And that’s when I saw him.
The Shadow Bringer was sleeping in a canopied bed, cloaked in shadow, obsidian armor, and his typical draconic mask with its caged jaw. Silvery fabric curtained the frame around him, floating loosely in the cold, dusty air. He appeared frozen in sleep, silver-white hair pooling on the pillows below him.
I was in his room.
I was in the Shadow Bringer’sroom.
Creeping backward, I felt for a weapon while keeping my gaze locked on him. I was unsettled by his silence and lack of movement. Was he dead? I considered testing this theory, perhaps feeling for a pulse or a sign of breath, but quickly decided against it. Something told me that he was very much alive—just depleted from using whatever power it was that stemmed from him.
I found a steel fire poker leaning next to a cold fireplace, weighty and sharp despite the dust it left behind, then carefully slid within arm’s reach of the Shadow Bringer’s massive, lavish bed. Strange, that such extravagance could be found consorting with an equal amount of rot. The mix of luxury and decay was uncomfortable. Intolerable, even.
I drew up the fire poker, holding it over the Bringer’s exposed throat.
Demon. Monster. Killer.
Hate surged through my veins, nearly choking me. This man, the horrid origin of Corruption, damned my sister, cursed my parents, ruined Elliot’s future, and wrecked any chances I had at normalcy. If I killed the Shadow Bringer now, perhaps Corruption would end, the demons would be destroyed, and all captured souls would finally rise to meet the Maker’s holy light.
The poker hovered over the smooth stretch of skin just below his jawline. One swift thrust, and it would all be over.
Grrrrssschk. Rrrssschk. Rrrssschk.
I froze, listening intently. The wind, perhaps.
“Let us out,” a demon suddenly howled, snarling and groaning from just beyond his bedchamber door. “Set us free.”
Something heavy slammed against the door, causing me to flinch and lose my balance. The fire poker slipped from my hands, sliding off the bed and crashing to the floor.
The Shadow Bringer’s eyes opened, depthless and aching.
“You,” he rasped, caged lips close to my ear. He put his gauntleted hands over mine, cold and sharp, and my traitorous heart stuttered. “You don’t need to panic—I can manage them. I always have.”
He rose to his elbows as I felt myself slipping back into consciousness.
His hands were iron.
Then clay.
Then dust.
The demons repeated their chant as they threw themselves against his door. The screams layered together, rising and echoing in a hellish chorus.
“Let us out.”
“Set us free.”
“Let us out, let us out, let us out!”
The last scream yanked me back into the dream.
I was in the Shadow Bringer’s bed, straddling his legs. I must have grabbed for him while I was falling out of the dream; his hands were firmly clutching mine. He let out a slow breath, fixing me with cold silver eyes that began to change from aching and depthless to something sharper and more aware. My breath hitched, and a horrific blush crept up my neck as I felt his armored hips shift under my thighs. We looked down at the same time, realizing just how close our bodies were.
Too close.
We scrambled backward as shadows roiled around us, tangling in their eagerness to obey each of our panicked wills. This was a mistake—a shadow looped around the Bringer’s wrist, and my will must have called it forward, for it curled around my wrist, too, and pulled itself taut.
He cursed.
I cursed.
