Don't Let Go (Third Book to the Other Side)

Chapter Twenty Two (The Lost Warrior)

The stray light from the palm of my hand that bounced off of the walls lit my descent down the narrow, dark tunnel. Besides my breathing and the clack of claws against the stone floor, an absolute silence had settled for a nice, long stay. I reached out, my hand brushing against the soft, warm fur of Ira as she walked at my side. My stomach twisted into a knot, and I let my hand fall.

I don't know what she had done, but somehow, she had made Thomas fall. I had known it was her the instant the ripple of energy struck the air, surging at Thomas with all its force.

She would have killed him.

And there was that ugly voice at the back of my mind, whispering the thoughts I wished to share with nobody. Not even myself. I shook the thought away and forced myself to relax in the Venandi's presence, though the growl that had risen into the back of her throat as we got closer did nothing to assuage me of my doubts and fears.

My fingers ached to curl around a dagger.

The tunnel finally opened up, becoming big enough to where I felt like I could breathe again. My heart pounding in my chest, I took a right as I had done at least five times today and hurried down the hallway until I was face to face with the dungeon. I stopped for a moment, lingering outside the other door sitting across the way. I dared a peek inside, then swiftly turned away before I could see those statues, staring back at me with those realistic but dull eyes.

"Alexander?"

"I'm here," I returned, my voice touched by a rising worry. "Everything alright?"

"Where are the others?" Aaron asked, a sudden bright golden flame almost blinding me. I extinguished my own light and stepped closer to him so I could see his face better.

"They're coming. What's wrong?"

"He's—"

"I can speak for myself, thank you very much."

That rough, yet beautiful voice made every cell in my body freeze up all at once. So tired, so hoarse. As though he was finally read to give up. And yet, there was still that cutting edge to it that would wound if you weren't careful enough. But it wasn't that that got to me.

It was the deeper, darker undertone that lined it.

"Yes," Thomas said. "I'm awake. And quite put out, understandably, though." There was a slight amusement that touched his words, but it wasn't the way my Thomas would have said something. It reminded me all too much of the King. A shiver crawled down my back at the thought of him being inside of Thomas's mind, fueling his thoughts and planning his words.

I stepped up to the bars of the cell at the murmured warnings of Aaron, lifting the flames so I could get a better look at his face. His gray eyes caught the light, and though they were hard and filled with anger, an exhaustion I had never really seen before lurked close behind. Cuts and bruises lined his face, and it didn't take a genius to piece together that every movement he made was one done in agony. But he didn't say anything, betraying his pain only by the most subtle of flinches. I drank him in, the smell of freshly fallen rain hitting my nose and making my throat tighten. So many words pooled up, but they couldn't fall out.

There he was. Inches away. And yet, at the same time, the space between us stretched like miles.

"Well?" he asked. "What are you going to do? Kill me?"

"Thomas," Aaron said softly.

"No. I have a right to know, don't I? What are you going to do with me? You obviously cannot keep me alive, you know that, right?" he asked.