Bianca felt like she was coming off a week-long bender, which was weird, because the most she’d ever had was a hit off Charlie’s joint. She groggily opened her eyes, moaning as her head worked hard to make sure she felt every single heartbeat smack hard against her temples. Bianca shut them again, then forced them back open, not wanting to slip back into chaotic unconsciousness. Off the floor. Get off the floor. She did just that, dragging herself out of the ratty sheet covering her, and hitting the floor very hard. Not on the floor. She stayed right there for a moment.

  Because moving was overrated, and the pain in every single muscle of her body wouldn’t let her. One of her eyes, she realized, wouldn’t fully open. It remained partially shit, swollen and painful pressing against the floor. She’d been punched, or as Ben would say, I tripped and smacked my face against a table, like that made any sense. Nothing made sense. Nothing in the slightest. She forced herself onto her back, leaving her lungs burning and her shoulders aching as she stared at a ceiling she didn’t recognize. Arms splayed, chest heaving, and mouth dry.

  Then she frowned, because where was Katie? That’s all she remembered. Katie. The thought alone got her off the floor and onto her knees, using the military-style cot to make sure she stayed upright. She gritted her teeth and stood, bones aching and knees burning. She briefly swayed, sick with nausea, before she looked around the room. Not a single window. All wood. A chair in the corner. No carpet on the floor. A door that was made out of metal and a cot that was bloodstained, as well as a ratty, itchy little bed sheet that was spotted with dried blood.

  Her blood, she also realized, when she suddenly felt warmth in her side as she tripped and fell back onto the floor, her legs giving up on her. Bianca swore, pressing her head against the floor and clamping a hand against her side. What the… She brought her hand to her face, feeling the warm blood between her fingers. A lot of blood.

  She glanced down at her vest, filthy and sweaty, grimy and dirty—and the large patch of red.

  Bianca cursed again, even louder, and lay back down, slowly peeling her vest off her stomach, biting down on her lip as the cloth came free with the loose stitches keeping her skin together. She panted, panicking rising inside her as she stared at the wound. A very big, very open wound that pulsated with blood the more she stared at it. A knife? When did I get freaking stabbed?! But she knew she had to calm down. She had to before she passed out again in this strange room. Someone had tried to fix her, because she was littered with bandages and band-aids, a particularly small one on the back of her hand with a smiling little Olympia sticker on it. Then Bianca froze.

  Someone was coming. She heard footsteps outside of the door. Heavy, purposeful footsteps.

  She gathered what strength she had and stood, just as the handle turned and the door opened.

  A man with a jagged scar on his face is what met her in the doorway. Heavy black cargo pants, polished black boots, a tight fitting black t-shirt, and a rifle on his back—in his hands, a tray of eggs, bacon, and juice.

  Some pills, too, and a coil of bandages and some needles next to a packet of stitches.

  “You’re one tough cookie,” he said, but not with his whole mouth—just part of it, because the other half was smiling at her. He somehow looked even uglier smiling. “But probably not enough to keep standing, either.”

  As if on cue, her vision blurred as she stumbled backward, her butt hitting the floor hard, sending a jolt of pain shocking through her body. Bianca groaned and held the side of her gut, but if she could, she’d hold her entire body at once. The man set the tray down on a table and unstrapped the strange, sleek-looking rifle from his back, leaning it against the cot. “C’mon,” he said, hauling her back onto the bed. “No point dying on us. Boss’ orders.”

  “Who—Fuck!” She gasped, about to slap a hand onto the wound before he grabbed her wrist.

  “Yeah, you keep squirmin’ around like that, and you’re gonna keep ripping through more stitches. I swear, it’s like you’re allergic to the damn things with how fast your body keeps spitting them out.” He forces her to lie down, even if sweat is beginning to pepper her forehead and sting her eyes. Or maybe those are the tears of agony making everything a blurry, confused mess. She doesn’t know. “But to answer you: my boss wants to be friends.”

  Bianca would have said something if he didn’t aptly start removing the stitches.

  After that, she woke up again to an empty room and a clean vest, new bandages and a slightly duller ache running its course through her body. She still felt ridiculously weak. So weak she could barely push the blanket off her body. Someone had given her a sponge bath, because her skin was clean—not like it had been before, covered in a layer of dark filth that left her stinking of sweat and something metallic. She couldn’t think straight. She shut her eyes and let the world stop spinning until she could focus on the room without feeling the need to vomit.

  Bianca wanted to get up, but her body didn’t, so she stayed there, wondering when her limbs would finally gather the energy she needed to figure out where she was. She was running on instinct. This need to survive. Her mom was important, she knew that—she’d been told that over and over again, and things like this might happen.

  She’d gotten kidnapped. That’s what’s happened.

  Katie would know what to do right now, but she was probably looking for her as she remained in the cot, so Bianca had no other option than to make her job easier than to leave this place somehow. She was now a hostage.

  And she expected to be afraid. To feel terrified.

  It was difficult to do that feeling this way.

  The scent of roses suddenly filled her aching nose, making her jerk. Someone’s here. It was a basic feeling. Like a voice was hissing in the back of her mind to get up and turn around, and that’s what she did, however much it hurt, swinging her legs off the bed and scanning the dark room. Then she saw them, a silhouette sitting in the chair tucked away in the corner. The flicker of a lighter gave them away, and so did the glowing end of their cigar.

  Her body wanted to bolt. For whatever reason, her skin crawled and her gut twisted with panic.

  “It’s not advised,” a voice said—feminine, sleek, carving the words around her tongue.

  Did she just read my mind?

  “Yes,” the woman said, blowing smoke again—Bianca blinked, squinted, and the darkness seemed to fade ever so slightly, allowing her to see the figure in the chair. She almost stepped backward out of sheer amazement.

  Because the woman in front of her was terrifyingly gorgeous.

  Her eyes were what caught Bianca’s attention the most. Finely whittled slits that looked like the sharpened points of twin daggers, and then her lips that seemed like they’d been carved from those same knives. She had soft brown skin, light enough to be somewhere South of the States—but she wasn’t sure. Maybe it had been the accent, or the giveaway of the toughness in her eyes, but she couldn’t focus on her for long enough to figure her out. All she saw were the twin heads of two serpent tattoos peeking over her shirt collar. But that was all. The white shirt, the black tie, the trousers and the clean white sneakers—she almost looked like one of those Supes in the Olympiad.

  Except she had an empty gun holster on her chest, and the gun itself in her free hand, hanging off the side of the arm chair. She didn’t move. Only smoked the thin cigar. Bianca took her cue to sit back down on the tiny cot.

  “Do you know what kind of gun this is?” the woman asked her. Her voice was intoxicating.

  Like finding out a shot of poison tasted like honey.

  Bianca shook her head.

  “It’s the one that blew that entry wound through your side,” she explained. “A shrapnel round.”

  Bianca gingerly touched her side, wondering, if the woman wasn’t lying, how the hell she’d managed to survive getting shot in the stomach, then she said, “If you want some money, then let me call my mom.” She tried her best to keep her voice level and the panic as far away as possible, just like she’d been forced to practice before.

  The woman shook her head. “I don’t require your money. There’s no amount you have worth yourself.”

  “Is…that some kind of compliment, or—”

  “You will be sold,” the woman said. Her mouth snapped shut, and her throat instantly constricted. Sold?

  Fucking. Sold.

  Bianca stood, and the gun, as if it had a mind of its own, pointed at her chest, then waved to the bed. Sit.

  So she sat, slowly, staring at the woman and her amber eyes, barely even blinking.

  “I can get you the money you want,” Bianca said, the words leaping out of her before she even knew it. “I can…I can get you Romain Cain’s number. You know the head of the Olympiad? The real head of the board? I—”

  “I have no business with him,” she said, making the years of those cigars evident in the slight croak of her voice. The woman looked Bianca over, just like a butcher would a piece of prime rib. “My business lies elsewhere.”

  Kill her.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  The words made her head whip around, as if somebody had just whispered it into her ear. Nobody was over her shoulder, their lips brushing against her earlobe. But the voice had been clear. Painfully clear. She almost…

  Bianca shook her head. Kill her? Am I insane? She’d just shoot me again.

  But…

  “If you’re gonna sell me,” she said, “then why’d you nearly kill me?”

  “You can tranquilize an elephant to rip the tusks out of its skull, or you can shoot it and harvest its hide and its leather, and make tenfold what the single bullet you put through its head cost.” She wasn’t the kind of woman to smile. No lines either side of her mouth. No lines creasing her forehead. Her face was a mask, and so were those cold, empty eyes. Bianca shifted, anxiety boiling her empty stomach. “You are my elephant. Unfortunately, your hide was too tough, your tusks too stubborn—you’re better left alive than killed. Simply too high of a cost.”

  “I don’t think I understand,” she said shakily, the adrenaline in her blood slowly making her jittery.

  Kill her and run.

  The voice in her head sounded stronger, more lively—hungrier.

  “I want to live,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

  The woman waved the cigar. “Whether you do is entirely up to you. My job is complete. You are out of my hands and no longer in my custody.” She stood. Bianca swallowed. “Follow. The owners wish to see their stock.”

  The moment Bianca stood, her arm lurched out on its own, lunging for the woman’s throat.

  She vanished into thin air, leaving a trail of cigar smoke twirling around Bianca. She panted hard, head swiveling, flexing her fingers and wondering what the hell was going on. Run. She had to run. To get out of here.

  Her hand landed on the doorknob, but then her body froze on its own. Voices on the other side.

  Guards, she figured. But her hand didn’t let go of the doorknob. She used her left hand to pry her fingers off the door, but it was like trying to pluck the rivets out of a skyscraper’s foundation—damn near impossible.

  She felt the woman’s presence appear behind her again, freezing her stiff.

  Then the gun was pressing against the back of her head. “I won’t hesitate.”

  Bianca wasn’t in control of her limbs anymore. Her leg swung out in a wide arc, cutting through the air briefly filled by the woman. When her bare foot came down onto the floor, it splintered the wood. She had to yank it out of the hole she had made. She looked around, panicked, confused, then she heard a voice say, Do not fight me.

  Then, suddenly, the woman was on the other side of the room. “You should listen to that creature festering inside of your body. Give me a show. I can double your price if you're much more capable than we first thought.”

  Bianca shook her head violently. “I’m good, thanks! If you could let me leave, that would totally rock.”

  She fired her gun, and the bark was so painfully loud it left her ears ringing. Bianca flinched. Shut her eyes, but her body was already lunging out of the way, rolling along the floor and watching as it punched a hole through the center of the door, exiting the metal so ferociously it left a hole the side of her head in the cold silver steel. Then she was up again, dodging another shot and slamming her shoulder against the metal, crying out when the pain sucked the air out of her lungs when the door smashed open and she stumbled into a cold, white-lit corridor. She looked around, head whipping from right to left, and swearing when something warm spread around the fallen door.

  Something warm and red and metallic.

  The guards outside the door had been flattened by it, or maybe it was because they’d been slammed against the wall by several inches worth of steel and turned into paste, which was…Oh, God. Bianca heaved, then doubled over, nearly vomiting if it wasn’t for her body deciding she had to start running, and right fucking now. So that’s what she did, her legs carrying her forward in a panicked run, sprinting faster than she ever had before past door after door, room after room, leaving her lungs burning and her feet slamming hard into the white concrete.

  She managed to get to the end of the hallway, taking a sharp right.

  And then came face-to-face with the woman.

  Time seemed to slow. Everything slowed when the gaping black hole of the woman’s gun lit up.

  Her eyes widened, and then she was flung backward, head over heels until she was crouching. Bianca gasped for air, feeling like she’d just been punched in the gut—nothing to breathe, struggling to breathe without choking in pain, and then she stared at the cup full of blood she vomited onto the floor the second she opened her mouth. Breathing got harder. Her head woozier. The woman stood where she had, gun still aimed, smoke slipping out of the barrel. Bianca tried to stand, this time on her own. Her legs gave out. Back on her knees, on the floor.

  There was pure, unbridled agony ripping through her chest, stopping her from moving.

  She figured that was because there was a chunk of it missing.

  Her gaze flickered as she touched the gaping divot in her chest, fingering aside strips of flesh and meat and staring at the shards of broken ribcage mingling in the blood gushing out of her. Her hand dropped. What…? She stood. Her body forced a leg in front of the next. She swayed. Hit a wall. Collapsed. Off the floor. She listened to the command, that voice, pushed off the ground, watching as the hole in her chest slowly filled with tiny, writhing little bits of flesh, knitting together her skin and the meat, her organs and even the inch of her heart that had been blown apart. Then Bianca faced the woman, her arms by her sides, her vision a shaky mess and her head filled with noise.

  Bianca spat blood, then dragged her arm across her mouth. Fuck me, that kinda hurt.

  Then she sprinted forward, closing the distance between her and the gun. She ducked and darted along the corridor, avoiding bullet rounds that filled the corridor with head-sized craters in the concrete, showering Bianca in dust and debris that cut her cheeks and arms but didn’t stop her deadly assault. Then her fist met flesh, a second before the woman could vanish. Her spine prickled. She flipped over, landing on her hands and swinging her leg around, smacking the woman where she just appeared from, and knocking the gun clean out of her grip. It skittered along the floor. Bianca dropped to all fours, then pounced upward, slamming her head into the woman’s gut. She didn’t vanish. She stumbled back, holding her stomach. Bianca ran straight for her, a passenger in her own body.

  A passenger aching to put the bitch on her ass.

  Her fist met the woman’s forearm, then got caught, twisted, and she was suddenly over her shoulder, hitting the floor hard enough to send a painful jolt up her spine. The woman slammed her heel into the back of her head, making her cry out as her face smacked the concrete floor, her arm still twisted behind her. The woman was nearly standing on her with her full weight, foot pressing hard against the back of her head. She heard the woman swear at her in Spanish, but Bianca didn’t care. Her body couldn’t find it to care. She grabbed the woman’s leg, then twisted.

  A loud snap echoed down the corridor, and the woman screamed, letting her go.

  Bianca was on her like a dog.

  She spun her leg around, swiping the woman’s one good foot. She hit the floor, down on her hands and knees, and Bianca took the chance to whack her knee into the woman’s face, crushing her nose in an instant. Blood spat onto the floor. The woman’s head snapped backward. Bianca climbed on top of her, fist raised to strike her.

  Then an arrow struck her palm, yanking her off the woman. She panted, staring at the quivering shaft.

  Pain was a dull noise now. She could barely even feel it.

  Hell, a part of her wanted to laugh. An arrow?

  Come on.

  She got on one knee and ripped the arrow out of her hand, taking meat with it, but the threads of purple flesh stitched the hole shut. She almost stood, and only stopped when another struck her in the side of the head.

  Got you, Kara thought, lowering her bow the same moment the girl’s body thudded against the floor. She remained still for a moment, another arrow in her fingertips—poised, ready, waiting to put another through her skull. It wasn’t brutal if it was efficient, because that thing had been relentless for the past several hours until she had tracked it down to this one, tiny little apartment building. It had wanted to be here for some reason. Maybe searching for something. Maybe wanting to hide away in the darkness to recover and lick its wounds before going out again.

  Its previous assault on New Olympus had left dozens dead, just so it could evolve, and yes, it had.

  Any other day, and the Arkphage’s host body would have died with an arrow through their temple. Not this time. The girl was still alive. Her heart was still beating, because the venom that lingered on Kara’s teeth was still in her bloodstream right this second. She had dreamt of something different, she was sure. The girl—Bianca—would have thought she was somewhere else entirely. A numbing agent that slowly paralyzes the body and the mind, leaving its victims confused and lost, weak and alone. That’s why it ran here into the dark of this decrepit place.

  It was afraid, and knew it was afraid of being hunted down and ripped out of its host. Kara couldn’t blame it. Too many of her sisters had been slaughtered by it, and it could sense her hate, her vengeance—whatever other word she wanted to use, the creature had felt it to its core, and it had run. Shame, then, Kara was great at hunting.

  Caligula, however, didn’t seem quite so impressed. She stood beside Kara, silent and stoic as ever, her eyes watching the girl’s body continue to twitch as the creature inside of her raced to heal her wounds. “Is she dying?”

  “No,” Kara said, removing her mask and hitching it to her belt. They often said her voice sounded as if she had vipers in her throat, her voice raspy and silent—she much preferred the hiss of spiders. “She’ll live…probably.”

  Caligula glanced at her. “Lady Kami won’t be pleased if she dies.”

  “Easier to skin a leopard without its head connected to its spine.” Kara contracted her bow to its smaller size and hitched it to her thigh, walking toward the girl and crouching a meter away from her. And after all these months, you lie here at my feet with an arrow through your head—no more running, no more Lynx to save you.

  She had won.

  “Tell Lady Kami the hunt is complete,” she said over her shoulder. Mother will be pleased.

  Caligula vanished, though not before she quietly said, “Leave this city as soon as you can. You know very well who her allies are, and who, more specifically, her beloved is—the Daughter of Zeus is not our priority, Kara.”

  But she didn’t really care about Olympia. Rylee Addams…Kara shook her head and stood.

  The gods ceased to be almighty the day their king died on his hill.

  If anything, she should thank me. The Arkphage would have killed her next.

  But…what to do about the body the girl had brought with her was another question entirely. A brief reanimation had left Bianca fighting a corpse—the same corpse that had terrified her mother and the rest of the guild into precaution. Months they had deliberated. Months Kara had stood in the darkness of their chambers, watching as they bickered because of one girl. Pathetic. Anything can get hunted down and killed. Lynx herself had been her mother’s favorite once upon a time, but times change, as they so often do, and now there the girl lies at her feet, killed once more by the same girl she wanted to save. Katie, had been her new name, and she was dead.

  Again.

  What a pity.

  Kara took the body that mattered with her. The dead served no use to the living, anyway