Then, as if pulled by some unseen force, my vision shifts. A massive, winged beast appears, its wings the color of snow, feathers gleaming in the pale light. It lets out a roar that echoes across the mountains. My pulse quickens, and I try to pull away, but the witch’s hold remains unrelenting.
The next image crashes through my mind with a brutal force, making everything inside me constrict painfully. Maxon. He’s chained to a cavern wall, his arms pulled taut above him, his chest rising and falling with shallow, labored breaths. Blood drenches his front, seeping from countless cuts and gashes that mar his skin. His face is pale, eyes barely open, pain and exhaustion clearly weighing heavily on him.
A scream rips from my throat, more raw and primal than anything I've ever heard myself make. The air around me quivers, vibrating with my fear and anguish. I try to reach for him, to break the chains, to do something, but I’m helpless, trapped in this nightmare vision.
The world around me pulses, growing darker, the images distorting and flickering, until everything is swallowed by the void. All that remains is the endless darkness and the crushing reality of my own helplessness. Then, silence.
Chapter thirty-five
Maxon
Ilift my head, ears straining at the faint echo of a scream that carries through the damp air of the cavern. I’m on my knees, arms strung above my head and wyvern bones wrapped around my wrists and neck, a pool of blood steadily growing beneath me.
My heart stutters, then picks up pace. That scent—roses, night jasmine, and sugar—Everly. It can’t be. My pulse races, and I thrash against the chains, making them bite deeper into my wrists, bones shifting and twisting, puncturing skin as they constrict around me like a snake strangling its prey.
“What’s gotten into you?” a bewildered voice snaps from the darkness, with a hint of cold impatience.
I freeze, turning my head as much as the bone chains allow, glaring into the darkened doorway. There, standing like a shadow within shadow, is the old woman I’ve seen in the company of the demon.
The edgesof her mouth tug downward into a frown as her eyes roam over my body.
“Does she have her?” I snarl, my voice rasping with desperation. My whole body tenses, awaiting her answer.
The woman’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head, her voice trembling when she speaks. “You would know if the Shadoweaver had the druid.”
I grind my teeth, annoyance bubbling under my skin. I can’t trust her, not entirely, but the thought of Everly in that creature’s hands makes the chains around me feel like they’re crushing my bones.
“I hear them,” I press, forcing my voice low and dangerous. “The march of many feet, moving further away.”
The woman’s lips press into a thin line as she nods, shifting nervously on her feet, glancing around as though even the walls have ears.
“Where is she sending them? Where are her armies going?” My tone is pleading now, a raw edge creeping into it. The scent of my blood drips steadily from the wounds at my wrists, pooling on the stone beneath me. I’m weak, but if I can learn something—anything—while I’m still lucid . . .
Her eyes dart around, frantic, as though shadows might betray her. She shifts again, hands trembling. “The dark has ears. The shadows carry secrets. I should not be talking to you.”
“Tell me.”
Her eyes flicker back to mine, wavering. I have her attention, but it’s slipping, and I don’t have long before the blood loss makes me delirious again. The chains creak as I shift, pain radiating through my body, but I ignore it, focusing on the woman in front of me.
She shifts closer. “The Shadoweaver has sent–” her words cut off, eyes bulging as blood spills from her mouth. I sag against my chains, disappointment crashing through me. I was so close to gleaning some information.
The woman's body falls to the floor in front of me, her eyes wide open. Yumekui steps around the body, crouching in front of me. I put my head down, but her fingers grip my hair, forcing my head back. Those crimson eyes gleam as she tilts her head, studying me.
“Look what you made me do,” she goads with a sly tilt to her red lips.
“I didn’t make you do shit!”
The demon hums softly as she releases her grip on my head, her nails trailing coldly down my skin before she steps back. Slowly, deliberately, she begins circling me. Each step is measured, her movements lazy, as if she’s savoring this moment of control.
“You’ve been thrashing about.” Her voice is smooth yet razor-sharp, like the edge of a blade. “And bleeding more than we’d like. What good is bait if you’re dead?”
I bite back a retort, my body trembling with the effort to stay upright, but I can’t help the words that slip from my lips. “No one will come for me.”
If they have any sense, they’ll stay far away. Coming after me would only sign their death warrants.
The demon’s smile widens, amused. “On the contrary,” she purrs, her voice taking on a mocking lilt, “your soldiers have amassed, gathering allies as we speak. They seem to be preparing for something.”
A chill runs down my spine, making my breath catch in my throat. They’re coming? I clench my fists, fighting the surge of emotions that threaten to overwhelm me.
