Phoenix (Black City #2) 8

“But—”

“That’s an order, Sasha,” he says.

“The boss won’t be pleased,” Sasha says as they trudge away from the cliff edge.

I exhale. Thank heavens it’s dark; otherwise, they certainly would’ve come after us.

Ash leads the way as we cautiously head down the path, which thankfully gets wider after the first mile. Large rocks and boulders from an old landslide litter the trail. This slows down our progress but, on the plus side, offers us some much-needed cover. The air gets colder the deeper into the ravine we go, and my teeth soon begin to chatter. I’m just glad I’m wearing these woolen clothes, although I’m sure I won’t be so thankful for them tomorrow when we’re out in the blistering heat. I rub my arms, trying to get some warmth into them. A moment later, something slides over my shoulders. Elijah’s coat. I peer over my shoulder at him.

“You’ll freeze,” I say.

He shrugs. “Don’t worry about me, pretty girl.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“No problem. If it gets too cold, I’ll just ask for it back,” he adds.

I roll my eyes.

Above us, the Destroyer Ship circles the canyon, its searchlights scanning the deep ravine for us. We duck every time the light swoops near us and try to blend in with the surrounding rocks and desert shrubs. I’m hopeful they won’t be able to spot us since they’re so high up and we’re all dressed in dark clothing, although Ash’s blond wig might draw some attention to us.

“Ash, your wig,” I say. He yanks off the hairpiece and tosses it over the edge of the trail, raking his fingers through his rippling black hair before quickly removing his blue contacts. The transformation from Human-Ash to Darkling-Ash is instant, and I much prefer this version: dark, deadly and breathtakingly beautiful. Elijah takes this opportunity to remove his own disguise—a cap and glasses—and tucks them into his pocket.

We hike all night. Progress is slow going for the first few hours, as we have to time our movements between the sweeps of the searchlight, but as the night draws on, the Destroyer Ship moves away, looking for us farther up the canyon. Halfway down the trail, we stumble across the Lupine’s body. My stomach churns at the sight of his broken, contorted limbs. I catch Ash holding his breath, struggling with his hunger.

“Maybe you should take some of his blood,” I say quietly.

Elijah curls his lip, and I shoot him a warning look.

Ash hesitates, but his hunger wins out. He kneels down and dips his fingers in the pool of blood, bringing it to his pale lips. He tentatively tastes it, then gags, wiping his hand on his pant leg.

“Sour,” he says.

We leave the dead man and carry on down the path. By the time we reach the river at the base of the canyon, the pink hues of dawn have begun to rise over the valley. I yawn. I’ve never felt so exhausted, both physically and mentally, as my thoughts keep wandering back to the same topic: the Wrath.

Have I really got the virus? I think about the Darkling bite on my leg. It can’t cross species. I don’t know that for a fact, though, and I have been feeling sick lately. But if I am infected, why has it taken so long for the first symptoms to appear? The Darklings in Black City who contracted the Wrath began showing symptoms within a week of infection, so why is it different for me? Is it because I’m human? Will I get any sicker?

Am I going to die?

The thought hits me so hard, I stop walking, and Elijah bumps into my back.

“Oww,” he says, rubbing his nose.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

Ash turns around to see what the commotion is about. Worry must be etched all over my face, because a crease forms between his brows.

“You okay?” he says.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I say, not wanting to worry him. I don’t even know if I am infected. It’s just a hunch. Now more than ever, I wish my mother were here. She may be a little blunt and clinical when it comes to emotional matters, but that’s what I need right now—someone with a clear head who can tell me everything is going to be okay. Where are you, Mom?

“So what’s the plan?” Elijah says.

“Keep walking until it gets too hot, and then find somewhere shaded to hide,” Ash says. “As soon as night falls, we’ll climb out of the ravine and hike into the nearest town.”

“Maybe we should go back to Dusty Hollow,” I say. “At least we know where that is.”

“No!” Elijah says. “We have to keep moving forward. If we go back, it’ll add days to our journey.”

Ash looks behind us, and I follow his gaze. The Destroyer Ship is heading upstream, in the direction of Dusty Hollow.

“I think they’re expecting us to go there,” Ash says.

Elijah starts walking. “Then that’s settled. Onward it is.”

Ash catches my eye, giving me a worried look. I know what he’s thinking. Once we head out of the ravine tonight, there won’t be anywhere to hide. If we don’t find a town before dawn, then we’ll be in serious trouble.

We trudge through the canyon, our spirits low. Thrace feels like a million miles away, the Ora so far out of our grasp. We follow the path of the rushing river, which carves through the ravine, occasionally wading into the shallows or briefly splitting off in different directions to throw the Lupines off our scent when they eventually come after us.

The sun continues to rise over the canyon, lifting away the last tendrils of night and turning the cliffs a burnt shade of orange, the river a brilliant turquoise. Beneath the clear waters, hundreds of small shadows dart about. There’s a surprising amount of life around here. Lizards bask in the sun, rattlesnakes slither between the rocks, condors glide across the sky. Elijah flinches every time one flies overhead. Nearby, a herd of wild horses drink by the river edge, their chestnut tails swishing as they swat at mosquitoes. The sound of our footsteps makes them look up, and they immediately gallop away, kicking clouds of dust into the air behind them.

As the heat intensifies, I shrug off Elijah’s coat, handing it back to him, while Ash pulls out a black cotton scarf from his bag—the type the Legion guards wear in Black City—and wraps it around his head and neck, so only his sparkling eyes are visible. He must be uncomfortably hot, but he can’t risk exposing his skin.

The gorge is remarkably peaceful, the sound of rushing water and the call of wild animals our only companions, and for a while, I forget why we’re here as I take in the dramatic scenery, thinking about Polly and how much she would have loved it. I feel her presence everywhere, like she’s with me. Perhaps it’s just wishful thinking. I hope not. I like to think of her in a better place, not curled up in a ball in a bloodred room.

My reverie is quickly shattered when far in the distance a man howls, his cry echoing throughout the ravine and turning my blood to ice. It can only mean one thing.

The Lupines are coming.

19.

NATALIE

WE CUT ACROSS the river, wading across the cool water until we reach the other bank to try and throw them off our scent. My clothes are heavy with water, weighing me down, and it’s a struggle to keep up the pace with Ash. Only the knowledge that the Lupines are after us keeps me going, but every step feels like I’m dragging my body through mud.

“Ash, I need to stop,” I say after an hour, unable to take another step.

The Lupines howl again. The sound seems to be coming from both sides of the gorge this time.

“They’ve split up,” Ash says distractedly.

“That’s a good thing, right?” I say. “It means they’re having trouble tracking us?”

Ash doesn’t say anything. Instead he surveys our surroundings, then leads us into the shallow waters of a stream, I presume to cover our scent. We follow it through a crevice in the cliffs to our right, the water splashing around our boots. The light immediately dims as we enter the passageway.

The sandstone walls close in around us the farther we walk, making me feel claustrophobic. At one point, the passageway gets so narrow, we have to turn sideways to squeeze through the gap. Ash grunts as the stone scrapes at his chest, tearing a button from his jacket.

“Fragg,” Ash mutters, getting jammed.

I shove him with my shoulder, wincing as my arm collides with his hard body, and we burst through the other side of the passage. My eyes widen with surprise as we’re greeted by a natural pool inside a giant cavern. A large section of the cave’s roof has fallen in, so sunlight streams down on its glittering surface. Boulders and green thorny shrubs line the embankment, while silvery fish dart about underneath the jade waters.

We find a place to rest on the stony banks. I lay our coats on the ground while Ash removes his black headscarf, tucking it into his duffel bag.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Elijah says, walking to the water’s edge. He finds a boulder to sit on, and turns his back on us.

Ash and I lie down on the coat-bed, facing each other. Tingly sparks of electricity shoot through me, the way they always do when I’m close to him, because of our Blood Mate connection. He smiles softly at me as his fingers brush over my cheek, making my blood temperature turn up a notch. He closes the gap between us, and we gently kiss. This is all I need: him, me, like this. His hand slips under my top and lightly traces up my spine. I melt against him, my moan muffled against his lips.

“Ahem.”

The sound of Elijah’s exaggerated cough makes us both start. We stop kissing, and grin sheepishly at Elijah. He shakes his head, then turns around again. Ash holds me against him as we fall asleep.

In my dream I’m walking through the canyon, but it looks different: the skies are storm gray, the earth as black as cinder, the river rose-red with blood. The sight should repulse me, but instead I feel thirsty. Up ahead, Ash kneels by the water’s edge, drinking from the blood-river like the wild horses we saw earlier.

“Ash?” I call out.

He raises his head, and I gasp. His eyes are sickly yellow, his flesh rotting from his bones. He lifts his hand and points an accusing finger at me.

“You . . . did . . . this,” he says.

I shake my head.

“No, it wasn’t me,” I cry out.

“You . . . did . . . this,” he says again, then points to the river.

Confused, I glance down at my reflection in the glassy red water, wondering what he means. My scream echoes around the canyon as a monstrous Wrath stares back up at me—

I start awake, my chest heaving. I blink, trying to erase that image from my mind. The air is warmer than before, suggesting it’s close to noon. Have I really been asleep for a few hours? It felt like seconds. Ash’s arm is wrapped around my waist. His breathing is ragged, his eyes moving rapidly under his pale lids, clearly trapped in his own terrible nightmare.

“Stop, oh God . . . the flames . . . oh God, oh God . . . Natalie,” he says in his sleep, panic rising in his voice. “Natalie!”

“Sshh, it’s okay,” I whisper soothingly. “You’re safe. I’m here. It’s not real.”

Ash’s breathing immediately starts to slow. It breaks my heart that he has to relive his execution every night. I wait a few minutes until his breathing is back to normal, and then carefully move his arm, getting up. I walk over to the water’s edge, shading my eyes from the bright shafts of sunlight coming through the hole in the cavern roof. Elijah’s standing in the middle of the pool, deep in concentration. He’s taken off his shirt to reveal his lean, tanned torso, which glistens with water. I feel embarrassed seeing him half dressed like this, which is ridiculous, considering I’ve seen him completely naked before, when he was being held captive in Sentry headquarters back in Black City.

He’s bulked out a lot since then—which is hardly surprising now that he’s not being starved and tortured. His chest and arm muscles are firm and defined, his neck muscles thicker. The beautiful brown markings on his flanks continue down his narrow hips, darting below the waistband of his pants. If memory serves, those markings go all the way to his feet. I flush. Why did I put that image in my head?

He’s staring at the water with great intensity, his dark russet mane hanging around his face. His tail stirs the water around him in circular motions, coaxing the silvery fish to form a tight ball in front of him. All of a sudden, he thrusts his hand into the water and plucks out a fish. It flaps wildly in his hand, its mouth gaping. He bites its head, killing it, then tosses it onto the embankment by my feet, where another two fish are lying. Elijah wades out of the pool, his black pants slick against his thighs.

“What’s this?” I say, pointing toward the dead fish with the toe of my boot.

He grins. “Lunch.”

We sit on some flat rocks while he starts to gut the fish with a piece of flint, the sun beating off his back. Up close, his skin has a reddish hue, like the sandstone around us. It’s a stark contrast to Ash’s alabaster skin. They’re like winter and summer. While Ash is tall, Elijah is short. Ash’s face is long and angular; Elijah’s is square and strong. Even their lips are different—Ash’s pale and straight, Elijah’s scarlet and curved. I tear my eyes away, realizing I’m staring.

“I think the Lupines have lost our scent,” he says. “I haven’t heard them in over an hour.”

My shoulders relax. I hadn’t realized I’d been hunching them.

“I’ve never seen anyone catch fish with their bare hands before,” I say, nodding toward our lunch.

“My brother Acelot showed me how to do it. It’s usually the dad’s job, but . . .” He sighs, hurt flickering across his features. “He doesn’t have much time for me.”