…the hell am I doing here, back in the dungeon?
I look around me, furious to find I’m back in the dark depths of the castle where I was chained for almost a year. The air is cold and wet, heavy with the stink of mold and old iron. The stone walls sweat with damp, slick under my fingers when I touch them. The floor is uneven beneath my boots, gritty with filth and old straw.
I know this place. Gods, I know it all too well! Every shadow…every crack in the stone…every echo of sound claws against my ears like a warning.
My throat goes tight and my heart fists in my chest.
“No,” I mutter. “No, fuck this.”
I turn in a slow circle, dread pooling in my gut. The iron rings are still set into the wall—thick, rusted loops hammered straight into the stone. The chains hang slack for now, but I know exactly where this is.
My cell—my fucking cage.
A sound echoes down the corridor—boots on stone…heavy footsteps…male voices shouting angrily.
I freeze.
Fuck—are the guards coming for me? They won’t take me without a fight. I call on my Drake, pulling his fire into my throat. I’ll burn these fuckers to ashes before I let them chain me up again!
Torchlight flares on the stone walls as figures emerge from the shadows. Armed men in the livery of the castle march in, hard-faced and angry.
And between them?—
“Irena.”
Her name tears from my throat like a wound.
She’s stumbling, her wrists bound, her gown torn and dirty. Her hair hangs loose and tangled around her shoulder. Her face is pale but proud, chin lifted even as they shove her forward. There’s fear in her eyes—but worse than that, there’s disbelief. Like she still doesn’t understand how she ended up here.
Just like I don’t.
“No—no, stop!” I shout, rushing forward. “Don’t touch her! Get your fucking hands off her!”
One of the guards laughs, a harsh, ugly sound.
“She’s a stubborn one,” he says to the others. “Just like the beast.”
Beast.
The word hits me like a punch. That’s me—I’m the one they’re talking about. But none of them are looking at me—they can’t seem to see me.
They drag Irena into the cell—my cell—and throw her against the wall. She gasps as the cold stone slams into her back. I lunge for her, arms outstretched?—
And my hands pass straight through her body.
Like smoke…like she isn’t really there at all.
“Fuck!” I roar, stumbling back. “No—no, no, no!”
I try again. I grab for her arm… the chains…the guards—nothing. My hands go through everything, useless as air.
I’m a ghost…a spectator…helpless to do anything to save her.
The guards yank her wrists up, forcing her arms high. The iron rings groan as they pull the chains free, the metal shrieking as the links scrape stone.
The sound sends a spike of remembered pain straight through me.
I remember how it felt…how my shoulders burned…how my muscles screamed. The way the collar bit into my throat.
