Rogue Soul (The Mythean Arcana 3) - Page 77

She shook away the pang of grief. At least she wasn’t an unfeeling automaton like she’d feared. And there were bigger things to worry about, such as getting through the forest and out onto Blackmoor without any of the gods realizing she was here. Luckily, despite the vast size of Otherworld, she was only a few hours from Blackmoor. She’d learned every patch of Otherworld in the centuries she’d been trapped here.

She set off through the oaks until eventually she stood at the edge of the tree line, warily eying the vast, open expanse of the moor. If the gods were still out there, it would be easy for them to find her.

But she was so close to Cam she didn’t want to wait.

Her eyes scanned the rolling hills, barren brown with ever-dead heather. Great granite tors punched up through the ground, hulking over the horizon as the sun set behind them. It lacked the beauty of Otherworld’s other moorland, but for good reason. This was the place of punishment.

In the distance, she caught sight of a flock of birds circling a tor and set out toward them. The sun had nearly sunk beneath the horizon, and the coming dark would shield her as she walked across the too-open space. She couldn’t wait any longer for dark, not being as close as she was now.

She set off at a jog, slowly because of the deceptively boggy and uneven ground. About halfway to the tor, one of the birds cut away from the rest and joined her. A pitch-black falcon—feather, beak, and eyes. Strange looking, but prophetic.

By the time she reached the base of the large hill that supported the tor, it began to rain. She picked up her pace, sprinting now that she was out of the boggy valley. So close. Her heart pounded and cold fear raced along her skin.

The tor was a jumbled pile of massive granite rock, too complex to identify an outline of Cam in the low moonlight. But he was here—he had to be. She climbed, scrabbling for purchase on the smooth surfaces. The falcon veered left and she followed, climbing to reach the highest point of the tor.

There. She sobbed in relief when she spotted the barest outline of Cam only ten feet in the distance, straining violently against the chains that bound him to the rock. After a last mighty effort to heave herself onto the top of the tor, she fell to her knees at his side.

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“Cam.” She grasped his thrashing head. The chains had rubbed his skin raw, and blood seeped beneath him to soak the granite. Great circular bruises dotted his battered muscles, purple and blue and black.

“Ana.” A tortured moan escaped his mouth.

He wasn’t here. Not mentally, at least. She stroked his face, his neck. “Shh. Shh. I’m here. It’s me. I’ll get you out of here.”

She turned to the chain and jerked at it, pulling with all her might.

It wouldn’t budge. In her haste and fear, she’d forgotten that she was merely mortal. Just one soul among thousands, with no special powers. If she had any hope of getting him out, she’d have to leave and find help. Tools—or her brothers, if she could convince them. Anything.

Cam’s moan tore at her ears. Could she leave him like this? He was going crazy. Her head whipped around, searching futilely for help, and she caught sight of the same black falcon. It sat near Cam’s side, its eyes rapt on them.

Her brow furrowed as she watched it, her mouth dropping open when it pecked at the chains with its black beak. It was no normal falcon, for the chain began to shatter beneath its blows. Finally, the chain snapped. Grateful beyond measure, she pulled the chain away from Cam’s chest as the falcon pecked at the others.

Within minutes, she was pulling the last of Cam’s bindings away. She turned to the falcon, only to see it fly off into the distance.

“Thank you,” she whispered, awed by her strange luck. She turned back to Cam.

“Come on, Cam, you have to wake up.” She smoothed her hands over his face and chest, watching gratefully as his wounds began to knit with godly speed now that his body wasn’t fighting the chains.

He moaned, a pained exhalation that tugged at her heart, and finally opened his eyes.

“Ana.” Confusion wrinkled his brow as he reached up to touch her face. His eyes were vacant, the way one’s were after a dream. “But you—you’re dead.”

Dead? She frowned at him. Mytheans didn’t use that term. Death or dying, maybe, to talk about crossing over to the next life. But few people were ever truly dead, their souls blinked out of existence.

“I’m in Otherworld with you. My mortal body is gone, but I’m here.” And here, she looked and felt as if she were flesh and blood. “Come on, we’ve got to get out of here.”

Cam shook his head hard and leaned up on an elbow. He looked up at her again, his eyes clear. He yanked her to him, burying her against his chest. “Fuck, Ana. How did you get here?”

“Same way I did last time.” She hugged him hard, then pulled away and held up her wrists, each now bearing two long scars. One for each time she’d come to Otherworld for him, for two vastly different reasons.

His big hands cupped the sides of her face, and he kissed her hard on the mouth and with so much gratitude that she could all but taste it. He stumbled to his feet, still weakened by his injuries.

“We’ve got to get out of here.”

She pointed west. “The closest cover is that way. A grove of oaks.”

He shook his head. “Out of Otherworld.”

Tags: Linsey Hall The Mythean Arcana Paranormal
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