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Before I can bite back a retort, the floor splits with a deafening crack, and light floods upward in jagged veins, the song crescendoing until it’s all I can hear.
And from the center of the dais, something begins to rise.
18
A BEAST WITH THREE MOUTHS
AMALIA
The song cuts off with a shift in air pressure, and my ears pop.
The light pouring from the dais collapses, sucked back into the floor as if someone yanked a cord, and darkness floods the chamber again.
The shadows pull together, thickening until a solid shape emerges, catching the last of the chamber’s light. A nightmare takes form, wolf-like, if wolves were poured from liquid shadow into crystal molds, six clawed legs gouging the stone with each step.
Its three jaws click in a discordant rhythm, each lined with translucent teeth that catch the dim light. Where eyes should be, only deep pits of darkness exist, drinking up the light as if starving for it.
When it moves, reality bends with it, space stretching and compressing, and my stomach flips, my brain lagging behind what I see before me. “What the hell?”
My magic surges toward the metal blade in my hand, and I have to shove down the instinct to infuse it with explosive power. No way am I destroying this knife. Not when I have other options. I draw a second weapon from my belt, glad I took so many from our suite.
“Give me a weapon,” Kelaros says, his voice strained.
I look toward him, but keep the beast in my sights. Sweat beads on his forehead, and his empty fingers flex at his sides.
“Why should I?”
The beast stalks forward, jaws snapping at the air. Each bite tears little holes in reality. They heal instantly, but the afterimages burn across my vision.
“Because I cannot fight with my bare hands.” Kelaros edges closer. “And you cannot fight it alone.”
My grip tightens. I need Kelaros alive. He needs a weapon to stay that way. But handing a blade to a man I barely know, whose motives are murky at best, goes against every survival instinct I have.
The beast’s head swivels to fix on Kelaros.
“Fuck,” I mutter, and make my choice.
I flip the knife, catching the blade between my fingers, and I hold it out to Kelaros, handle first. “If you fuck me over with this, I’ll take it back through your throat.”
He closes his fingers around the hilt. “Understood.” Kelaros offers a tight grin, all the mockery gone. “I value my throat far too much.”
He shifts, settling into a stance with the knife held low, blade angled up, ready to slash. Not a first-timer’s grip, thank the gods.
The beast cocks its head, jaws working independent of each other. The largest one opens wider, showing a throat filled with darkness. From the pit comes the sound of glass grinding on stone.
“It will attack low,” Kelaros murmurs, shifting to put more space between us.
I move with him, widening our angle. “How do you know?”
“Experience.” He bends to grab a piece of flat stone as long as his arm, using it as a shield. “It wants to hamstring us so we’re easier to play with.”
The beast’s hackles rise, crystal shards bristling along its spine.
“If we split its focus,” Kelaros whispers, “we might confuse it enough to find a weakness.”
“Circle left,” I command. “I’ll take the right.”
We move in sync, as if we’ve done this before. The coordinated advance draws a grinding noise from the beast, and its jaws snap at the air, tearing more holes in reality.
