Kingdom of the Wicked (Kingdom of the Wicked, #1)(44)

“Where are you hurt?” His voice was too loud. I batted him away, but he was an annoyingly persistent devil. “Focus! Did it bite you, witch?”

“Stop.”

Fingers probed my skull, my throat, then hesitated at my neckline. Somehow I’d managed to loop the cornicello over my head. He rolled me onto my side, and I nearly passed out from the next wave of agony. He clearly didn’t care about my pain and suffering. Maybe he enjoyed it. I vaguely recalled hating him. Now I knew why.

He paused for less than a heartbeat, then the sound of fabric tearing was followed by a blast of ice down my back. Air battered against my ripped flesh, the pain absolutely blinding in its fury. I think I might have screamed.

“Shit.”

Two solid arms hoisted me up, caging me against a body that had to be made of steel, not muscle and bone. We started moving swiftly, his steps fluid and graceful. Which was a good thing—if he bounced while running, I’d throw up all over him. I didn’t think he’d like that.

Wind whipped at my hair—we were traveling at an impossible speed through city streets. I made the mistake of looking at buildings flashing by once, and instantly regretted it. I nestled against his warm chest and squeezed my eyes shut. Pain was all I knew.

“We’re almost there.”

My teeth chattered uncontrollably. I had no idea where there was, but hoped it had blankets and a fire. A coldness was spreading through me, all-consuming and terrible. I had the worst feeling I’d never know the comfort of warmth again. Which was strange, since I thought the day had been especially hot. Icy numbness slowly spread up my legs. A door clattered open, then slammed shut. It felt like we ran up a set of stairs and then I was laid onto a soft mattress.

Shouts rang out around me. Muffled voices were hard to distinguish. Water splashing into a basin overtook my senses, followed by the unmistakable scent of smoke. I thrashed. Somewhere, deep in my memory, I knew what the smoke meant. Danger.

“Don’t worry.” Another voice. Male. Unfamiliar. “He knows what to do and will be back soon.” Blankets tucked me in so tightly, I could barely breathe. I must have gasped; warm hands were on my forehead. “Shhh. Don’t struggle. It makes the venom spread faster.”

Time narrowed into the smallest fraction of itself. I knew nothing but random seconds, and unrelenting agony. My heartbeat was so loud, it made my head pound. Moments passed. Pain persisted. Then a crackling fire, the scent of smoke, and he was back, prying my eyes open.

“I’ll fix this. But you have to grant me permission. Do you?”

I tried to nod, but could barely move. He crouched beside me, placed his hands on either side of my head, and repeated the question. He must have felt the nearly imperceptible movement this time—before the next wave of pain struck, he was a blur of action.

“Watch the perimeter and do not interrupt us, no matter what,” he barked at someone I couldn’t see. Panic set in again. Perimeter? Was I in Hell? He scooped me up, a door shut behind us, and his voice turned noticeably gentler. “I need to get us both into the water, all right?”

I tried to say yes, but the numbness spread to my throat. I think he saw the answer in my face anyway. It sounded like he whispered, “Live long enough to hate me for this.”

The next thing I felt was warmth—like I was floating on a cloud near the sun. Words in a language I didn’t understand were spoken at my ear. Lips brushed against my skin, one of the last pleasant sensations I experienced before darkness closed in.

“Drink.”

I wanted to, more than anything, but couldn’t. He tilted my head back, parted my lips and poured nectar down my throat. I tried thrashing against the cloying taste of it, so sweet and thick that I almost choked, but I’d long since lost the ability to move on my own.

A tear slipped down my cheek and strong fingers brushed it away. Water splashed. A different kind of warmth encompassed me. Soft, gentle lips met mine. It was a whisper, a promise, an unbreakable vow. It shattered the pain and felt like home. I think I wanted more, but was denied. He quietly chanted, his words foreign.

Brilliant light flashed and then my true hell began.



A soft sound roused me from the worst dream I’d ever had. I cracked an eye and kept my breathing deep and even. I was soaking in a tub. For a second, I had no idea how I’d gotten here.

Then flashes came to me. I couldn’t tell if they were dreams or memories.

A metallic snake inked onto an arm banded around my body—not in possession, but solidarity. Like Wrath had followed me into my nightmare, battled Death, and dragged me out.

At some point, I thought his tongue flicked over my jugular, tracing an invisible S along my skin. I remembered the feeling of every nerve ending, every molecule sizzling, instantly attuned to where I wanted those lips to move next. I swore I still felt heat lingering from the brief contact. I was surprised that I didn’t hate it.

I squeezed my eyes shut as more images resurfaced. A giant serpent. A deadly fight. Fangs. Blood. My grandmother’s neck, slashed. Drinking something thicker than honey and so saccharine, I had to gag it down. Strange words spoken fervently. A kiss followed by a blinding spark.

Then the nightmares began.

Demons screeching, claws scraping, an unfamiliar woman with midnight eyes and fire in her soul, cursing me. A city of fire and ice. An obsidian throne room. A crown forged of flames and smoke. Enormous gates crafted from bone and leathery wings, bursting open. Betrayal.