Storm and Fury by Jennifer L. Armentrout

34

It was Misha—his curly reddish-brown hair dark in the moonlight, his face handsome as ever and his stance familiar, wide legged and shoulders thrown back as if he could challenge someone with just the way he stood.

Misha.

For what felt like an eternity, I was locked up, unable to move as I watched Misha take a step forward, and then elation powered through me so fiercely that I cried out as I started to scramble to my feet—

Zayne’s hand tightened on mine. “Don’t,” he groaned, voice raspy and low. “Something...something isn’t right...”

I swiveled back toward him, confused. “It’s Misha,” I said. “It’s—”

“You should probably listen to him, Trin,” Misha said. “Especially since it doesn’t look like he has much time left.”

Cold air traveled down my spine as I twisted back toward Misha. “What?”

“You look so surprised.” Stopping a few feet from me, Misha ducked his chin. The burning trees cast a reddish glow across his face. He was... He was grinning. “I wish you could see your face right now.”

“I...I don’t understand.” I stayed kneeling beside Zayne as I lifted my other hand, pressing my palm to my chest, fighting the urge to run to Misha—to throw myself at him and to touch him, to hold him, because I...I didn’t understand this. “How did you escape—”

“Escape?” He toed Aym’s ashes with his boot, smirking. “And that’s what he said you’d think.”

“Who? Aym?” Glancing down at Zayne, I saw this his eyes were open. He was silent, his grip looser on my hand, but I knew he was aware of what was happening. I squeezed his hand and then let go, rising on shaky legs.

Misha laughed. “Not that idiot. God, whoever told us that demons were intelligent and conniving obviously hadn’t met half of them.”

Unease spread as I pulled my hand free of Zayne’s. “What’s going on, Misha? Did you escape?” But if that was the case, why hadn’t he helped me or Zayne? “What—?”

“What am I doing here?” he asked, spreading his hands. “I have a better question to ask. Did you really think you were the only special one?”

“What?”

“What?”he mocked, tilting his head. “You did, didn’t you? This whole time, you always believed you were this chosen one—the Trueborn who would someday be called upon, and I was the Protector, your faithful fucking shadow, trailing behind you.”

Stunned, I started toward him but stopped when I grew close enough to see the hatred twisting his features.

I shrank back, my stomach churning. “What are you talking about? What has he done to you?”

“He chose me,” Misha said. “That is what he did. He chose me.”

“Who? Bael? Who are—?”

“God, you should be smarter than this,” he said. “I know you are.”

I stared at him, heart thumping heavily. “Okay. I don’t know what in the Hell is up with you, but we can figure this out. Together. Obviously, the demon did something to you—”

Misha shot forward and his hand snaked out, landing across my face with a stinging blow that knocked me back a step. “He did nothing to me! Bael is just a tool to get to this moment. All I needed was for him to create a distraction. Get in, get me and you, but he messed that up. Just like Aym messed up tonight.”

Tasting blood in my mouth, I slowly turned my head back to him. “Did you seriously just smack me?”

“I will do so much worse.”

I drew in a very deep breath as I met his glare. Something...something terrible had happened to him. Was he possessed? His eyes were normal, a vibrant blue. He looked like the Misha I knew, the Misha I loved, but he sounded nothing like that.

“Did you know that a Protector bond can be broken without the Trueborn’s death?” Misha asked, laughing when he saw the widening of my eyes. “You didn’t, did you? No one taught us that. Then again, your father never really taught us anything.”

Instinct took over, and I backed up, keeping enough space between us so he wasn’t in my blind spots.

“All it takes to break the bond is a Protector killing an innocent,” Misha said. “I’m not going to kill you, Trinity. Not now. But eventually, I’m going to have to break this bond, because you are going to die.”

Ice drenched my veins as horror filled me. “Misha, this isn’t you. You don’t talk about killing innocent people—killing anyone like it’s nothing. This isn’t you.”

“I don’t think it’s nothing,” he admitted, a muscle clenching. “But I have to do it. He showed me the way. He taught me everything when he chose me. He showed me how to keep it hidden, and it worked. I’ve been planning this for years.”

Years?

I shook my head, stunned by what he was saying and terrified that it was the truth, and this was him, and that he was right—I’d never seen it. Because if that was the case, I couldn’t fix this—fix him.

“Who do you think was behind Ryker? He never came to the training rooms before, but he did the one time you decided to show your grace?” He chuckled upon seeing the horror dawning on my face. “Who do you think goaded him into his fear and his anger? Who do think pulled those strings?”

Heart stuttering, I shook my head. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No,” I whispered. “No. You couldn’t have. He killed my mom. He killed her—”

“She had to go,” he spat, and I stiffened at the loathing that dripped from every word he spoke. “She was figuring out that Thierry had made a mistake. You never saw it, but then again, I’m not surprised. It has always been about you—about what life you didn’t have, about how you were bored or how you were lonely and how you’d never find anyone if you stayed in the community. It was always about making sure you were safe and you were protected. It was always about how important you were and what you wanted and needed, and it was never about me!” he roared, shaking the ground.

I flinched at the truthfulness of his words, because that was me. Oh God, that was so me.

“It was never about me until he chose me and showed me the way. And he knows I will succeed because you...you won’t kill me. You can’t.” His chest rose with a deep breath. “So, for once in your life, you’re going to listen to me, and you’re going to come with me. If you don’t, I’ll make you, and you’re not going to like it when I do.”

A strangled sound closed off my throat. “And Clay?”

“Oh, I had nothing to do with that. He was just a jerk who obviously had a bone to pick with you,” he said. “I don’t think he intended to kill you. I think he just wanted to scare you. The mask was a nice touch. I copied that.”

My stomach twisted even further. “Misha, please... You can’t be behind this. Someone has turned you. Someone has—”

“Showed me how important I am for once!” he yelled, and I jerked.

I shuddered. “Who is ‘he’?”

“The Harbinger,” Misha said, and he smiled. “He’s already been here. He’s what they are hunting and will never find. He showed me what’s coming, Trinity.” Misha shook his head. “You’re going to be a part of it.”

“How?” I demanded, dragging in deep breaths. “How am I going to be a part of it, and then what? You break the bond and then kill me? What happens to you, Misha? You’re going to live with yourself after all of this? I trusted you. I love you, and you can do this? To me? To us?”

“I can and I will,” Misha said, lifting his chin. “And, Trin, there’s never been an ‘us.’ It’s only ever been you.”

That was worse than a slap in a face. It was a knife to the heart.

“It’s time for a new era.”

“A new era?” I shook my head. “Have you lost your mind?”

Misha sprang at me, giving me no room to doubt that he fully intended to do what he’d claimed. And maybe it was the shock of it. Maybe it was the fact I couldn’t believe what was right in front of me, but either way, I just didn’t move.

The first blow knocked me on my ass, stunning me. The second blow, a kick to the back, woke me the Hell up. I sprang to my feet, and the third blow never landed as I jumped out of his reach, panting.

“You’re exhausted. You used your grace. You should’ve stayed down,” he said.

“And you should know better than that.”

Misha’s lips pulled back in a sneer. “So be it.”

Then he shifted, shirt ripping and skin hardening to stone. He came at me hard and fast, stunning me with his brutality.

Fighting Misha was like fighting myself—if I was a Warden falling down an out-of-control rage spiral. He deflected nearly every blow I sent his way, and Misha’s fists connected with parts of me more times than I could count. It was savage and raw, and I felt all the hatred Misha had inside him and had kept buried until now with every fist and kick, the last one bringing me to my knees.

Blood poured from my nose and mouth. My lip felt wrong. Split. I spit out a mouthful of blood, arms shaking as I pushed up onto my feet. I refused to look at Zayne’s crumpled body, knowing I couldn’t afford the distraction, and squared off with Misha once more.

He took an angry swipe at me, nearly digging his claws into my stomach. He was fast in his attack, cutting and jabbing at me until he backed me up against the wall of the house.

Through it all, his own words kept coming back to me, words he’d spoken to me over and over during the years of training.

Fighting is simply anticipating the next attack. Find the muscle tremor. Watch where Misha looks...where he positions his body... He will tell you where he strikes next without words.

But it wasn’t enough.

Misha had my strength, and he knew all my moves, all my weaknesses. I knew he could defeat me.

Misha’s spin kick caught me in the jaw, snapping my head back and taking me to the ground once more. I rolled onto my side, moaning as I blinked blurry eyes. I tried to sit up, but pain brought me back down to the scorched grass. Gasping, I wheezed as I tried to get my lungs to expand. Pain lanced across my chest. Something...something felt broken. A rib? Multiple ones? I wasn’t sure. My eyes drifted shut.

“Stay down.” Misha stepped over my legs. “I’m going to put this one out of his misery.”

No.

“Not going to happen,” Zayne growled, and I opened my eyes to see him pitch forward as he struggled to rise. I rose onto my elbow, panting. “I’m going to rip your throat out.”

“Really?” Misha chuckled as he knelt beside Zayne. “It was supposed to be you.”

I had no idea what Misha was talking about, but it didn’t matter. I needed to get to my feet. I needed to... I needed to stop Misha, because he would kill Zayne.

And I could not, would not, let that happen.

I pushed to my feet, swaying as my grace came to life inside me once more, burning through my veins and muscles, bone and tissue, lighting up every cell. Fire snapped through me as I summoned the sword and felt it respond, hot and heavy in my grasp.

I was nothing more than storm and fury as I stepped forward and Misha looked up at me. He rose.

“I love you,” I said, and Misha’s eyes widened. There was a flicker of surprise, almost as if he couldn’t believe I was going to do it, and for a brief second, I didn’t know what he wanted from me, what he expected. Didn’t he know me at all? Didn’t he know there was no way I’d let him kill Zayne?

That I’d let him take me?

Why didn’t he realize that?

Misha reached for me.

But I lifted the sword high as it spit white fire.

Screaming filled my ears, drowning out everything around me and in me, and a distant part of me realized that it was me making those sounds, it was me wailing as I swung the sword down on Misha.

The white flames burned bright, and I thought there was a moment our gazes locked, a moment when I saw the boy I grew up with staring back at me through familiar beautiful blue eyes, but then the flames swallowed Misha, and within a stuttered heartbeat, he was gone. There was nothing left of him but ashes—

A sudden icy feeling poured into my chest, knocking the air out of my lungs. I took a step, but my legs collapsed and I landed on my knees, not evening feeling the pain.

Oh God.

A shudder racked me from bones to muscles, and when it receded, taking the iciness with it, I couldn’t...

I couldn’t feel it.

I lifted a trembling hand and pressed it to the center of my chest, just below my breasts. I couldn’t feel it—the bond.

It was gone—broken, and that meant, Misha was... He was truly gone.