Amanda Bonilla - Shaedes of Gray - A Shaede Assassin Novel

“Neither Shaede nor Lyhtan be. Mother, creator, the blood will see.”

“I need water,” I croaked, surprised at the sound of my own gravelly voice.

The teens giggled, their euphonious laughter like a thousand bells clanging in my ears. I pulled tighter into the protective ball. “Stop!” I cried, hoping there was some small fraction of force behind the word. “Stop it! I need fucking water! And food. Untie me! Get me the hell out of here!”

“Soon, Mother,” one of them said. “When night becomes day and day becomes night, the nine will come to claim their right.”

Mother. The word sounded foreign to my ears. “Please,” I sobbed, “untie me.”

“Soon, Mother,” a young voice said again, and they left. The burning receded from the center of my chest.

By slow degrees I lost my drive and the fight melted right out of me, pooling into submission. Time taunted me with its presence, and now the only escape I sought was sleep. Again I dreamt of Tyler. He lay next to me on a soft bed of grass, his naked body entwined with mine. A cool breeze washed the remnants of passion from our skin, and his soft kisses sent a trail of chills across my shoulder.

Bound to the moment, to the dream, to Tyler—I couldn’t escape.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice becoming one with the wind. “I will protect you until I breathe my last breath, and love you beyond my life.”

I fought against the feeling that his words pulled from my soul. It swelled from the cold void of my heart and bloomed outward to overwhelm me with the strength of pure, untainted emotion. I’d been caught in my own sick fantasy. I tried to yell out, to scratch and claw my way to reality, to the real me waiting outside this time warp I was stuck in. Though I tried to speak, the words refused to come, and I averted my gaze, rolling my head away from him.

“Darian . . .” He whispered against my ear, “Darian . . .”

Something poked uncomfortably against my back and brought my body awake and back in touch with my mind. I moaned, the agony of my reality crushing the ecstasy of my dreams. Prodded again, I rolled over, shaking and barely able to support the weight of my body as I lifted myself to a kneeling position. It wasn’t much, but I was up . My head lolled, drooping in front of me. I tried to open my mouth, and my too-dry lips cracked and bled. My tongue, which felt like it was covered in scales rather than soft flesh, flicked out in a vain attempt to moisten my lips, and my stomach heaved at the coppery taste of blood.

“Wake up, Mother,” a singsong voice called out. “It’s time.”

“Eight days, twenty-two hours exactly,” I said, borderline delirious again. “Five seconds, six seconds, seven . . . eight . . . nine . . .”

“Yes, nine!” The voice interrupted. “The nine are waiting. Come, Mother, and give them life!”

The door to my cage swung open, and I tried to focus my blurry vision. Was the bear still there with me? Or was he a figment of my imagination, a companion created by madness?

The burning in my chest intensified as the teenagers entered the cell. I blinked and squinted to bring their young, lithe bodies into focus. Six of them circled me, and with great care, they cradled me in their tiny arms and carried me from the cage.

“No!” Every movement became dreamlike and weak. I felt the sun as it continued its arc in the sky, and also something else. The moon—I shouldn’t have been feeling it then—but the moon as well was traveling in its own arc toward the rising sun. “Night becomes day and day becomes night,” I whispered.

The will to live crept into me like a tiny point of light in a dark cave. Barely there but growing as I forced myself to consciousness. I couldn’t let it end this way—alone, betrayed and used. To better feel , I kept my eyes shut. I sensed my surroundings better this way, and I recognized the bubbles of pressure belonging to many Lyhtans before their stench reached my nostrils.

A Shaede stood nearby as well. Azriel. I thought of his cruel, sparkling eyes and seductive smile. Aligned with them or in charge of them—it didn’t matter. He was there, playing a part in my impending death. I reached farther, sending invisible feelers out around me in search of other creatures. I sensed something familiar, someone I thought I knew.

I was lowered onto a spongy surface, and I opened my eyes. Three of the menacing kids stood at my head and three at my feet, where they worked the fastenings of my bound wrists and ankles. On the moss-covered dais, they secured my limbs to each corner of the rectangular stone. At least it was a different position.

Come on, Darian. Keep your shit together. No matter what, I needed to remain lucid. I couldn’t let the lack of food, water, and comfort lull me into a submissive state. They wanted me dead or worse, but I refused to make it easy for them.

I silently counted the minutes, my new internal awareness marking not only the time, but also the path of the sun and moon across the sky as they traveled toward one another. It wouldn’t be long. In as few as sixty minutes, on the ninth day of my captivity, the moon would pass in front of the sun, and nothing good could come of it.

I lifted my head, searching for the cage. The bear had been removed and stood at the center of the clearing, a thick length of chain fastened at one end to a stake and at the other to the wide iron collar at its neck. The chain clanked and clamored with the thrashing of the bear’s head. He pulled against the restraint as he tried to slip from the collar. His gaze locked with mine and he froze before throwing his head back. The sound that issued from his mouth was a combination of fierce growl and vengeful bellow. As if he called out to me, the sound shouting my name, begging me to forgive him for not being able to save me.

I know how you feel, buddy, I thought as I lay my head back down against the cool stone of the dais.

Two shrouded figures approached the dais, and a feeling of familiarity rippled over me. I never wanted to see either one of them again, and at the same time, I hungered for one last glance. The painful emotions tore my composure to shreds. Quite a pair, the two of them made.

Looking like druids or mystical priests of a long-forgotten religion, they stood near my head and waited as the clearing became a stage. Around that stage gathered the many witnesses to my sacrifice. Lyhtans, each and every one. Their proximity pushed the breath from my chest as if a giant boulder had been suddenly rolled atop it. I estimated their numbers in the hundreds, and their many-voiced murmurs came to me as a dull roar.

The raven-haired teens entered the clearing next. Four boys and five girls dressed in deep crimson robes with hoods pulled back, serene smiles painted on their Michelangelo faces. The short, curling locks of their baby-soft hair, like raven feathers, shone against their fine porcelain skin. They chanted in their strange language, and each carried a shallow bowl. I wondered what they intended to fill them with—and fought a wave of pulsing nausea.

A stillness settled on the clearing, and even the bear stopped his wild thrashing and listened. My breath sped in my chest and I fought back the fear that threatened to drive me once again to the brink of sanity.

“Are you afraid to look into my face when you kill me, Azriel?” I directed my words to one of the hooded figures. The open confrontation bolstered my courage and helped to slow my racing heart. “Don’t tell me you’ve come this far only to hide behind a blanket when you do the deed.”

His icy laughter trickled from deep within the hood, and he reached back to pull the cowl from his dark head. He gazed down at me and smiled.