The thick curtain of smoke hung in the air, darkening the red-lit hallways. The smell of charred wood and rot combined thick enough to cake Rayne’s tongue and make it hard to swallow. With every inhale, her lungs screamed.
Something bothered her. Nikki had come this way a while ago. Where was she?
Gripping her sword tight, Rayne stopped at the South Hall opening. Fear knotted her stomach so tight, she almost walked back to the cafeteria. No one would blame her.
Rayne took a deep breath and that last step. Her eyes swept across the destruction. Dizzy with distress, she clutched the first riot gate for support.
Flames climbed the walls of wooden lockers and licked the drop-ceiling tiles. Charred and melted clumps of rubble were all ruined in flames. South Hall’s riot gates were half-raised, searing in the fire.
These were props and a backdrop for her living nightmare. Her friends’ weapons clanging in time with grunts and cries from the cafeteria were the soundtrack.
Rayne took a step back from the gate and shoved both hands in her hair. She took this moment to get a grip. Once she crossed that threshold, this ended only one way. After a not-so-deep breath, she slipped under the gate.
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Rayne strained to see through the caustic smoke. Beyond a fallen bank of crumbled lockers, she made out a dark figure. Her heart slammed into her chest. The man towered almost to the ceiling. Beneath the cloak, heavy muscle forged his body. She knew from their dreams. Even so, the garment failed to contain the unearthly strength radiating from his alien being.
As if on cue, the Icarus swept back the hood and stripped his broad upper body altogether.
How? How was Rayne supposed to do this? Look at him and not think about—
She refused to see his face. But how else could she fight him? Her heart pounded to escape her chest as she surveyed his hands. He wore the same heavy silver ring with the Pretiosum Cruor insignia from her dreams. He had much to answer for.
After agonizing over it, Rayne lifted her chin and examined the rest of him. Heavy boots, black leathers trousers, and bare skin from the waist up. He’d plaited his long black hair down his scalp. A few loose strands framed his ruefully handsome face with heavy, angled eyebrows, high cheekbones, and soft, full lips.
Rayne admitted to herself that if he’d ever shown his face in her dreams, she might have slept forever. After reminding herself of his atrocities, she met his gaze.
There was nothing more calculating or sinister as the black depths of his ravenous eyes. And those eyes smoldered with a thirst, a hunger for primal power. Almost as if he lusted for nothing else and could not be sated of it.
Dizzy. So dizzy. Rayne reached her hand out to steady herself against another riot gate. Four years, haunted and enthralled by him, her body knew no difference. She was drawn to him all the same.
Rayne shook her head and straightened. Her grip on the sword tightened. Rage burned in her. She was more determined than him. She had more to lose, and she wouldn’t let that happen. Rayne was ready.
“Nox.”