White light flooded his vision, and he felt as if he was plunging through space. Pain shot through his entire body, but it was gonein an instant. Like he hit the ground hard, but then remembered he’d never been falling.
Eyes rapidly blinking to adjust to the dim lighting, Dominic remembered where he was. In the Whisperer’s cave . . . and he had just looked into its eyes. It had learned his name from the vision of Adara. And now all it took was one word for this monster to put him in the grave.
“The knife!” someone shouted over the ringing in his ears. The voice sounded distant, unreal. He blinked again, hands braced on the rock beneath him as he tried to stand and reorient himself, but fell over once more.
“The knife, dammit!” The voice grew louder this time, the hum of blood rushing in his ears growing quieter as he focused on his surroundings. “TOSS ME THE KNIFE!” Adara yelled, panicked.
He blinked once, glanced at the sharp dagger resting in his palm, then at the Whisperer with its mouth open, teeth gleaming, poised to make the kill. Dominic tossed the knife in Adara’s direction as the Whisperer stalked closer to him, that one soulless, white eye glaring into his own. He thought he saw death in that milky pit on its face, laced in those vicious fangs as it bared its teeth.
In one swift motion, Adara ripped off her blindfold and caught the dagger by the hilt.
The Whisperer’s mouth opened, a death knell for all to hear despite how softly the ancient creature spoke. Dominic didn’t even have time to curse Adara for tricking him, for leading him right to his death. Didn’t have time to think of how painful death would be or the afterlife.
“Domin—” its whispered word was cut off. Silver gleamed between its teeth in the dancing candlelight, a blade protruding from the Whisperer’s open mouth.
Adara twisted the knife through the back of its throat, jabbing the weapon deeper until it was buried in the Whisperer’s neck up to the hilt, blade sawing at its tongue and teeth.
Dominic’s name died on the Whisperer’s tongue. Unspoken.
Alive. He wasalive.Dominic sighed in relief, breaths coming out ragged and shallow. Adara had saved him. Sheactuallysaved him.
The Whisperer let out a gurgling noise. Black blood bubbled from its lips as it swiped a claw at Adara. Leaving the knife protruding from its throat, she dove under the Whisperer’s outstretched arm, dodging those long claws, and rolled until she reached her sword.
Dominic allowed himself one second to take a deep breath, to right himself as he stood, forgetting about the images of the past and future, about the pain shooting through his body.
Momentarily forgetting about her injured arm, Adara tried to heft her sword, letting out a moan of pain. At the sound of her distress, the Whisperer whirled toward her and charged. Adara stared, eyes wide, then heaved her sword up with her left hand. She struggled for only a moment, as if used to wielding weapons in both hands. Adara raised her sword, but Dominic was in front of her a moment later. The white of bone gleamed inside the Whisperer’s ashen skin and Dominic realized the wound she’d given it earlier hadn’t yet healed. Blood crusted around the wide gash across its abdomen. Without balking, he shoved his hand into its flesh, ignoring the revolting wetness of its innards around his skin, and ripped out its exposed rib.
The creature let out a strangled cry—barely audible with the dagger still lodged in its throat—and staggered back. It only made it a few steps before Dominic stabbed the broken, jagged end of its own rib deep into its chest, through muscle and bone, right where its heart—if it even had one—was.
Falling to the ground, the Whisperer writhed in pain. Its claws scraped against the stone, emitting a sound that pierced Dominic’s ears to the point of ringing as it gave one last futile effort to reach them. That one pearly eye darted back and forth between Dominic and Adara’s faces. It had no pupil, but he could tell it was watching, searching their minds for their names. Blood gurgled from its mouth as if it had found its answer and was trying to kill them.
Dominic could do nothing but stare at its dying figure, wondering what the future it showed him meant. Blinking through a dizzying haze, Dominic was suddenly aware of how much of the blood coating the ground was his. Blood leaked from the gash on his abdomen. His clothes stuck to his body. Stinging sweat dripped down his forehead into a small cut. All he felt was searing pain—in his body and his mind.
“Let’s finish this, shall we?” Adara said. She brushed past him, still cradling her bleeding arm. Approaching the Whisperer, she hefted her sword above her, and brought it down upon the Whisperer’s neck in one mighty swing. Blood sprayed. Its head rolled to the side, all light and movement from that eerie white eye vanishing as its body stilled. Squatting down beside the decapitated head, Adara took out a thin knife from her boot. Angling the blade against its forehead—one of the few places of its mangled body they hadn’t managed to maim—Adara carved into its gray skin. When she finished writing, she sheathed the knife and tossed the head to him.
Reluctantly, he caught it, grunting in pain at the movement. Its blood poured across his hands, an all too familiar feeling.
“You do the honors of carving out the eye. It was, in fact, you who knew how to find this thing,” she said, watching him steadily.
He glanced from her to the Whisperer’s head in his hands. Across its forehead were the lettersA.R.andD.N.
“We leave it here when we’re done. Lest anyone forget who we are and what we can do,” she told him.
The corner of his mouth twitched upward as his eyes met hers again, fiery, unwavering in the face of imminent death, promising.
Removing his dagger from its open mouth, Dominic carved a smooth line around its eye, then plucked its eyeball from the socket, leaving nothing but a dark, gaping hole that matched the other side of its face. He dropped the head, wiped his bloody hands on his pants, and pocketed the eyeball.
If Adara opposed that he kept the eye for himself, she said nothing about it. Hopefully, he’d gained her trust enough to soothe her worries about him using the Realm Fracturer for himself. Or maybe it hadn’t occurred to her that with only one eye, only one of them could use it.
Dominic didn’t care. The less she knew, the better.
“Let’s go,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper.
They walked through the forest in silence. No more sinister whispers assaulted their ears. It was strange, peaceful, save for the blood that dripped as they walked. Adara cradled her arm against her chest, her skin torn to bloody ribbons. Dominic limped slowly beside her, lightning shooting through his side where the Whisperer’s claws had slashed deeply. He would heal on his own, thanks to the healing powers he stole from a Med’s key, albeit slowly.
But he wondered how long Adara would last before the effects of her injury would start to show. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her shoulders and in her eyes as the adrenaline faded. Other than that, she displayed no signs of pain.
Something glimmered in the distance. A reflection of light against a clear blue pond that had pierced the thicket of trees. Dominic let out a breath of relief. His throat was dry, aching. Their wounds needed to be cleaned. They had brought no supplies with them to the Whisperer’s cave—it would have weighed them down. They had only hoped they would make it out in time to return to the ship, or their corpses would have had no use for bandages.
