The Last Queen Book Four Page 3

  I take a breath as I face the door. Then I blast the damn thing off its hinges. Because I have no more time to waste.

  The door can’t withstand my blow, and it buckles immediately. But even though my blow is strong and it falls, I can still feel that it puts up a considerable fight, proving that whatever the hell is behind this door is worth Spencer spending some considerable magic to protect it.

  Instantly, from within, I hear something.

  I wouldn’t exactly call it a screech – it’s way deeper than that. There’s also a pounding, almost as if something’s playing a drum.

  Then I realize it’s a heart. For as I throw myself forward and I enter the cold storeroom, I see it.

  I almost scream.

  It’s like entering somebody’s rib cage.

  The walls of the room aren’t mere metal. No. They’re flesh. They are all shot through with arteries and veins. And they’re pulsing. In and out. In and out.

  Something throws itself forward. And from behind me, I finally hear the screams I knew were only seconds away. Spencer’s men now know something’s wrong, and they’re coming to crash this party. But at the same time, I’m aware of the fact they come up against my defenses, and they can’t break through. I have minutes, I tell myself, so it’s time to make them count.

  Before I left John, he told me I had one task. It’s not to capture the eater. It’s to kill it.

  Though I’ve already expressed on many occasions that I don’t view myself as a killer, whatever is in this room is a clear abomination.

  So I don’t hold back. Which is good. Because just as I charge myself with magic, really letting it cover my entire form in a pulse of power, something throws itself at me from the opposite side of the room.

  It’s flesh and bone. It has the form of a man, just without the skin.

  I think I told you before that I was never one for horror films. But this is way, way beyond the dumb scary shit you get in crappy flicks.

  Though my primal brain screams at me to get the hell out of here, I don’t.

  I shift my stance, continuing to let magic pulse over my body as I wait to be attacked. Maybe that’s not the best strategy, but I need to find out how this thing fights.

  John tried to tell me everything he knew, but the information he gave me was too intellectual. I fight best not necessarily when I know facts, but when I feel and figure them out for myself.

  As the creature plows toward me, it opens its mouth wide and shrieks. I even catch a glimpse of the damn thing’s tonsils.

  The sound?

  It’s excruciating.

  I’ve fought many weapons before. From pawns with swords to bishops with pikes. I’m used to easily recognizable weapons.

  But as the sound strikes me – literally – I realize it’s a weapon too.

  If it weren’t for the magic surrounding my body, my eardrums would burst and my brain would probably go with it.

  As it is, enough sound gets through that I jerk to the side and stumble.

  The thing reaches me. It’s so damn fast. Easily faster than anything I’ve ever fought.

  As soon as it’s upon me, I can feel its long fleshy fingers trying to snap through my skin to get to my bone.

  I can see its saliva-covered teeth, too. They’re snapping in and out like a shark greedily swallowing down fish.

  I fend it off. And though it gropes for me, I just concentrate on my magic until it surges. In a bright white pulse of light, I throw the thing off.

  It doesn’t go far. Though it’s technically thrown back, it doesn’t strike one of the walls. Instead, as the body of the creature plows toward the wall, the wall reacts, sending a pulse out that catches the creature and kind of cushions it like someone catching a ball in a mitt. So the next thing I know, the damn thing is upon me again. And this time it’s even faster and more frantic than before. It’s also shrieking. Somehow it’s reaching a specific note that’s undermining the magic surrounding and protecting me. I don’t know that much about engineering, but I do appreciate that there’s something called harmonic resonance. Reach the right repeated pitch, and you can start to destroy things.

  I feel that that’s exactly what’s happening now.

  My magic starts to ebb, and the next thing I know, that thing’s fingers slice right through my defenses, catching me on the side of my cheek. It cuts me, and blood splatters over my cheeks and neck.

  I scream. This is no ordinary injury. I can feel some kind of insidious magic pulsing through my wound and eating its way into my bloodstream.

  I know instinctively that if I don’t do anything and I let its effects linger, I’m gonna be defeated from the inside out.

  And yet, I have to use all of my force to concentrate on the bastard’s never-ending, relentless attacks.

  The creature tries to lock its hands around my throat, and as my magic ebbs with its repeated shrieks, it almost manages it.

  Maybe John is right, and maybe it was way too soon after my fight with Senator Rogers to take on another enemy – but I don’t have any option other than to win. So it’s time to brute force it.

  I’ve felt desperation before. I’ve fought using everything I’ve had. But this is different. Every scrap of emotion running through me – every desire not to die and importantly every desire to help John – all coalesce into one point. It’s that point that I allow to feed my magic as I throw it out. There’s a massive white-blue blast of light. It’s so damn strong that it’s like a flare from the sun. And this time, it doesn’t just throw the creature back – it rips away whole chunks of its skin and the walls, too.

  The room shudders. As for the creature, it shrinks again – but this time it’s in pain.

  I fall down to my knees, but I don’t allow myself to rest for long.

  I push up. I round my hands into fists. I plow forward. It’s just as the creature stands.

  With another shriek, it throws itself at me. I swear I see something in its eyes. Some form of recognition that it won’t win. Despite its fearsome abilities, it just doesn’t have the raw power to take on someone like me.

  And that’s when I swear I feel it. The vibration of the room changes. I think I feel it come to a decision, even though it shouldn’t have a brain. And yet, it’s clear it’s altering its strategy.

  My intuition blares at me like a foghorn.

  The creature, and this room included, are going to commit suicide in the hopes they can take me with them.

  I shift to the side violently. Though I’ve just generated a charge of magic to throw at the creature, I redirect it, letting it pulse over my form in a defensive move instead.

  It’s just in time, because the walls of this room contract so suddenly and so completely, if I hadn’t protected myself, I would’ve been crushed.

  The creature’s crushed. It gives out one last cry. Small and mournful but still aggressive. Like a mother lion protecting her cubs.

  As for me, from every angle I’m assailed. It’s not just by the contraction and the force of the walls. It’s from the most insidious damn magic I’ve ever experienced. It’s like walking into a furnace.

  I’m all the way down on my knees, practically with my face on the floor as I use every last scrap of magic I have to protect myself.

  And it’s clear that this room is using every last scrap of magic it has in one last effort to destroy me.

  Though I don’t have time to think, I can still appreciate one fact. This room – whatever it is – can’t be completely under Spencer’s control. Because if it was under Spencer’s control, it wouldn’t dare try to kill me. He needs me, and even if he fears that I’ve joined John, I know Spencer. Goddammit, my body knows him. I’ve stared into his soulful, deep eyes. He would never try to kill me – just capture me.

  But whether this room is under Spencer’s control or not, does it matter? I have to concentrate my magic, sending it into my bones and flesh as I bolster myself against the force of the contracting walls. It feels exactly as if
I’ve been plucked up by a Giant’s hand and the damn brute is trying to squeeze my head off as if I’m a pod of peas he’s shelling.

  Just when I fear I won’t be able to withstand this, there’s a crack.

  I can feel the muscles in the walls simply give up.

  There’s a kind of hissing noise, then they start to dissipate in great wisps of red black magic.

  The next thing I know, I’m standing in a sea of sparks as the magic that sustained the room returns to the ground from which it came.

  I’m provided with exactly no opportunity to appreciate what I just did.

  I hear voices from outside the room. Spencer’s men have finally managed to get through my net spell.

  I’m shaking all over as I push to my feet, and a seriously sticky sweat is drenching my brow.

  I’ve got no intention of stopping, though. I bring up my hands in a defensive position just as I hear footsteps.

  Now there’s no magic in here, the room has returned to being what it originally was – a cold storeroom. Though the air is still thick and dense with the scent of burnt flesh, even that’s dissipating.

  I turn to watch Spencer’s men file in, the sound of their shoes slapping against the cold concrete echoing around me like someone shouting through a mountain range.

  I’m not in a disguise anymore. I ditched the bomber jacket and short hair for my ordinary appearance when I started fighting that creature.

  Spencer has obviously spread a description of me around his men, because as soon as they clap eyes on me, they stop. Dead.

  I’m in a hell of a state. My hair is all bedraggled, caked to my brow with sweat, and there are numerous cuts along my cheeks.

  As for the insidious magic that the eater pushed into me – I’ve been dealing with it in every way I can, matching it with magic until I’m pretty confident I’ve obliterated it.

  So there’s nothing to stop me from taking a step toward Spencer’s men and shrugging. “What’s the holdup, boys? Scared?”

  Though I’m not usually one for one-liners, excuse me if I need to lighten the mood after that grim fight.

  I take another step forward, and Spencer’s men finally react, assuming a collective defensive position. There are five of them, and they take up a pincer formation, the strongest guy in the lead while the other four line up behind him.

  Then they attack. But even though they start hurling magic my way, I can tell they aren’t fighting at their full capacity. Instead, they’re defending. Which tells me they’re doing one thing. Waiting for Spencer. They’re buying time until the king can back them up.

  Just for the craziest second, a part of me wonders whether I should wait, too. Whether I should face Spencer. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve made my mind up fully now. Despite our kiss in his car, I’m not going back to Spencer. I can’t trust him. Though I know... he’s complicated, and I suspect he’s not nearly as bad as he seems, he’s bad enough to have created that eater, and I’m sure he’s desperate enough to do everything he damn well can to get his hands on me. So no. I’m not going to wait for him. And yet at the same time... I want to tell him. Don’t I? That I’ve chosen John. Just to see what Spencer will do. To see his anger, to feel his rage.

  I have to push that distracting thought away as I go on the offensive.

  I’m not as powerful as I usually am. Notwithstanding my terrifying fight with the eater seconds ago, I’m still recovering from what happened with Senator Rogers.

  Though I attack with a strong bolt of magic directed right at the guy in front, the other four guys behind him leap forward in a coordinated attack, and they somehow combine their magic until they deflect my blow.

  “Shit,” I stammer under my breath. I’m not just sweating now. My heart’s beating in that thrumming, shaking kind of way it does when you’re seriously fatigued and your body can’t take anymore.

  But I have to take more.

  So I shore up my stance, ignore my jelly legs, and give it everything I’ve got.

  But I’m not quick enough.

  Because from within the building, I hear his voice. Don’t ask me how I can hear it. The walls of this factory are thick. But do you think that matters? Nope. Nothing, it seems, can prevent me from hearing Spencer as he nears. A blast of recognition shoots through my left shoulder – the point where Spencer imprinted me.

  It’s not crippling or anything. Just a warning that he’s getting closer and closer.

  Shit.

  The thought of calling John and begging for help suddenly comes to mind, but I really don’t have the time to shove a hand into my pocket, pull out my phone, and ask for silence as I make a call.

  So I throw everything I have at Spencer’s men.

  But I can still hear Spencer getting closer, feel him too as my shoulder starts to vibrate like a magnet being held back from an opposite pole.

  That’s when I realize I have another option. Why go through these bastards when all I have to do is go around?

  I act on my thought, immediately pivoting on my foot and pushing out of the way just as the man in the front of the formation sends out a halfhearted attack of his own.

  As I dodge, I don’t bother to meet his blow with an attack and rather let it sail unaffected into the wall behind me.

  Now that eater spell has been removed, the wall is unprotected.

  So it doesn’t exactly take much for the metal to start to buckle. As I pivot hard on my foot, I send a pulse of magic into my shoe and kick the damn wall with all my might. It crumbles outward. And it’s just in time.

  Spencer. He reaches the room.

  I’m shaking with desperation.

  I run. Right out of the side of the factory.

  I push into a leap, jumping up onto the roof of the opposite building.

  I think I’ve made it – gotten away from him – as my strong jump sends me onto the adjoining roof next to the facility. But that’s when I hear shoes right behind me and feel an arm go to loop around my middle. Instantly, I elbow him and push forward.

  I have to be so frigging careful. I was tired before this fight, but now I’m completely fatigued.

  “No, wait. You came here again. You want me,” Spencer spits his words. The anger isn’t directed at me. It’s aching frustration, as if he’s desperately trying to make sense of something.

  I want to spit at the bastard that I did not choose him. But I save my breath and my strength as I shove forward across the roof.

  He’s there again, right behind me, and this time he’s quicker. I feel him wrap a hand over my elbow.

  I bellow in rage.

  I may be weak, but I will not allow myself to be caught. And that prospect ignites some last reserve deep inside my belly.

  As I can feel Spencer send an unmistakable pulse through my arm up into the tracking symbol in my shoulder, I wrench myself free, pivot on my hip, and throw him off.

  There’s enough magic in the move that he can’t fight it.

  The next thing he knows, he’s rolling down the roof.

  A part of me wants to continue the fight.

  But the rest of me understands I have no option but to escape. So I turn on my foot.

  I’ve hit Spencer with a significant blow, and he doesn’t immediately jump up to come after me. He does push up on his elbows, though, and he does turn his head to face me.

  I see it just as I turn away. That flash of desperation. As if I’m the only solution to every problem he’s ever had. As if holding me, if only for one second, would flush away all his fear and all of the sacrifices and atrocities he’s committed to keep himself and his players safe.

  He reaches a hand toward me. “No. Please, wait.”

  Stupidly, criminally, frustratingly, I pause.

  I hear him struggle to get to his feet, but it’s hard.

  “You can’t pick John. John will use you to death. I will keep you safe. I’ll respect your freedom. You just need to give me a chance.”

  I still don’t move. I just ta
ke a heavy breath that weighs my chest down.

  “Choose me,” his voice shakes. “Don’t ignore what we share.”

  Finally, I can’t take it anymore, and I bare my teeth, even though I don’t face him. “We don’t share anything. You’re just a king, and I am just a queen.”

  “You’re wrong. You must have felt it.”

  My stomach pitches. “Felt what?”

  “Our connection. It’s stronger than it should be. You should’ve felt it. When we kissed,” he finally explains.

  He’s on his feet now, and he’s getting closer. Sure, he isn’t moving fast, and maybe he’s not a threat. But he is still coming closer.

  I need to run.

  Instead I just stand there.

  “That was no ordinary kiss. The more power behind a king and queen’s intimacy,” he says, voice low and hard like gravel on gravel as he says the word intimacy, “the more destiny they have together.”

  I want to say I feel sick on that term. I don’t have a destiny with this bastard. Unless you consider it a negative fate.

  But does that push me into a run finally?

  No.

  I still hold my ground.

  I still wait to find out what he will do next.

  What he does next is not what I expect. He doesn’t jerk out a hand and try to grab my wrist. No. He just stops several steps away. Almost as if he doesn’t want to push me. Almost as if he’s giving me the chance and the choice to leave. “That kiss revealed one thing,” he continues right behind me, his voice low.

  I know I shouldn’t be drawn in by his words – all he’s doing is wasting time so he can recover.

  And yet I still wait. Because a part of me promises that I need to hear this.

  “A queen can’t successfully pair with every king. There’s only one she’s meant for. And the more... intensity between the two,” his voice does all the wrong things on the word intensity, “the more power they will share together. You can’t ignore that. So you can choose John,” his words become hard and stiff like kicks, “but it won’t count. Because if you choose me, there won’t be anything that will be able to stop our power combined.”