Winter

Eighty-Four

Iko was beginning to comprehend why humans curled into the fetal position when they were afraid. On the ground, on her side, with her nose tucked against her knees and her one good arm flopped over her head, she never wanted to move again. Wolf had bitten her already-damaged arm and she could tell he’d done a fair amount of damage to her abdomen and thighs too, not that they were in great shape to begin with.

What was it about her that attracted razor-sharp claws and teeth? Bullets too, for that matter. This was an android injustice that needed to be dealt with as soon as this whole revolution thing was behind them.

A boot stomped inches from her head and she cringed, bundling herself tighter. She didn’t want to get up. She didn’t want to move. She wanted her power cell to wind on down so she could wake fully formed once again, after Cinder had fixed her and—

Cinder.

Cinder didn’t have the option of lying comatose in the middle of her revolution. Cinder was out there, now, in danger.

Whimpering, Iko dared to lower her arm and scan her surroundings. All around, war cries and screams barraged her audio sensor, and the rumble of charging footsteps thundered into her limbs. She peered through the torrent of legs and weapons—first the wolf soldiers, then the men and women from the outer sectors, gripping their spears and knives. All crashing toward the castle as the thaumaturges tried to take control again.

But there were too many, and the wolves were too difficult to control. That’s what Wolf had been telling them from the beginning, hadn’t he? The soldiers were meant to be unleashed on Earth—a scourge of death and terror. They were not meant to be prim, proper, well-organized soldiers.

And there were so many of them. More than Cinder had brought through the tunnels. Iko grimaced as a new regiment of soldiers charged into the fray, teeth gnashing. Grabbing at anyone who moved. All around her, mutants wrestled with one another. Blades slashed across throats. Spears bit into flesh.

“All right, Cinder,” she whispered, forcing herself to sit up. “I’m coming.”

Her internal systems were frayed, her processor a mix of scrambled messages, and she could feel at least two disconnected wires sparking in her stomach. She picked her gun off the ground.

It took forever to find Cinder as Iko weaved in and out of the chaos with her bad arm dangling at her side. She held the gun ready, shooting when she thought she could save someone, ignoring the countless scratches that appeared like magic on her clothes and synthetic skin. What were a few more scratches at this point, anyway? For once she was glad not to have nerve endings. She just hoped her body didn’t shut down on her with all the sustained injuries.

By the time she made it to Cinder, she was out of bullets. Thank the stars, Cinder was staying out of the fight for once. Some of the stone statues lining the courtyard had been knocked over and Cinder was hunkered behind one, watching the battle like she was waiting for the right opportunity to move into it.

Iko slipped down beside her, pressing her back against the statue. “Nice speech earlier.”

Starting, Cinder whipped her head around, nearly taking out Iko’s button nose with an instinctive punch. She froze just in time. Relief clouded her eyes. “You’re all right,” she gasped. “Wolf?”

“May have anger management issues. Scarlet?”

Cinder shook her head. “I lost her.”

An enemy soldier came from nowhere. Cinder pushed Iko aside and shoved the soldier’s head into the statue with her metal fist. The statue cracked, a chunk of stone clattering to the ground, and the soldier collapsed unconscious.

“Cinder, you’re bleeding,” said Iko.

Cinder glanced down at her shoulder, where the wound they’d bandaged up at the mansion had bled through. She looked unbothered by it as she grabbed Iko’s elbow and tugged her into what protective cover the statue could offer. “Levana went back in the palace. I need to get in there.”

“Do you think Kai’s in there too?”

“Probably.”

Iko nodded. “Then I’m going with you.”

A trembling scream drew Iko’s attention back into the skirmish in time to see a woman from the lumber sector turn her own knife on herself and plunge it into her chest. Iko’s eyes widened. She couldn’t look away as the woman dropped to her knees, staring openmouthed at her own traitorous hands.

Beside her, Cinder let out a battle cry and rushed toward a thaumaturge. She grabbed a knife out of a guard’s hand right before he swung and in the same movement—

Iko recoiled. She’d witnessed enough death already, even if this one was an enemy.

“Iko, come on!”

Lifting her head again, she saw Cinder leap over the fallen thaumaturge and keep running, straight for the palace doors. She was still gripping the guard’s knife, but Iko wasn’t sure how much of the blood on it was new.

“Right. We’ll just kill all the bad guys.” Iko looked down at her limp hand, shook it out a little, and watched her fingers wobble uselessly. “Good plan.”

Bracing herself, she rushed into the melee, weaving her way between those fallen and fighting. She caught up with Cinder as she sprinted through the yawning doors of the palace. Iko followed her, then skidded to a stop. Her gaze traveled up and up and up, to the top of the massive goddess sculpture centered in the main hall. “Whoa.”

“Iko.”

She found Cinder panting on the other side of the statue, her attention darting one way and then the other. The bloodied knife was still gripped in her whitened knuckles.

“Which way do you think she went?” Cinder asked.

“Down to the spaceship ports so she could run away, never to be seen again?”

Cinder cut her an unamused look.

“Or maybe to call for backup?”

“Maybe. We need to find Kai. Levana will use him against me if she can.”

Iko tugged on a braid, glad that, no matter how bad of a shape her body was in, her hair still looked good. “The coronation was supposed to take place in the great hall. We could start there.”

Cinder nodded. “I don’t have access to the palace blueprints anymore. Can you lead?”

Iko’s internal synapses fired for a few moments before they managed to compute Cinder’s words. She recalled all of their planning and plotting, all the diagrams and maps and strategies they’d drawn up. She raised her good hand and pointed. “The great hall is that way.”

* * *

Scarlet could hear her grandmother’s voice, gentle yet firm, as the battle raged around her. She’d already gone through two magazines and she had seen more claw-torn abdomens and tooth-ripped throats than even her nightmares could have shown her. Still, the soldiers kept coming. She knew they had one regiment on their side, but she couldn’t begin to guess how many of the soldiers were fighting with her and how many against her, and no matter how many fell, more were always there, ready to replace them.

Afraid she might shoot an ally when every blood-soaked civilian looked like an enemy, Scarlet focused on the obvious targets. The thaumaturges in their maroon and black jackets were easy to spot even in the fray. Every time Scarlet felt her conscience creeping up on her—it was a life, a human life she was about to take—she would see one of the civilians put a gun to their own head or stab one of their family members to death, and she would pick a thaumaturge whose face was tight with concentration and all her qualms would disappear.

Hold the gun with both hands, her grandma would tell her. I know they do it differently in the dramas, but they’re idiots. Line up your target using the front and back sights. Don’t pull the trigger—squeeze it. It will fire when it’s ready.

The thaumaturge in her sight line stumbled back, a dark spot appearing on her red coat.

Click. Click.

Scarlet reached for her back pocket.

Empty.

She cursed. Shoving the gun into her waistband, she spun around, searching the ground for another weapon. Having been so focused on targeting her enemies, she was surprised to find herself in a sea of bodies and blood.

A drop of sweat slid down her temple.

How many had they lost? It seemed like the fighting had just started. How were there so many already dead? Dismay filled her lungs.

This was a battlefield. A massacre. And she was caught in the middle of it.

She released a shaky breath, wishing she could release her terror along with it. Her grand-mère’s voice had disappeared as soon as she’d put away the gun. Now there was only the sound of killing. Screams and war cries. The stench of blood.

Spotting an axe, she bent to pick it up, and didn’t realize until she found resistance that the blade was buried in a body. Grimacing, she shut her eyes, gritted her teeth, and pulled it free. She didn’t check to see who the body belonged to.

She was exhausted in every way, exhausted halfway to delirium. Her attention fell on a middle-aged woman who at first glance reminded her of Maha, but older. The woman was trembling from shock and her arm was cut and torn—by teeth, Scarlet guessed—and she was using her good hand to drag an injured man to safety.

Scarlet stumbled forward, gripping the axe handle. She should help her.

She went to drop the axe, but then her fingers twitched, which was her first warning. Eyes widening, she looked down at her hand. Her knuckles whitened on the axe handle, gripping it tighter. A shudder ripped through her body.

Someone else had control of her hands.

But they hadn’t thought to take her tongue, at least.

“Get away from me!” she screamed, to no one in particular. To anyone close enough to hear. “Run!”

The woman paused and looked up. There wasn’t enough time. Scarlet’s disjointed legs stumbled toward her and she took the axe in both hands and raised it overhead, her muscles flexing under its weight. “Run!” she yelled again, panic clawing at her throat, her mind overcome with the horrible reality of being under a thaumaturge’s control.

Comprehension filled the woman’s face and she scrambled backward. She turned to run, but tripped.

Scarlet screamed in anguish. The woman threw her hands up to protect herself. Scarlet slammed her eyes shut, pushing out tears she hadn’t known were there, and her arms swung the axe toward the woman’s stomach.

The axe came to a jarring stop, halting mid-swing.

Gasping around her own heartbeat, Scarlet dared to look up.

A form, massive and dark and covered in blood, towered over her. Scarlet whimpered. In relief, in gratitude, in a thousand feelings that didn’t come with words. “Wolf.”

His eyes were as vibrant green as ever, despite being more sunken than before—a result of his protruding nose and jaw.

Scarlet’s arm tried to pull the axe away, but he tore it from her grip.

Her mindless fingers changed tactics, scrabbling for a weakness, though there weren’t many. Her thumbs dove for his eye sockets.

Wolf caught her easily, still gripping the axe while his arms came around to smother Scarlet, pinning her arms to her sides. She screamed with frustration, and she wasn’t sure if it was her own frustration or that of a thaumaturge screaming through her. Her legs jostled and kicked and stamped, her body writhing against Wolf’s iron grip. He was immovable and merciless, bending his body around her like a cocoon.

The thaumaturge gave up, moving on to control an easier victim. Scarlet felt the release like a rubber band snapping inside her limbs. She shivered, melting into Wolf’s embrace with a sob.

“Oh stars, oh stars,” she cried, burying her face in his chest. “I almost—I would have—”

“You didn’t.”

His voice a little rougher, but still his.

Planting her hands on his chest, Scarlet pushed herself away and peered up at him. Her breaths were still rattling inside her lungs, the sounds of battle were still echoing in her ears, but she hadn’t felt less afraid in days. She reached up, hesitant at first, and brushed her fingers over the prominent new cheekbones, along the unfamiliar ridge of his brow. Wolf grimaced. It was the same face he’d made when she’d first discovered his fangs.

She found the scar on his left eyebrow, and the scar on his mouth, and they were right where she remembered them on the night she’d kissed him aboard the train heading to Paris.

“It is still you, isn’t it? They haven’t … changed you?”

She saw his jaw working. “Yes,” he choked. Then, “I don’t know. I think so.” His face crumpled, as if he might start crying, but he didn’t. “Scarlet. I am so sick of the taste of blood.”

She dragged the pad of her thumb along his lower lip, until it collided with one of the sharp canine teeth. “That’s good,” she said. “We don’t serve a whole lot of blood on the farm, so we were going to have to work on your diet, anyway.” Noting a smear of dried blood on his cheek, she tried to scrub it away, but quickly gave up. “Have you seen Cinder? We should find—”

“Scarlet.” His voice trembled with desperation and fear. “They did change me. I’m dangerous now. I’m—”

“Oh, please. We don’t have time for this.” Digging her hands into his hair—the same soft, wild, unkempt hair—she pulled him toward her. She wasn’t quite sure what a kiss would be like, and it was different and awkward in that hasty stolen moment, but she was confident they could perfect it later. “You have always been dangerous. But you’re my alpha and I’m yours and that’s not going to change because they gave you a new jawline. Now come on. We should—”

Behind Wolf, a soldier let out a cry of pain and crumpled to the ground, bleeding from a dozen different wounds. Wolf pulled Scarlet back, shielding her. There was blood coating his side, and she remembered that Iko had shot him, but he hardly seemed to notice the wound.

She looked again, scouring the weapons, the limbs, the bodies.

Less chaos than before. The battle was beginning to dwindle.

There were not so many people left to fight and still she could see the thaumaturges gathered in the distance. Some had fallen, certainly, but their numbers were holding. It was too easy for them to take control of the civilians, and with the wolf soldiers keeping one another occupied …

Was it possible they were losing?

A controlled civilian came running at her, a spear held over his head. Wolf swiped him away and snapped the spear in half before Scarlet could react. Turning, he growled, and yanked Scarlet to one side moments before a knife slashed through the empty air. With a single throw of Wolf’s fist, the unsuspecting man fell unconscious. Though he was still holding the axe, Wolf didn’t raise it. After all, these were their allies, even if they had become weapons for the enemy.

The more that fell, the easier it would be for the thaumaturges to take control …

“Stay down!” Wolf yelled, pushing Scarlet to the ground and hunkering over her body. A living shield. His instinct was still there, at least. The desire to protect her above all else.

That was all the confirmation she needed.

Feeling more safe than she should have, Scarlet stayed low and scanned the chaos for any sign of Cinder or Iko or Alpha Strom or—

She spotted a wolf soldier, one she didn’t recognize, about ready to launch himself at them. “Wolf!”

Wolf snarled, baring his teeth.

The soldier hesitated. He sniffed once at the air, looking from Wolf to Scarlet and back again. Then he turned and rushed off to find some other victim.

Wetting her chapped lips, Scarlet placed a hand on Wolf’s elbow. “Are we losing?” she said, trying to count, but it was impossible to tell how many of the wolf soldiers were theirs and how many Levana’s. She did know the civilians were falling faster and faster as the scales tipped in the thaumaturges’ favor.

“Not for long,” said Wolf.

She craned her head up. His eyes were still flashing dangerously, scanning for immediate threats. “What do you mean?”

His nose twitched. “Princess Winter is close, and … she’s brought reinforcements.”