Fuck. Esta said that there were souls in the Wilds. It’s the only explanation I have for the presence of this humanoid specter. Until I have evidence to the contrary, that’s what I’m going with. But I never imagined a soul would look like this. This being’s body appears to be made up of pieces of the earth, as if he brought the soil he was buried in with him when he came to… Hell.
Of course.I shake my head. The city is far too pretty, too modern, too clean.
Here, in the Wilds,thisis the real Pyra-Mortem.
“Hungry!” the soul snarls, rushing forward, his arms outstretched.
I can’t fight something that separates at the touch of a breeze. Any hit or kick I try to aim at him will simply fly through. Until I know more about this being, my instinct is to run.
He’s far quicker than I thought he would be. Before I can turn, his misshapen face fills my view and his hand closes around my neck, wrapping around my skin as tightly as a rope, so fast that I choke.
Fuck!
I kick him, but as expected my foot goes right through his thigh. Yet somehow, his energy squeezes more tightly around my neck.
“Hungry,” he says, but this time, he speaks with glee, as if I’m an energy source and he will take everything he can from me.
My fist swings forward, aimed directly at his increasingly bright eyes, the only tangible part of him that I can see.
With the movement of my arm, the cold, rushing sensation of my nightmare power bursts through me, the uncompromising force startling me more than the soul’s gleeful shrieks.
My fist connects with his chest and my other hand flies up in front of me, the freezing cold power streaming through my arms to my fingertips.
It burns. A terrible, chilling burn.
I’m suddenly screaming as darkness pours from my hands, filling the space around us with what looks like streams of smoke.
They hit the soul, and instantly, he releases my neck and drops to his knees, gripping his head while his body begins to separate under the force of my power. Some of the dirt that makes up his skin floats upward, catching and clinging to the darkness that continues to rush from me. Unlike when the breeze ruffled his shape, the parts of his body that cling to my power don’t return to him.
“No!” he cries, a splitting scream. “No, no, no…”
The more my twisted darkness swirls around the creature, the more his shape disintegrates.
I need to defend myself, but the nightmare power that is once again forcing itself out scares the fuck out of me.
It looks like I’m taking pieces of his soul—my fear attracting and caginghisfear. And with every scrap of dirt, every twig that I absorb with my power, images storm through my mind, brief glimpses of the life this soul lived, but every one of them feeds my strength because all of them are dark. All of the reasons why this soul is here.
I back away, fighting the force of the darkness driving through me. I don’t know if I’m creating fear or if the darkness is a manifestation of my own fear, but I can’t let it go on because I don’t want to see any more of this person’s life—or the choices that led to him coming to Mortem.
With a scream of effort, I close my fists, the darkness still trying to escape from my fingertips and palms as I leap backward. I barely keep my balance on the dead plants beneath my feet.
Two streams of dust and dirt continue to twine toward me through the air, each connected to my closed fists. The cold, burning power within me hasn’t lessened, and now the soul hunches over his knees.
“So hungry,” he whispers before the streams of darkness fade and, with the next puff of air, the remaining leaves and dirt that made up his shape dissolve into nothing.
I’m shaken by what I did. It unsettles me that the power at my fingertips is still so hard for me to control.
Crone drew out my power and purified it at the ceremony. Roman warned me that my power would be stronger after that process. She did the same for the other royals, but they’ve had their whole lives to learn to control their energy. I’ve pushed my demon power away and caged it my whole life.
My hands are trembling as I back away from the vanishing cloud of darkness.
Thecrackof the brittle vines beneath my boots makes me freeze, but I can’t stay here. I need to find the highest tree, climb it, and figure out how far away from the city I am.
As I carefully pick my way across the thorny patch, balancing precariously on the branches, rustles above me make me flinch and screeches in the far trees make my instincts fire.
Once again, the air around me feels expectant and far too heavy.
Just as I take another step, the vines I’m balancing on jolt apart, crunching against each other, wobbling from side to side and then…
