Wings and Shadowthief by May Sage
The Price of Freedom
The moment his shackles disappeared, Hunter didn't feel joy or relief. There was only fear. A sudden overwhelming fear that he was too late, that Jack had let the Fates ruin everything he had—everything he wanted.
His eyes distinguished the spells woven by their words, seeing them marked on his skin—golden threads adhering to his veins, rewriting the core of who he was, who he'd become.
Seven months ago, he'd kissed every inch of the most beautiful woman in his world's skin and whispered promises he meant, promises he never wanted to take back. And she'd answered with one simple word, sealing their fates.
Yes.
He's asked Gwen to be his, she'd said yes, and that was that. He belonged to her, body and soul. She was his bride. His mate. He didn't care that those dumb Fates had picked another path for him. He'd chosen her, and damn the consequences.
But those spells? They wouldn't only destroy the bond he and Gwen had shared, underneath all of her fear, her hatred, her anger at Jack's indifference, seeing his ignoring her as a rejection.
It would destroy her, Gwen. Undo what she was. By removing what defined her—her ability to choose her mate—the Fates were attempting to erase her.
He wasn't surprised those three gods hated Gwen, what she and the other Brides represented. By changing the future they wove, he could start chain reactions that created entirely different worlds than the ones the gods had planned for Earth, for the whole of humanity.
Hunter didn't give a damn.
There was only one thing that mattered to him in that moment. Saving Gwen from those bitches.
He couldn't find a way to undo the spells already written on him, but fuck if he was letting them make things worse. Never one for subtlety, he threw a punch at the closest one.
The crone cackled a jagged laugh. "Didn't the last time teach you a lesson, boy? You can't hurt us."
The last time, he'd been patrolling the skies of Oldcrest when he spotted one of them at the border. He approached them in order to identify them, and she pleasantly introduced himself, feeding him the same bullshit she'd tried to feed Jack. Only Hunter knew he was mated, and didn't give a single fuck about the will of the Fates. He told her as much. When the other two appeared and attempted to start the spells, he flew as fast as his wings could carry him to get away, shooting them out of the sky while he did. He'd shot one of them right in the head, the other two in the kidney and stomach. And though they had bled, their flesh had healed almost instantly.
Then dawn arrived and they faded with the light, like nightmares.
Hunter had drawn ancient runes in his skin to ensure they couldn't get to him. Naturally, when Jack ignored him and took a portal, they used the fact that his being was immaterial for an instant to pull him here, to their domain, where the Moirai's rule was supreme.
There would be no dawn. There would be no escape. He was in the darkness of Olympus.
He didn't happen to care. Hunter threw punch after punch, kick after kick, if only to shut them up, stop them from finishing their spell. They didn't so much as defend themselves, and he didn't care.
But while one was down, the other two kept singing. They were winning, and he was about to lose everything unless he found a way.
The golden spells danced as they faded inside his skin.
Hunter stopped fighting, stopped moving, stopped doing anything at all. He just looked down at his hands.
"Accept your destiny. You're to accomplish wonders. You're to take a place on Olympus, with the next generation of scions. You will be a god."
Funny how solutions could be so very simple, when they seemed impossible for a time. He laughed, unwilling to cry.
Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos advanced as one, taking his silence for acceptance.
"Fuck your destiny."
Hunter's father was derided and ignored by his entire line because he had no wings, and those without wings couldn't hope to serve in the heavens. Rakiel could never teach Jack a thing about the wings, as he never had a pair of his own, but Hunter had instinctively known everything there was to know about their power. How to use it. How to avoid hurting himself. In the rare moments when he'd been in charge, he'd had the presence of mind to research who he was, what he was, using the few things his father had told him to trace his origins.
Jack Hunter was a descendant of the line of the light, the line that had born Lucifer and his brother Michael. In their original world, they were known as the Dragnars, tamers of dragons, who'd eventually evolved to partially shift into their familiars.
He was fire, and he did what fire did best.
He burned.
At first, Hunter felt a prick, then the teasing changed to pain, then agony as his skin melted away under his steady stare, but he kept stroking the magic inside him, directing it to incinerate layer after layer of skin.
"What are you doing?" the innocent voice was tinged with fear.
As it should be.
Hunter redirected his eyes to her and smiled. "Don't worry. I can't hurt you. Right?"
He moved his flames to reach her, and watched with pleasure as the Fate recoiled in terror.
"No!" the crone cried, or begged, he couldn't tell.
He didn't care overmuch about those three fools. What mattered was the spell he needed to undo.
The golden words on his skin reddened as he burned them along with his flesh, screaming in anguish, but never stopping until they'd all finally faded.
Hunter was a raw sack of bone and charcoal flesh. His clothes had long since been destroyed, so he reached out for one of the Moirai's veils and pulled it down.
The girl underneath was as gorgeous and cruel as he might have expected.
"Come after me or Gwen again? I'm burning Olympus down."
He tied the cloth around his hips, unfurled his wings—the only part of him that had remained intact—and set off into the night sky.
He had worlds to cross to get back where he belonged.