Love Me to Death (Underveil, #1)(106)

Mihai shifted uncomfortably. “You have orders.”

“No.”

He pulled out his sword, and the old woman cringed. Holding the torch in one hand and his sword in the other, he looked fierce. Too fierce. Charge built in Elena’s hands, and she nailed him in the chest full force with a bolt of electricity.

“Elena!” Nik yelled from the cell across from her. She grabbed the key ring off the unconscious Slayer and inserted it into the keyhole of the cell where he and his mother stood just inside the narrow bars.

Before she could engage the tumblers, a tsking sound came from the entrance to the cellblock followed by a sharp sting in her arm. Almost immediately, she ripped the dart out, but not soon enough. Her vision blurred within seconds.

“You will now insert that elf ore in her body, witch, or I will kill every man, woman, and child in your coven. Are we clear?” Fydor said.

“Y-yes,” the old woman answered, pulling a wicked-looking medical instrument from a bag slung over her shoulder.

Nik looked ready to roar in anger, but she shook her blurry head. “Let them,” she slurred. “S’okay. Heal. Trust.”

His mother put a comforting hand on his arm as Elena sunk to the ground, too dizzy from the drug to stand.

Too bad it hadn’t been enough to knock her out, she thought as the woman placed the instrument against the inside of her bicep. Yeah, really too bad, she lamented as the steel penetrated her flesh with an intolerable breath-stealing sting. The woman, hands shaking, depressed the plunger that inserted the metal plug of ore that would dampen her powers, leaving her one step short of human again. She gritted her teeth and held in a scream as the procedure was completed and the instrument removed. No anesthesia, no sterilization of the instruments, not even a freaking Band-Aid. She pressed her palm to her arm to stop the flow of blood from the incision sight. Welcome to the Underveil.

Several Slayers entered the dungeon, swords drawn.

“Showtime!” Fydor said.





Chapter Thirty-Four


Dread, fear, rage, regret—Nikolai’s emotions had run the gamut by the time he was bound with elven chains to one of four stakes. The execution site had been fabricated on top of a raised stone platform on the enormous fortress balcony overlooking the open field below. He hadn’t even fought the men he thought at one time were friends because Elena had asked him not to. She wanted him to save his strength. For what? So he was in top form when they f*cking burned them all alive.

Below, armies from numerous Underveil factions gathered. Just like Nikolai, they were helpless to do anything. Borya had put some kind of enchantment on the fortress that was like a force field bubble. Even arrows bounced off it.

Fydor, looking more unstable and nervous than Nikolai had ever seen him, was decked out in the typical Slayer black leather, but wore the king’s crown. His father’s crown. What should have been his crown if he hadn’t f*cked everything up. Fingers twitching, the man he’d allowed to have power, stood on the platform only feet in front of Nikolai, staring down at the crowd while servants piled hay at the edges of the giant pile of wood.

He relaxed his head against the heavy pole. To his left, the wood elf whimpered and Elena, on his right, remained calm and stoic. Beyond her, his mother ascended the stairs to the top of the stone platform. At the sight of the queen being secured for execution, the angry shouts from the warriors in the field below became deafening.

“Have you had a vision as to how we escape?” he asked Elena.

“No.”

“Any visions at all after this?”

“Only the one I told you about at Vlad’s castle.”

Oh, yeah, the one where his mother was surrounded by flames. Fucking perfect.

Focus. Buying time was the ticket at this point. “So, Uncle. What do you think is going to happen when your protective bubble is gone?”

He shrugged.

“I know what will happen,” Nikolai said. “They will storm the castle and kill every living thing inside.”

Fydor pulled several vials from his pocket, selected one, and shoved the others back. His hands shook as he loosened the top and gulped the contents. “Borya will leave the protective spell in place then, of course.”

A volley of arrows soundlessly hit the magical barrier well over Nikolai’s head and fell away. “Then you will starve,” he said. “I warned you, though, didn’t I, Uncle? You are nothing but a puppet in his plan to create chaos and lift the Veil. And now, you’re not even going to live to see the chaos you have helped create.”

“Shut up!” Fydor yelled, pressing his palms to his head. “Light the fires.”

“Not yet,” Borya said, as he reached the top of the platform.

Nikolai clamped his mouth shut, not wanting to incite the sorcerer to hurt Elena as he picked his way over the piled wood, stopping right in front of her. She didn’t seem to notice and had a glazed look on her face. “Stop that!” he ordered.

She grinned. “Would you prefer I sing out loud?” At the top of her lungs, she belted,“When I dance, they call me Macarena, and the boys they say que estoy buena!”

With the back of his hand, he struck her across the face, and Nikolai roared, straining against his chains.

But instead of crying or showing fear, she simply started singing again. “Hey! Macarena, M-M-Macarena, M-M-Macarena.”