Witches. Vorian had told her about them once. Old ones, powerful and deformed, they used blood to bind and enthrall their victims. Was that what this was? Did she care?
The pressure shifted. The woman, or whatever passed for one, straddled her head, one knee on either side. It was hard and cold, not skin, but stone?
Drips came faster now as the creature leaned closer. And when their noses nearly touched, she brought her wrist directly against Rynna’s mouth.
Blood flooded her throat.
She coughed once, choking, but it only made more rush in. Her lungs seized, mouth wide and gasping through the torrent. The taste burned. She swallowed and gagged, body jerking.
Her vision pulsed as limbs flailed, then stiffened. Her spine arched once, then collapsed.
And then everything went still. Except for the blood that wriggled and wormed, leaving no part of her untouched as it came alive within her.
When awareness returned, everything felt wrong. Her skin burned with sensation, and the breeze scratched across her body like sandpaper. She could hear everything—everything—from bugs crawling in the dirt to the heartbeat of every person tucked behind closed doors. It thundered in her skull, a riot of noise.
Desperate to shut it out, she lifted her hands to her ears, but the sound didn’t stop. It pressed in, a tidal wave of life she couldn’t bear. Gasping, she tried to yell, but even the act of breathing scorched her lungs, branching out into her chest.
And somewhere through it all came a soft purr, almost a hum, laced with brittle, unhinged laughter. The sound skipped and cracked, a joy too jagged to be real.
It was her. The woman. The creature. Her attacker.
And she was pleased with her work.
Rynna forced her eyes open, lids heavy as stone. At first, she only managed the barest slit, and even that was too much. The world exploded into focus, not with light, but with an impossible clarity. It was pitch dark around her, but she saw everything.
She could make out every tiny ridge and depression in the wind-carved sand beneath her fingertips, each grain distinct and sharp in its placement. Far ahead, at the top of a distant hill, a window caught the faintest glint of light—glass reflecting some unseen source. A boy stood behind it, barely more than a silhouette at this distance. Yet she saw him clearly. He was half a mile away, and still she could count the lines etched around his mouth.
And that wasn’t the strangest part.
Three flies nestled in the tangled strands of black, lifeless hair on the woman crouched to her right, their compound eyes dancing with alien complexity.
The creature didn’t move. One hand braced the earth, the other cradled her chin, a mockery of thoughtfulness, thumb and forefinger sculpting the edge of her face. Her gaze held Rynna in place, not through force, but gravity. A singularity, dark and absolute. Everything about the woman’s body was stillness personified—perfection, control, and the quiet of a predator before the pounce.
Only the woman’s eyes moved, or perhaps it was more accurate to say, theyexisted. Bottomless voids, each one an invitation into oblivion. No shine. No color. Just the infinite stretch of starless night.
Rynna’s stomach turned. She felt herself slipping, as if that gaze had unmoored her from reality.
The dark welcomed her like a grave. But before it could claim her, something ignited.
The blaze started low, a hint of heat burning deep in her belly. Then it surged upward through her lungs, her neck, her head. She doubled over with a strangled sound, clutching her abdomen as she could hold the inferno in. Pain lanced through her, but it wasn’t just pain. It was hunger. Want.
The woman rose, her head tilting to the other side, perhaps curious about an unexpected reaction.
What is this!Rynna couldn’t speak, but the thought raged through her. She had believed she knew fire, knew its hunger and rage. One had lived within her for as long as she could remember, after all.
But this was different. It would leave more than ruin behind, do more than consume or destroy. It would take. Everything. And now it was expanding under her skin, pulsing, trying to break free, craving more than air or wood.
Heartbeat after heartbeat filled her head, their rhythms crashing into one another until she couldn’t tell where hers ended and theirs began. Dozens of pulses. Hundreds. Each one a drumbeat in the night, thundering louder than her thoughts.
She knew what the fire wanted. It wanted blood. Life.
Horror gripped her. She shoved herself upright, legs scrambling against the earth as she scuttled backward on hands and heels. Her chest heaved, breath tearing in and out as if it might force the truth away. Dirt clung to her palms, but she barely noticed. All she could feel was the Hunger surging inside her, and the thing it wanted her to become.
“No. No. No.” The words fell from her trembling lips, then again, louder, as if repetition might undo the truth. As if denial could rewrite the body already betraying her.
She had been changed, twisted into something she didn’t recognize, into something that fed.
“Yes, child,” the other hissed back. “You comprehend what I have given you. Be grateful I selected you.”
