moonlight gathered around her fingers like a shroud. “She remembers Her duty.”
I didn't flinch. I just smiled, all teeth. “Tell Her, that the priestess is officially off the clock. Vacation starts now. Benefits include not getting stabbed on altars and dating whoever the hell I want.”
I flicked the torc with one finger. “Also tell Her the new management is keeping the wolf. He’s house-trained. Mostly.”
Behind me, Malach coughed a laugh that turned into a groan. “Told you she’d be mouthy when she woke up.”
"You dare—” Her composure cracked.
“Yeah. I dare.” I stepped around her, grabbed the silver chains binding Malach, and yanked. They snapped like cheap Christmas tinsel. “Five thousand years of this cosmic bullshit and I’m calling a labor strike.” I helped him up, and he leaned on me, heavy and bleeding. The contact sent a jolt through the bond that was almost… nice.
“You can’t defy Her!” the woman shrieked, her control shattering. She threw her hands forward, and I closed my eyes. At least we die together now. But nothing happened. I opened them. The moonfire sputtered and died before it reached us.
“The torc,” I heard Malach whisper against my ear, hot and ragged. “It’s protecting you. Protecting us.”
The cultist stared at her empty hands in horror. “How? You… you can’t…”
“Looks like my collar is better than your religion,” I shot back.
Malach’s grip tightened on my arm. "The pack's coming."
As if on cue, a chorus of howls erupted from the forest below. The woman's face went pale.
"I told you," I said, looking at her. "This is what happens when you RSVP to a party you weren't invited to."
She didn't run. She did something worse. She smiled, a slow, terrible smile. "This isn't over, priestess. She will reclaim what is Hers. Starting with this." She flicked her wrist, and a small, obsidian dagger flew from her sleeve and buried itself in Malach's side.
He grunted, stumbling. Black blood, thick and foul, oozed from the wound. The torc around my throat went ice-cold, then blazed so hot I smelled my own skin burning.