He gave a small sigh as if it was all just a minor inconvenience. “Leeara, there is nothing you can do,” he said, stepping closerand placing the tip of his sword at her chest. “This was always to be your fate. And hers. There is no use fighting it.”
Leeara searched his face for any sign of the male he used to be, for even a glimmer of his former kindness, but found nothing.
A loud crack of unnatural thunder reverberated through the air, and she knew the time had come—her distraction had worked.
She met his gaze and smiled. “I don’t believe in fate.” Surging forward, she impaled herself on his sword.
The male let out an agonized roar as gravity took over, and Leeara sank further onto the weapon still held between them. The life flowed out of her in thick red rivulets as he reflexively pulled the sword from her chest.
Falling to the ground, Leeara twisted her body so she could watch as the Walker slashed a hand through the air and ripped a hole through the very fabric of existence. Staring at that gash in the world, she beheld a narrow pathway ending at a tall building with brightly lit windows, all of them shining like beacons in the dark night.
With a command to grab the child echoing through the clearing, the guards dashed toward the glowing portal.
The Walker was much quicker, though, as she spun with ethereal grace, scooped up the child, and slipped through the rift. On the other side, she clutched the infant to her chest and briefly locked eyes with Leeara. She dipped her head in a barely perceptible nod—a promise fulfilled—then waved her hand to close the portal, sealing Raynella away forever.
Chapter one
Breathe.
Just breathe.
I trained for this. I can do it.
My grasp on the wood in my hand tightened. Desperate to calm the turmoil in my mind, I sucked in another labored breath. Time was not on my side, and I had to do something fast. Never show fear or weakness, my instructor had taught me. They can smell it a mile away.
I steadied my hand, loosened my death grip, and let out a slow, calculated exhale. I was ready.
At least I thought I was until I lifted my head to stare into the black depths before me. Eyes glittered in the darkness, narrowing on me, assessing me, forcing me to accept how weak I truly was.
I can't do it.
Sacrificing everything I worked so hard for, I turned and ran.
Pausing only to swoop up the case that I had laid at the edge of the pit, I kept running until the sweet warmth of daylight kissed my skin.
With the door slamming shut behind me, I fell against the wall to my right, my thick black braid cushioning the thump of my head against the rough stone. I slid to the ground, legs splaying out in an un-ladylike fashion. My head rolled back as I struggled to inhale the unpleasant muggy air. I couldn’t stop the sharp ragged gasps, couldn’t get any oxygen into my lungs.
In a flash of clarity, I remembered the case at my side and began fumbling at the worn silver clasps. My salvation lay within if I could just get it open…
After what felt like an eternity, the final latch released, and I snatched the bottle lying inside. I clawed at the lid to the small container, my airways constricting even further until… the sharp click as the cap gave way. A cascade of pills erupted into the air, raining down onto the lining of the black case. Grabbing one, I swallowed it dry, wincing as it roughly scraped my throat. Sweat drenched and shaking, I collapsed against the grimy wall while I waited for relief to come.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. People walked by, most not even sparing a glance in my direction. Eventually my breathing slowed, my heart rate returned to normal, and I was left with only the oppressive feeling of despair and failure.
My eyes fixated on the bottle. Orange with a white lid and the printed words:
Rain L. Solis
Klonopin 1 mg
Take as needed for anxiety attacks
I tucked the pills into my pocket then nestled the delicate wooden instrument into the case. Staring at the violin, I wondered why I had even bothered showing up to the audition.
I secured the instrument that had consumed the majority of my adult life and rose to my feet. With a glance back at the sign for David Geffen Hall, I realized with a sinking feeling that my chance of playing for the New York Philharmonic was likely long gone. Though if I was being honest with myself, it never really existed to begin with. Not for someone like me.
So I trudged over to the subway entrance and began the miserable trek back to my small apartment in Jersey.
“Honey, I’m home,” I snarked bitterly, pushing open the door to my apartment, not actually expecting any response from the sister I shared the space with. I stepped into the entryway, set down my violin, and tossed my braid back over my shoulder as I straightened. On days like this when depression rode me hard, I was always tempted to cut the dang thing off. Short hair had never been a good look for me, though. With my underfed slim body, barely-there breasts, and height just a few inches short of six feet, any time I tried a shorter style I inevitably got called “sir” or “bro” at least once a day. Part of that might have to do with the tattered blue hoodie I typically lived in, but I would die before giving up my comfy clothes.
