Our Dark Duet (Monsters of Verity #2)(85)

“No,” said August, “I would risk them for a friend.”

The Sunai let out a low breath and marched toward him, and August braced himself for a fight, but it didn’t come. Soro just kept walking, back toward the Compound.

“You should go, then,” they said. “Before it’s too late.”





The jeep skidded to a stop at the base of the Seam.

Word had come over the comms a minute before—a young female soldier had forced her way through at gunpoint.

Jackson flashed the high beams, but the gate didn’t open, and August and Harris climbed out as an FTF started toward them.

“We’re on lockdown, sir. No one crosses—”

“But you’ve already let someone through.”

“She pulled a gun—”

“Is that all it takes?” asked Harris, freeing his sidearm. August caught his wrist. Somewhere nearby, tires skidded over asphalt. Another vehicle was headed their way.

“We need to get through,” he said to the soldier. “Now.”

The FTF shook his head. “I’m under strict orders.”

“And I’m August Flynn.”

“With respect,” he said, “my orders come from the top.”

Lights flared against the side of the Seam as the second jeep swung to a stop, and Henry got out. Had Soro told him, or had he seen the message for himself?

“Henry, I have to—”

“Sir,” said the soldier at the same time. “I was just—”

“Open the gate,” ordered Henry.

This time the soldier didn’t hesitate. He radioed the order and the gate began to grind open. August turned toward his father. “You’re letting us go?”

“No,” said Henry, moving toward August’s jeep. “I’m coming with you.”

“No offense, sir,” said Harris, “but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Henry laughed softly as he opened the door. “Well, then, it’s a good thing I outrank you.”

“We can handle it from here,” insisted Ani.

But August only stared at his father, his sickly pallor, his too-thin form. It made no sense. Henry was in no shape to fight. “Why?”

Henry put a hand on his shoulder. “I am a man, not a movement,” he said. “But if a movement is what it takes to end this war, then I will play my part. Now”— his hand tightened and then was gone—“let’s go find Miss Harker.”

North City had gotten darker.

That was Kate’s first thought as she moved through the streets, HUV in one hand and gun in the other. The Corsai murmured from the shadows, flashing teeth and claws.

harkerharkeritsaharker

Her FTF gear was traced with metal, but there was a difference between deterring monsters and stopping them, and she tried to stay in the light, what little there was.

Her father’s tower rose ahead of her.

Or rather, a hulking shadow loomed in its place.

Kate’s steps slowed. She stopped beneath a single low-wattage streetlight, its flickering bulb the only thing standing between her and a blackout zone.

It carved a lightless circle around the base of Harker Hall, a dark inversion of the moat that surrounded the Compound. It felt like a physical thing, that darkness, something more than air and night.

A wall of black.

And, embedded in that wall, a pair of red eyes.

The Malchai stepped out of the shadows, and Kate saw not her own shadow, but her father’s.

Sloan.

She’d seen him in dreams, in memories, but they paled compared to the truth. In her visions, he’d been reduced to a shape in a dark suit. Reduced to fangs and blood and malice. But now he stood before her, gray flesh pulled tight over blackened bones, fingers ending in silver points. Fear slammed through Kate’s chest, and Sloan smiled as if he could hear the traitorous thing raging in her pulse.

When he spoke, his voice grazed her skin like a knife. Metal across skin.

“Katherine.”

The sound of her name on his lips, sweet and taunting.

“Sloan,” she said, fighting to keep her tone dry. “What a surprise.”

He spread his hands. “You didn’t think I’d let Alice keep you to herself. Not when we have such history.”

Her fingers tightened on the gun. The night rustled around her, dotted with red as shadows emerged from the darkness. Malchai. Not one or two, but a half dozen forming a loose circle around them.

“Not exactly a fair fight.”

Sloan clicked his tongue. “What place does fair have in a world like ours? Fair is a white flag. A word for cowards.” He gestured to her clothing. “You’ve traded sides. Your father would be disappointed.”

“My father is dead.” She kept her head high. She wanted to look Sloan in the eyes when she killed him. Slid the knife under his skin and up into his heart, savoring the delicious warmth.

The Chaos Eater whispered through her, hungry for Sloan’s blood; her fear replaced by hatred, cold and steady; but she held the monster at bay. Not yet, not yet. There would be no going back. She would let it out, if she had to. When she had to.

But it would be on her terms.

“You’ve changed,” observed Sloan. His lips parted, revealing pointed teeth. “But I can still taste your—”