Grams used to punish me for disobedience by shrinking my jewellery, suffocating my throat and limbs. Or she would conjure nails inside my shoes. I used to be much more squeamish about it, but I learned to breathe through the pain. Practice makes perfect, right? Or at least better.
Her punishments were nothing compared to this—the mix of poison and dry heat crawling through my veins, clawing at my insides, twisting every nerve until I feel like I’m burning from within.
Ashamed but desperate to escape the slow, searing agony, I delve into my Arken power. It waits, swirling and bubbling inside me. More ready to annihilate the world than to heal it.
I clench my fists, wrestling with the stubborn power, trying to form the raw energy into a shape.
But creating a portal is not on the fucking menu.
Wielding Arken power is never simple. The mental struggle takes a toll, especially without training, something I have only myself to blame for.
“Stop justifying your failures, you stupid heifer!” I burst out, instantly regretting it as nausea hits, doubling my vision. Sweet Gorok… is now the time to die?
Bile rises in my dry throat; panic, dehydration, or that stupid attempt at screaming. My lips rub dryly against each other, not a drop of saliva.
I glance at my satchel for some balm or water, but the dizziness hits again. I collapse onto the prickling sand.
Is this how being skinned alive feels?
Everything’s black.
My eyes shoot open. Is that shade?
Cramps lock my muscles, and I lie twisted in a ridiculous position. I must look possessed or crippled, but I can’t move. Surprisingly, it’s not how I appear that matters right now, but that the cramps just won’t cease.
Terror paralyses my mind.
“Well, well,” a voice whispers. Or maybe I am hallucinating.
“I’m so screwed,” I mumble, barely coherent.
Would you like a deal?The honeyed voice reverberates in my head, overpowering the pain.
Could it be that Gorok has granted me his mercy?
Moments from blacking out, the only word bouncing in my cursed mind is…
Yes.
Chapter 2
I wake to a warm breeze teasing my senses and the fire’s heat pressing against my skin.
But what actually commands my attention? The intoxicating scent of a male Fae, threading through the air like a warning I can’t ignore.
Memories flood my mind, images flashing: the disastrous meeting with Filip, burning bridges with a family friend, teleporting to the bloody desert, and then getting stung by those damn Arametis vines.
Come on. Think.
I’m lying on the shifting sand, my head resting on what feels like an improvised pillow; probably a folded jacket. The gesture is small, but it tells me he cares enough to make me comfortable, which means he’s not planning to kill me right away. There seems to be little room here for negotiation, and chances are he’s after gold. That, at least, I can provide.
Deciding on a course of action, I shift slightly. My limbs ache, but I’ve been through worse.
Have you figured out how to approach me yet?The hypnotising voice echoes in my mind.
A mind intruder.
Heat rises to my cheeks in embarrassment at failing to hide my thoughts.
