NECROSIS (Nerys Newblood Book 2) Read online

  "It's not the same anymore," Coen says. His voice is so raw. Booker said that his throat was damaged. He can heal it, he just needs to get the right ingredients for a tonic and recover from the transportation spell he used. "I'm not the same anymore."

  I raise my fist and bite down on my knuckle hard at Coen's tortured rasp. I have to beat back a pain-filled cry. My chest aches as if someone has punched right through my ribcage, taken my heart in their hands, and ripped it out. I'm left an empty, concave mess.

  This is my fault. Matric was after me. I should have been in that dungeon. Not Coen. Gods. It should have been me and I wish it had been. I would do anything in the world right now to trade places with him.

  Strong arms wrap around me, pulling me away from the door and into an equally strong chest. I had forgotten that Luca was right there next to me, that he could hear my thoughts. He strokes my hair back, away from my face, placing a light kiss on the top of my forehead. I choke back a sob and find my hands crawling up his chest to grip his shirt. I need something concrete to hold on to. I need something to remind me that Coen isn't dead. I need to see him.

  After a few more moments, Luca releases me with another warm press of his lips to the crown of my head. I've gotten so used to those kisses, so used to him, I don't know how I ever survived without him before. When I open the door, I know how. This man here—Coen. He is how I survived, and now he's hurt.

  Holden is at Coen's bedside, the sheets pushed down around Coen’s waist and thighs, his shirt pulled up to reveal the sturdy muscles of his chest, the bruising and the lash marks that wrap around his sides. Most of the whip markings are on his back, but whoever did them obviously didn't stop there. My breath comes in rapid spurts as I stand in the doorway, staring at him.

  Coen looks up and meets my gaze. His dark eyes echo. There's something dimmed inside of them and it hurts me even more. I don't know what to say. So, I don't say anything at all. I move into the room until I reach his bedside and sit down across from Holden. I reach for one of Coen's hands—the one closest to me.

  He doesn't protest as I lift it to my face and press a kiss to his knuckles. "I'm so sorry," I rasp, closing my eyes against the three of them. I can still feel their gazes behind my eyelids, but at least I can pretend they don't hate me. "I'm... so..." I break off, choking on the words. Tears slip out and trail down my cheeks. "Coen."

  When I open my eyes, Coen is still looking at me, but Holden and Luca have both mysteriously disappeared. I hadn't even heard them leave. "Nerys..." Coen tugs his hand away from me and then leans back against the pillows. Despite how painful the wounds on his back must be, he doesn't flinch. When he opens his arms, I don't hesitate. I take the offering and crawl into his lap, tears and all. I cry against his chest, feeling weak and childish. He was the one tortured. I'm the one who should be consoling him.

  I can't believe he's alive, though. That his arms are around me, holding me close. I clutch him to me. Hoping that this is real, that he's really here with me. I couldn't bear it if I suddenly woke up and he was still gone or even worse...dead. I sob harder.

  "Nerys, I'm fine," he says, rocking me.

  “What happened to you?” I ask, my fingers finding one of the marks that curls around his shoulder as my tears finally start to slow down.

  His gaze becomes unfocused as if he’s thinking and seeing something different than I am, as if, in his mind, he’s stepped back into the past—a past he doesn’t seem to want to remember. “I don’t want to talk about it now.”

  “Do you not want to talk about it with me?” I ask. When he doesn’t answer, I know the truth. “I wish I could take everything you went through from you,” I say quietly. “If I could, I’d take all of your pain.”

  Coen’s arms squeeze tight around me and an angry rumble vibrates his chest. “Don’t you ever fucking say that, Nerys.” His eyes bore into mine.

  “I would,” I argue.

  He shakes his head. “No. Never. You—”

  Before he can say anything more, there's a brief knock on the door. "I really am sorry to interrupt," Titus says, "but Madam Armaita is here."

  "Here?" I sit up, pulling away from Coen, though one of my hands remains on his leg as if I need that connection to him.

  Titus nods from the doorway. "I guess Booker sent for her."

  "But I thought—" I shake my head. It doesn't matter. "Okay," I say. "I'll be right out." Titus nods and then disappears down the hall. I turn back to Coen. "Are you coming? You should rest, but if you want to be there..." Coen stares at the door, his expression unreadable. I repeat his name once more and he jerks as if hearing me for the first time. "Are you coming?" I ask again. I watch him carefully.

  He looks away. "I think I'll stay here," he says. "Sleep a bit more. I have a feeling we won't be staying in the city."

  "Okay," I reply quietly, getting up. "If you need anything—"

  "I think I'll be fine," he cuts me off. "I'm just tired."

  I believe it. He must be exhausted, but there's obviously something bothering him. I can hear Madam Armaita's voice somewhere in the apartment. I have questions to ask and maybe it is best to just let Coen rest. I nod once and then move towards the door, turning back to look at him as I wipe my cheeks. The guilt is still there in my chest and I have the distinct feeling it isn't going to go away anytime soon.

  Out in the green room, Madam Armaita is looking over Booker. "Stupid boy," she says with a clucking tongue. "You're lucky Luca was with you." She scolds him as a mother might scold a child and Booker takes it with barely a grimace. From the way they both acted weeks ago, I truly thought they hated each other. The way Madam Armaita flits around Booker now, I have to wonder...

  "Enough," Booker waves her off. When he sees me, he gestures me closer. "How is Coen?" he asks.

  "He still needs to heal," I say. "When will you be able to make that tonic?" I sit next to him on the couch.

  "You shouldn't be expending any unnecessary energy right now," Madam Armaita cuts in before he can answer. "I'll make the tonic."

  Booker's face goes tense for a brief moment. He must be really depleted because, with a deep, heavy sigh, he nods. "That will help. Thank you, Madam."

  She sniffs and nods. "I'll go and see if I can check him over."

  "He's resting," I say, starting to get up. Madam Armaita doesn't pay me any attention—a thing that irritates me—but Booker's hand on my leg keeps me from going after her.

  "Let her work," he says. "We need to assess the damage that has been done to him anyway."

  I flinch.

  "So, what now?" Titus asks from across the room. I look up and see him and Holden standing together against the far wall. Luca is mysteriously absent.

  "Now, we prepare for the coming war. I assume Prince—King Edwin will be gearing up for his rule, and we need to be ready for whatever he has planned."

  "I'll go out and see if I can pick up any rumors in the city," Holden offers. I almost expect Booker to shake his head and tell him no, but Booker nods and Holden disappears down the hallway, heading for the front of the apartments.

  "Nerys," Booker says. I realize I'm still half out of my seat and I slowly lower myself back to the couch. Booker's gaze settles on mine. "I know you're worried. We all are, but the best thing for Coen right now is to give him time to heal. The tonic will help. Madam is quite good at what she does. She'll have him better soon."

  I nod. "So, we just wait now, then?" I ask.

  Booker sighs. "Unfortunately," he says, "that's what we must do."

  "Do we even have a plan to run?" I ask.

  Luca returns, coming back the same way Holden left. His hair is wet. "We do," Booker says. "If need be, we'll go to a Sanctuary up north in the mountains."

  "The Holy Order?" I ask.

  "They have a chapter branch there as well as villages in a very well fortified fortress," Booker says.

  "Oh, okay." Moments later Madam Armaita returns. She immediately goes to Luca, kisses his cheek and w
hispers something in his ear. Luca, in turn, nods and turns around, leaving the apartment once more. I tilt my head curiously.

  "Luca's going to retrieve the supplies I will need for the tonic," Madam Armaita answers my unspoken question. "Nerys." I jerk as she says my name, and turn to meet her gaze. Her youthful face is still at war with the rest of her aging body, but somehow I've gotten used to the sight. It's a welcome one, something I am familiar with in a world of chaos that is my life now. "Will you please join me in private?"

  I look to Booker as Titus moves into the room and takes a seat. Booker nods and I stand, following the Madam out of the room. She leads me to the library and I note how familiar she is with Booker and Luca's home. It's as if she's been here several times. Or at least enough times to know where everything is without a second thought.

  She leads me into the library and the door quietly snicks shut behind me. I jump slightly because Madam Armaita hasn't moved from her position in front of me. I suspect she used some of her ability. I don't know everything she can do, but what I do know is that I'm glad she's helping us. I'm so incredibly grateful for any help I can get right now.

  Moving across the room, Madam Armaita reaches for a thick volume on the shelf, pulling it out only halfway. There are creaking noises accompanied by loud whirring as cogs turn and the entire shelf flips backward, revealing a short sort of wet bar. She pulls two glasses free and then fills them with an amber liquid in a glass decanter. I gape at it. All the hours I had spent in this library looking through the books and I hadn't found that thing.

  "Sit," she commands. I sit. I don't know where I'm sitting until I look around and see I've made my way further into the room and I'm sitting upon one of the chairs that faces the windows. Madam Armaita stops at my side and hands me a glass before taking her own seat.

  "Now," she says, "let's chat, shall we?"

  "What do you want to talk about?" I ask, though I can guess. She'll tell me I'm too dangerous to be around the guys. She'll be right. She'll tell me that I must leave on my own and seek out refuge somewhere else. I know I'll never find it, but the idea holds appeal. I just want them to be safe. I hope to the Gods they can't hear those thoughts. The worst thing about having bonded potentials is that I sometimes think too quickly to catch the thoughts I want to keep private and sequester them away.

  "Booker and Luca informed me that bonds have been made," Madam Armaita says, sipping from her glass. I keep mine firmly between both hands in my lap. I nod.

  "I see," she says. "With Coen?"

  "No," I reply. "He wasn't... he was already..." I suck in a breath. "He was too far at the time that it occurred."

  "It will form, though," she says rather plainly.

  "What?" I look up at her.

  She nods. "Oh yes, there's already a bond between the two of you. Childhood friends often have a little sliver of it that dies out as they grow older, but I can see it plain as day. Now that the links to the others have been opened, the sliver is only going to grow wider and stronger now that you're back in each other's vicinity. Now that he's no longer being blocked."

  "He was being blocked?"

  She ignores my question and continues her line of thought. "So, eventually, your mind will seek out his mind and he will answer the call. It's inevitable. You were always inevitable."

  "Who was blocking him?" I try again.

  Her bright eyes meet mine. "You know," she says.

  "Edwin." The name tastes foul in my mouth, but it's the only answer that comes to mind. I do know him and he's dangerous. Far more dangerous than his father because he's something else, something different and dark. Another question forms in my mind. "You said that we were inevitable. You mean me and Coen?"

  Madam Armaita smiles. "The six of you," she says. "Coen. You. Booker. Luca. Holden. Titus. The six of you were inevitable." She puts her hands to her head. "I've had visions of future and past events for as long as I can remember. Sometimes I see what I'll be doing in the future, sometimes it's others. But you six...you I have seen repeatedly. The visions work strangely; they show links in time that could happen, not always what will happen. Your links have never changed. The events that take place were always meant to happen."

  "So, I was always meant to be their downfall," I say.

  Madam Armaita scoffs. "You sound like a whining brat."

  I stiffen and glare at her. "What happened to Coen was my fault," I state.

  She waves her hand in the air. "What's done is done," she says, "and it was already foretold."

  "It was?" That's news to me, but... right, her visions. "Why didn't you tell us?" I ask, accusingly.

  "If I had you would have attempted to stop it and it would have happened anyway," she said. "You would have agonized over it even more than you do now. Truly, dear girl, you must stop with the angst."

  She calls it angst. I call it responsibility. I close my eyes, but that doesn't stop the moisture from building behind my lids. I reopen them and raise the glass to my lips, straining my neck for a second to make sure it doesn't spill when I take a sip. My head drops back with a thud and I swallow, lowering my arm.

  "What am I supposed to do?" I croak as the burn of the liquid hits my throat and spreads to my chest.

  Madam Armaita takes a delicate sip from her own glass and leans back in her cushioned seat. She watches me with sharp, intelligent eyes. "You will do what you must," she says.

  I huff out a sigh. "And what exactly is that?" I snap.

  "I think you already know, don't you?" she replies before taking another drink from her glass.

  "I have to kill him," I say. It always came down to that. Someone had to die. I was lucky enough that Matric had been killed for me. But that, too, only came with consequences and I would have to kill his son.

  Madam Armaita nods, sipping from her own glass. "If you want to stop him then, yes, you must kill him."

  I stare at the ground. “Do you know what he told me?” I ask. I'm curious to know. I know knowledge is power, but I'm also incredibly terrified of the answer.

  Her gaze meets mine with a severe intensity that captures my attention. "He told you something very important. I couldn’t see what though.” Before I can even voice the rioting thoughts in my head, she speaks again. “Death’s child—a child of Death.” She sounds both shocked and horrified.

  “How did you—can you read my thoughts?” I ask.

  She shakily composes herself. “You spoke out loud,” she says.

  “Oh.” I am quiet for a time, then…my thoughts come back. This time, I know I’m asking the question out loud. I’m seeking an answer. “How do I kill a son of a God?”

  “For that information,” she replies, “you’ll have to seek the answer inside.” Her eyes stare off, unfocused as if she’s seeing another time.

  I set my cup to the side. “Can you give me something with a bit more substance?” I practically beg. I can’t have whoever—whatever—Edwin is, hurt my guys, my potentials, any more than he already has. I won’t allow it.

  “Ask your spirit guide,” she replies, bringing herself back. She turns back to me, life returning to her gaze.

  I’m almost afraid of what his answer will be.

  5

  Safe Places

  I stop outside Coen's door as Madam Armaita hands him the tonic in a cylindrical opaque glass. Coen takes the glass from her. It's filled with steaming liquid that smells like rotten fruit, the steam rising above the lip of the top. Nevertheless, Coen raises it to his lips and drinks deeply. When he grimaces and tries to stop, Madam Armaita puts her fingers under the bottom and tips it back more until the rest of it flows into his mouth and down his throat.

  Yanking the cup away from his mouth, it clatters to the floor as Coen coughs and grimaces. "That was awful," he complains.

  "But it will work," Madam Armaita says with a nod. She bends and retrieves the cup before bustling about the room, smoothing the covers down and then cleaning up her supplies. They magically make their way in
to the bag Luca brought for her from her home while Madam Armaita speaks in quiet tones to Coen. Coen nods at something she says and she sighs, bending to pick up her bag.

  She pauses on her way out. "It's a good time to talk now," she says. "His wounds will be healing. They should be done in a few hours. The tonic also works as a pain reliever so he won't feel much in the next little while."

  I nod. "Thank you again for all of your help."

  Madam Armaita touches my cheek with a wrinkled hand. "Remember what I said, dear." I do remember. Death's son... Edwin. If only I had known months ago or even a year ago what my life would turn into. Looking down at Coen, I wonder if I would have changed anything. It brought us here—outside of Euron. It brought me Booker and Luca and Titus and Holden.

  Madam Armaita doesn't wait for me to respond before she's brushing past me out the door, taking her strangeness with her.

  I approach the bed. "Are you feeling better?" I feel stupid for asking considering what Madam Armaita just told me, but I want to be sure.

  Coen stretches his arms. The markings move, but they already don't look as stiff as they were before—crusted over and scabbing. "I'll live," he says.

  "Good," I say. "I'm glad to hear it."

  "So, Madam Armaita said something about bonding?" he says.

  I blush and then sigh. It’s no use hiding it from him. From what I learned from Madam Armaita, it’s inevitable that I’ll bond with Coen sooner than later. I open my mouth and begin to explain all that he’s missed in the days since his capture.

  I purse my lips as Obidian’s footsteps echo in the distance of my mind palace. The place has changed—as it has since I started using it; since Obidian showed me how to alter it in the days following Coen’s capture. I had been a wreck, inconsolable and volatile. I don’t know what I would have done without this place.

  Today the walls are opaque, but a brilliantly pale pink with ivy growing up the sides. Windows adorn the circled room and sunlight pours inside. I stopped asking long ago where that comes from. I suppose it’s just my mind filling in the blanks.