Yanking futilely against my restrains, I dig my fingers into the armrests of the chair that I’m still shackled to. I haven’t seen that beautiful fae man since that short break when he told me that hehoped this would be painful for me, but I’m sure he is enjoying this. Why is he even doing this to me?
Answers drift at the edges of my mind, but as always, they disappear before I can find them.
In the memory, Draven’s wings get worse and worse as the whip tears through the thin membrane. Torn strips of it hang from the bones, and blood drips down on the ground. I try to look away, but the version of me in the memory is still watching, so I am forced to do the same.
I grit my teeth as Draven at last collapses after those other two shifters have left. His eyes are glassy with pain, and his entire body is trembling.
A small noise comes from the back of my throat. Why is this affecting me so much? Why do I care so much about this Draven person?
The memory ends and, as always, the next one starts immediately. I drag in a strained breath as I’m back in that ballroom with the two people who get their throats slit. In the memory, they’re supposed to be my parents, which I know because the version of me in the memory blurts that out. But they’re not my real parents. My parents are…
Yet again, answers dance at the corners of my mind. Just out of reach.
In the real world, a panicked whimper escapes my mouth as I watch the ice shard appear against their throats. Out of all three memories, this is the worst one. I don’t know why, but I just hate this memory.
I yank hard against my shackles as the dragon shifter slits the throats of those two fae. Blood gushes out of the deep cuts, and their bodies hit the floor with sickening thuds. Pools of blood spread out around them, turning the fae woman’s silver hair red. In the memory, a raw and utterly animalistic scream tears from my throat. The sound is so awful that it makes ice crawl downmy spine in the real world. I grip the armrests hard as I watch them die for the three-hundredth time.
Then the next memory immediately starts. Draven is about to be crushed by a boulder, I shoot some kind of magic at him, and then throw myself through a portal. When we all appear inside an arena and he turns to look at me, pure hatred flares up in his eyes.
I squirm uncomfortably in my chair. I’m not even sure who Draven is, but for some reason, I really don’t like the way he looks at me in that memory.
Then it starts all over again.
Draven gets his wings whipped to shreds.
Those two fae get their throats slit and die in pools of their own blood.
I shoot some kind of magic at Draven and then he looks at me with undiluted hatred.
And then it begins anew.
Those three memories.
Over and over and over again.
In the beginning, I felt nothing as I watched those memories. But the more I relive them, the more uncomfortable they get. I squirm and wiggle in the chair and yank against the metal bands that keep me trapped as emotions start tugging at my chest. I don’t understand the emotions, but I know that I don’t want to feel them.
The memory of those two fae begins once more. Resentment burns in their eyes as they look at me. Then it transforms into shock and fear when their throats are slit. The cuts are so deep that the ice shards almost decapitate them. They crash down on the ground. Blood spills across the floor and the light dies in their eyes.
A jab of pain hits my chest in the real world. I struggle harder against my shackles.
The memories speed up, changing faster and faster.
Draven almost dies and I slam magic into him and then he looks at me with deep hatred in his eyes.
Pain twists inside my chest again, and I pull furiously against the chair I’m locked to.
Those two fae get their throats slit again.
A panicked whimper escapes my lips as I throw my head from side to side, trying to look at anything other than the terror and shock on their faces as they hit the floor and die, but the memory remains firmly before my eyes.
Draven’s wings are whipped to shreds.
I dig my fingers into the armchair to block out another burst of pain in my chest.
Why is it so painful to watch all of this? I don’t even know these people.
Draven looks at me with hatred.
