And Dominic? He’d never get to experience that. Because there was no way in Hel that—even if they were meant for one another, even if Adara found it in her heart to love again—she would accept it. He’d seen it before. People had rejected Calandra’s choice in partners. Yet he found himself hoping for a future that would never happen, not with this war. There was no future where they both continued on after this. He’d take her key, take her power, and crush her life within his hands.
He had no other choice.
In all his years of manipulation and deceit to make others love him, Dominic had never failed. In all his years of wishing for one of those keys to turn into a ring around his finger, none ever did. No soulmate. Just another life to take for his own, another key to add to his collection.
But Adara . . . the echoes of her heart could not be erased from his mind.
He didn’t know until now, but with every person he’d manipulated, with every key he’d taken, it was hers that he was searching for—even before he met her. Even with the magnitude of a thousand lifetimes, Dominic could not shake the feeling her soul left imprinted on him.
Dominic Nite did not believe in the gods. Sometimes, he even doubted the power of the keys—if they truly did identify one’ssoulmate. But in that moment, a teardrop, the wetness a foreign chill, slid down his cheek as he contemplated the repercussions of his actions. Of draining the keys of the lives tied to them. Of carving out his heart and tossing it into the ocean.
All the dark and heinous crimes he’d committed weighed on his soul with such force crashing down on him.
Another tear rolled down his face, stinging like acid, the feeling so unusual that Dominic wondered if he had any shred of humanity left in him. He loathed the sadness tearing apart his mind, the wetness streaking his cheeks.
Perhaps this was his punishment for everything. Unrequited love from the only soul he wished it from. To be damned by the gods to never experience having someone made for him and only him.
Or maybe he’d ruined it all by himself.
Footsteps sounded lightly behind him. Dominic angrily swiped at his face, soaking up the dampness with the sleeve of his tunic. Although the tears stopped coming, the ache in his chest never halted.
“Dominic?” Ace said cautiously, inching toward him, gently laying a hand on his shoulder.
Dominic didn’t look at him.
“Dominic, what’s wrong?” his second asked, worry instantly overtaking any other emotion.
He didn’t reply. His mind was too occupied with churning new schemes to fix this mess. He’d fallen in love before Adara, and he’d killed that girl all the same. He could still win this war. He could still win Adara’s key and kill her in the end. No matter how much it broke him. It was better than the death that would consume him if he failed to drain the life of another’s key. His heart had already been broken, tossed into the sea. There was nothing for Adara to worm her way into. Nothing but an abyss of darkness that would swallow her whole with no remorse.
The corner of Dominic’s lips twisted in a sinister smile. “How can I have a soulmate—” he said, rising to his feet, jaw set with determination. His voice cracked along with whatever sliver of humanity was left inside him, shattering into knife-like edges. The words came out sharp and full of malice. “When I don’t even have a soul?”
Chapter 34
Theairshifted,cold,heavy, suffocating. Dark clouds loomed in the distance, hovering over a barren land of skeletal trees. The horses on which Adara and Dominic rode skidded to a stop, sand spraying beneath their hooves. A white, gnarled archway sat a short distance away. A thud sounded behind them, something within the caravan crashing against the wood and canvas covering as the horse halted abruptly.
A pained groan came from within the wagon. Caleb pulled the flaps to the side, hopping out, rubbing his head. “I take it thatmeans we’re here,” he said, glancing between the skittish horses on which Ace, Tyson, and Desmond rode.
Adara’s brown mare bucked and whinnied its disapproval. She tightly gripped the reins, struggling to stay in the saddle atop the frightened animal. The moment their horses calmed, Adara and Dominic dismounted while the rest of the Andreilians exited the caravan to stretch their cramped legs.
Adara gazed through the arch at the desert spanning the horizon in front of them. The sun was bright, burning. Sweat dripped down her face now that the breeze from riding on horseback was gone. But in the distance, there was hardly a sliver of light beneath the storm clouds rolling in over the Ruins. A chill went up Adara’s spine as she stared at the dark, dead remnants of what used to be a flourishing land, and recalled the stories Dominic had told her of this dreadful desert on the ride here.
The Ruins of Malryn was once considered home to two glorious kingdoms before the Wasted War. Two centuries ago, war broke out among the kingdoms. The reason why had been lost, blurred throughout the years from different stories, so no one knew the truth. In the end, both kingdoms had perished beyond repair. Few were left behind after the war had ceased, struggling to survive in the land which had been destroyed. The stragglers that remained built ramshackle villages. But the land had been damaged, and crops could not grow. There was no game to be hunted either, and harsh weather demolished their homes. Some said they angered the gods by breaking out into a war that resulted in the loss of two mighty kingdoms, and the Ruins were made as a punishment for those who survived.
Now, the Ruins were nothing but a massive scar on this continent. A desert full of the remnants of long-forgotten people. A land the rest of the world was happy to dismiss.
There was no coming back from the Ruins, just as the two kingdoms at war could not revive themselves after battle. Yet people were foolish enough to venture here in hopes of finding lost treasures and relics from the kingdoms whose names had been forgotten. But there were only two outcomes for those who returned here: die, or survive without your sanity intact.
Rumor had it that the Ruins were haunted with the lost souls from the Wasted War and other ravaged creatures that had formed from some type of dark magic the gods had cast here—punishment for destroying the land Daichi had gifted the mortals. If the monsters lurking didn’t kill your body, they certainly destroyed your mind. The people lucky enough to return from the Ruins had gone mad. In Tarin, Remaline, and Lykrios, the kingdoms made a law to execute anyone who ventured to the Ruins and returned, unwilling to let their cities be overrun by madmen.
Adara wondered which outcome she would end up with: death or insanity. Would she even remember what she was fighting for if she survived? She clenched and unclenched her hands at her sides, trying to keep them from shaking. She would not forget. Alec, Draven, Kiara, Fallon, Cal. She could never forget them, her people.
Dominic shot her a look that bordered between calm calculation and fret, as if he, too, had been thinking of how many ways this could go wrong and came up short with how many ways they could come out unscathed. He cautiously took a step forward. It was the first time she’d ever seen him hesitate.
Adara sent up a prayer to the gods,placing two fingers on her wrist to feel her pulse, then pressing them to the flame mark on her chest, and finally to her forehead.Life, power, soul. May all of them be intact when I leave this place . . . And Dominic’s,she added, knowing he would never pray to the gods. Itryla al roneyi mon taka.Then she reluctantly followed him toward the dead land marked by the archway.
Each step felt daunting, straining. Their horses pulled against the reins and stamped their hooves, reluctantly following as the Andreilians tugged them onward. Every instinct told her to turn back and run with her sanity intact. But she could not give up. This was for her people, her friends, her family. The Realm Fracturer was the only way she could return to them, to save them. She had to forge it.
They neared the border to the Ruins, marked by the arch, and Adara’s blood ran cold. The arch was made of bones, gleaming white like they’d been licked clean of any piece of flesh that had been attached. Carvings were etched into them.Turn back now. It’s not too late to run,and other indecipherable nonsense that told Adara the messages had been scrawled after they’d come out deranged.
