Chapter 8 · Ticket To The Pit

"Get your hand off me before I rip it off," the guard spat. His voice sounded like gravel in a blender.

He didn't even look at me. He was too busy staring at Carson with a mix of disgust and genuine terror.

I didn't budge. My hand stayed clamped on the heavy iron gate. "We're here for the Warden. Open up, or I start cutting the bindings on every lock in this hallway. You know how fast those snap."

"The Pit doesn't take humans," the guard sneered. He finally glanced at me, eyes lingering on my boots. "No magic, no curse, no entry. You're just a walking snack for the things in there. Beat it before I make you."

Carson shifted behind me. He didn't touch me, but the heat radiating off him was a physical wall. That low-frequency hum of the curse made the hair on my arms stand up. He stepped forward, his chest almost brushing my shoulder. He smelled of ozone and old parchment—the scent of a living prison.

"I'm not human," Carson said. His voice dropped an octave, vibrating in my spine. "I'm the reason this place exists."

The guard froze.