Page 53 of Forging Darkness
There’s a stretched beat of silence after my outburst, and then Thorne explodes in laughter. It isn’t one of those hair-raising villainous cackles, it’s a full-body laugh. It sounds rusty, as if it’s something he doesn’t do often, but it’s undeniably filled with humor.
That throws me.
His face transforms, mirth radiating from every curve. Laugh lines appear next to his eyes as a smile stretches his mouth. He’s breathtaking in a whole new way now.
As his amusement wanes, he rubs a hand across his face as if he can wipe his moment of temporary insanity away. He scrubs at his mouth until his lips straighten, and I notice the tips of two fingers on his left hand are missing. Another flaw I find intriguing.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed. It’s just . . . heir of the apocalypse . . . really?”
I lift a shoulder in a half-shrug. My cheeks flame. “When anyone starts crazy-talking about being born to rule, it’s only a matter of time before they reveal their plan to destroy the earth.”
“I don’t want to destroy anything. What would be the point in that?” Some tension begins to drain from my muscles, but they lock back up as he continues. “I simply refuse to kneel before inferior beings, and don’t think my subjects should either.”
Subjects. He means the Forsaken and Fallen.
I must be in the upside-down. Is it Opposite Day?
“That sounds ominous. If you consider the destruction of the mortal world to be counterproductive, what’s your endgame? Simple world domination? Enslavement of the human race? Annihilation of any and all Nephilim who don’t share seraph blood or bow to your rule? Those all seem like sufficiently evil villain lifegoals.”
Thorne’s eyes narrow slightly. He allows the silence to stretch to an uncomfortable length as he stares at me. His gaze doesn’t stray from my face, but it feels like he takes in my full measure.
After a slow blink, he settles back into his wooden chair, dominating the space as if he were seated on a throne.
“I’d like for you to spend the next few days getting to know me and my subjects. Perhaps you could attempt to withhold your judgments about us until I’ve had a chance to properly educate you.”
“That almost sounds like a request.”
“We both know it isn’t.” His smile is wide enough for me to see a mouthful of teeth, making the gesture more threatening than comforting. Are his incisors extra sharp, or is my mind playing tricks on me? “The Nephilim have had you for months. It’s only fair that we take a few days of your time to combat their prejudices.”
I can handle a few days, but I don’t believe he’ll just send me on my way after that. I don’t think the Nephilim are aware this place even exists. There’s no way he’d let me scamper off and tell them. And the more he shows me, the more he has to lose if I leave.
No, he’s not going to release me, but I’m curious to see how easily he lies.
“And after a few days, you’ll let me go?”
One corner of his mouth turns up. He leans back and folds his arms across his chest, which is still splattered with blood and gore from the arena. “Let’s cross one bridge at a time, shall we?”
“You’re good at making it sound like I have a choice.”
He tips his head in what might be agreement.
A high-pitched shriek snaps our collective attention toward the room’s balcony. The noise is followed by a roar from the coliseum crowd that up until now has been an easily ignored low-level rumble.
When I swing my gaze back to Thorne, all levity drops from his face. He stands and strides for the opening.
“Wait!” I hobble forward a few steps, wincing at the pain. “You can’t leave. I don’t understand what’s going on. I don’t understand anything.”
He twists toward me, locking his gaze on mine. His eyes are cold and distant, the blue only a half-shade above black. “It’s because you’ve been kept in the dark. But don’t worry,” he assures me, “I intend to bring you into the light.”
Chapter Eighteen
With that creepy, cultish statement, Thorne slides his armor back on and then leaves me in his enormous room. Large shutters slam shut behind him after he flies away, presumably to restore order in the coliseum. After a failed attempt to break through them, I scarf down a plate of fruit and cheese I find sitting on his desk and then lie on his oversized bed when I get bored. Resting doesn’t suit me though.
I’m hobble-pacing back and forth in front of the sealed balcony shutters when they slam open right before he comes gliding back through.
“Sorry for the interruption. That couldn’t be helped,” he says when he lands. He’s covered in even more gore than before. Black blood drips off his once-shiny armor. The ends of his wings are also covered in blood. It puddles where he stands.
“Um . . . yeah.”