The Darkest Torment
Page 31

“I’ll ask around. Maybe someone knows something.”
“Good. Torin’s been searching for immortals who might have worn serpentine wreaths before Baden, but so far he’s had no luck.”
Katarina walked away. As she turned the corner, she heard another warrior mutter, “Are you sure Katarina is legit?”
“I’m not.” The reply came from Lucien, keeper of Death. “But Baden is sure. Says he’ll kill anyone who harms her.”
How...almost sweet.
That night, she noticed Baden moved his pallet closer to the bed, and she couldn’t bring herself to protest. Because she didn’t care what he did. She didn’t!
The next day, she ended up in a room where the girlfriends, wives and consorts trained with swords, guns and crossbows.
“Well, Gillian’s birthday party is officially canceled. She’s supersick,” Ashlyn said. “William’s on a rampage, mumbling about his book and how this must be the curse in action, and how he has to do something.”
Book? Curse?
“And that’s the good news,” Kaia the Wing Shredder announced. The beautiful redhead was a Harpy. A bloodthirsty race of thieves and pranksters. She appeared human, except for the tiny wings that fluttered between her shoulder blades. “I’ve spoken to Bianka. Lysander and Zacharel are looking for the box, too. How are we supposed to battle Sent Ones and the evil minions who don’t exactly like our jam?”
Bianka...Kaia’s twin, Katarina thought she remembered hearing. Lysander...Bianka’s husband. Zacharel...she wasn’t sure. Sent Ones...a term she couldn’t identify.
“We have to intensify our search,” Anya said. She was the goddess of Anarchy and, according to everyone in the fortress, an unholy terror. “Those goody-goodies might help our men, they might not. The problem is Lucifer. If he gets hold of the Morning Star...” She shuddered.
Morning Star. Another term Katarina couldn’t identify.
“Actually, the problem is our men,” Gwen interjected. She was Kaia’s younger sister and often teased about being the “nice” one. “They worry about Baden. When he’s here, they hover around him, as if they’re afraid something bad will happen to him.”
The girls brainstormed ways to fix the situation—until they noticed Katarina.
“You need to snap out of this funk, like, el pronto,” Anya said. “You think you’re the only one with crises? Chica, you should try living a few thousand years and see how many losses you suffer. You’re being a baby and I’m sick of it. You’re stealing my thunder!”
“I’m totally willing to gut the piece of scum who killed your dogs,” Gwen said. “Blink twice if you want me to get started...waiting...waiting...fine. But the offer will forever stand.”
“Listen. I’ve been meaning to talk to you but time got away from me.” Danika was a petite blonde whose nickname confused Katarina. The All-seeing Eye. “I see into the future and what I’ve seen...well, if you don’t step up, it’s not pretty, Katarina. Please help him. Help us all.”
What did Danika mean, she saw into the future? Was she psychic? Well. That explained the name, didn’t it?
Katarina managed to escape the group without making any promises.
That night, Baden placed his pallet right next to the bed, so close she could touch him with her toes if she stretched out her leg. She still didn’t care what he did...but for some strange reason, she took comfort from his nearness.
The next morning, she stumbled upon a make-out session between Danika and Reyes, the warrior possessed by Pain. Knives were involved, and it made Katarina gasp with horror. She raced away before the two realized they had an audience, trying to wipe the memory from her mind. But...
The two had looked so happy.
As the rest of the week ticked by, Katarina witnessed several other make-out sessions. One couple couldn’t wait to get to their bedroom before ripping at each other’s clothes. Another couple chased each other through the halls, laughing. Through it all, a startling fact became very clear. These people might be vicious and bloodthirsty, but they loved each other. Deeply. Madly. Their devotion was palpable.
And, in the quiet darkness of Baden’s bedroom that night—with the redhead asleep on the other side of the mattress, the pallet forgotten—Katarina could no longer deny the truth: that devotion had lured her out of isolation. These people kept each other going. They had troubles, but they never gave up. Bearing witness to their bravery and determination to live life to the fullest had eased something inside her.
When morning sunlight streamed into the bedroom, she was once again alone. Thirsty for the first time in forever, she padded to the kitchen. As she poured herself a glass of orange juice, Baden crossed the threshold. He noticed her right away, as if his gaze was drawn to her, and closed in on her.
“I can’t get you out of my mind, and it’s twisting up my insides,” he said, his voice a mix of anger and concern. “I’m worried about you. One minute I want to shake you, the next I want to...hold you.”
He wants to hold me?
“Welcome to a non-relationship,” Gideon said as he entered the kitchen. The keeper of Lies. “Please tell me you drank all the—”
Baden pointed to the hall.
“So cool.” The warrior with blue hair and multiple piercings backed out of view.
“You’ve disconnected from life,” Baden continued. “I understand why, but now you need a reason to connect again.”
She turned away from him. Even though he was right. She had disconnected, and this wasn’t the first time.
After her mom died, she’d disconnected from the more rambunctious aspects of her personality. The girl who loved to laugh had soon become the somber girl who focused on her work with her father. Then she’d lost her father, then Peter—new reasons to throw herself into her work. Then she’d lost her work...her pets. Her only source of unconditional love.
Katarina slammed the juice on the counter. The glass shattered, liquid spilling everywhere. She rushed from the kitchen and into the safety of Baden’s room, where she climbed into bed and buried herself under the covers.
A few seconds later, Baden stretched out beside her. Because he wanted to hold her?
He combed his fingers through her hair, making her gasp—tremble. Purposeful contact? “I know words can’t make this better for you, nothing can, but I am sorry for your loss.”