Runaway Devil
55

Kara

"Are we almost there?" I asked, sleep still pulling at my mind.

"Yep." Alec's voice was curt and tight in his chest. I could feel his anxiety from across the cab of the truck.

"It's your turn to talk," I sat up in my seat, stretching my back. "What's up, buttercup?" He shook his head, looking over his shoulder to switch lanes. We were in a residential area, finally off the endless highways.

"I don't like this, Karau."

"I know." But you said you would do it anyway. I kept my thoughts to myself, knowing they wouldn't help.

"The energy keeps getting stronger, it's suffocating, like they're right on top of us." I nodded but said nothing. I could feel it ever since the diner, I knew who waited for me back home, but I didn't know if I was ready to face him. I laid my head back on the headrest and let it fall to the side, looking at Alec directly. His jaw was sharp, clenched. His grip on the steering wheel was uncharacteristically tight, the veins in his hands and forearms bulging.

I rested my hand on his knee and sent comforting energy to him. I let the skin under my hand bloom with warmth, but it wasn't enough to convince me he was still on board. "You said it yourself, we can handle whatever this is," I said.

"Yeah, but it doesn't inspire confidence when you refuse to tell me what I'm walking into." His short tone made me take my hand back. But before I could place it back in my lap he grabbed it and put it back on his knee, holding it there. His grip was tight and resolute. He clenched and unclenched his jaw a few times, glancing at me before looking back to the road. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

"It's nothing good. I have reason to believe someone from my battalion is here, along with whoever we're sensing right now."

"That's not them?"

I shook my head and looked out the window, almost as if I thought to find him out there. "No, that's not him." My voice was unexpectedly quiet in my throat.

Alec said nothing for a long moment, then broke his own silence. "Is it good or bad that he's here?" I shook my head.

"I'm not sure anymore."

Everything was going according to plan. Until it wasn't. They were on me before I realized they had spotted me. I may have been more skilled and experienced than all of them combined, but they had sheer numbers. It was equivalent to a sea of caimans swarming a jaguar. I couldn't shield against all of them at once. In a moment of distraction, I let my guard down, just for a second. But it was a second too long.

Azgaria's eyes tore through me and I only had enough to tense my body in preparation for battle before they surged. I was buried in seconds, drowned in a throng of heavy bodies. I pushed against the weight, I felt my muscles burn beneath my skin, straining against those who restrained me.

I was dragged into the daylight, ripped from the shadows, and forced to face what awaited. My human skin was only an advantage among humans. If I tried to take my true form they would kill me where I stood, no doubt. So, as I was violently pulled towards almost certain death, I had a choice to make. I could bide my time, and possibly survive, or resist, getting myself and Karau killed.

They threw me to the ground at Azgaria's feet. I stared at her armored boots and saw my reflection in the newly polished steel. I looked small. She lifted her boot, rested her toe under my chin, and angled my face upwards. I looked her in the eye, not having missed her face. It was paler than I remembered, more angular up close, with a sharp, hooked nose. She was such a severe-looking individual, it was hard to look at her directly for more than a few moments. But I held her gaze defiantly, sneering.

"You were always the pretty one, weren't you Jareth?" She cocked her head to the side, looking remarkably bird-like. "Shame." She removed her foot only to swipe it across my face, sending me to the ground. The steel of her boot bit into my skin, splitting my face like a swollen fruit. The laughter and gibes of surrounding soldiers faded as blood filled my head.

The dirt was cold against my cheek, the dew from the grass strangely refreshing. My skull throbbed with an ache that could only come from internal bleeding. It was hot and swollen, a pain that wouldn't have been so bad if I was in my true form. Azaria was strong but when it came to brute force, I had her beat, and she knew it. I placed my hand flat on the ground and started to push myself up, shaking with blurred vision. I had almost righted myself when her boot collided with my shoulder, sending me sprawling another ten feet.

"You may not believe me, but you were my favorite. You executed orders without hesitation and immaculate skill. Do you remember when I was your leading commander?" Her voice had a timber that could either strike paralyzing fear or endless comfort. She decided which of the two you deserved. I had felt both many times, her tones bled into each other often, inciting both feelings at once. I was a new soldier, freshly out of boot camp, when I was assigned to Azgaria's battalion. She was the most ruthless and brutal of Hell's commanders. She was the bloody general, and her soldiers were the ones on the front lines. We cut through armies like they were nothing. Bootcamp made you a soldier, Azaria made you a killing beast. She was the reason I was able to work my way into the Elites. She made me the soldier I was.

"You had my respect, I trusted you to lead in my occasional absence. You were my right hand, my second." She sneered with every word. I laid on my back, unable to do anything but listen. She stalked towards me and with each step, her anger grew. There was an underlying tone in her voice, something she was trying to hide. It was manifesting itself as blind anger. "I would have made you the head of my personal guard," she said, her voice quieter, only speaking to me. She knelt beside me, leaning over my prone body. When she had become a part of the council, she built her own personal army disguised as a personal guard. She used them to further her own interests, and she had offered me an integral position within it. I had declined, I remember hating the idea of parting with the front lines. She had conditioned me to crave the feeling of my steel cutting through flesh, she had nurtured my blood lust. And suddenly she was asking me to give it up to follow her.

It struck me suddenly. "You feel that I abandoned you." She spat, like I left a sour taste in her mouth, and stood. She planted her boot in the center of my chest, leaning on my sternum. I grunted and grasped her ankle as if that would keep her from crushing my chest.

"Oh, no. You just chose wrong." A deep crack resonated in my chest, taking my breath from my lungs. Pain shot through my center, enough to cause sharp light to swim in front of my eyes. "Keep him contained for now. If he attempts to shift, kill him," she left him there to be dragged off and restrained. "And now we wait for the guest of honor."

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