But the Nightshade isn’t done. It surges towards us, closing the gap on our group faster than we can run.
Kara and Savannah are stumbling, tripping, throwing themselves forward by any means necessary. Cyrus is nimble, dodging through the graves. Gideon follows his every footstep, and the pair manage to pull ahead of us.
I clench my jaw as panic curls around my throat. It’s desperation, terror and something else – something darker.
It’s like the Nightshade is seeping into me, not just draining my strength but leaving something behind, something I can almost touch. Its presence isn’t just a force; it’s a taste, a sensation that clings to my skin, my throat, my mind. Anger. Power. A taste for blood.
Then it hits me. What I’ve been feeling all along, and why its presence has been affecting me this way.
It’s the Nightshade itself. Its emotions. The lingering vision of a breathless dragon meeting a cruel and violent end at the hands of ruthless elementals.
The Nightshade was never feeding on me. I’ve been feeding on it – the way I do with any Soul Wraith. Taking in its pain, its hunger. It’s connected to me, somehow. And maybe that means … I can control it.
“Wait!” I stop him. “I think … I want to try something.”
“What are you doing?” His voice is strained, but there’s no time to explain.
The Nightshade roars behind us. It’s a blur. A storm of its tendrils sweep through the air like wild snakes. I sharpen my focus. I reach deep until I find the pull of darkness inside of me. Then I reach even deeper.
Beneath the panic and fear twisting in my chest, something else blooms, far more insidious. It oozes into my bones. I can taste it in my mouth.
Bitter, acrid, metallic, like I’ve bitten into a mouthful of iron and ash. I try to swallow, but it’s cloying. And the sensation only spreads deeper. It feels ancient and malevolent. It’s a dragon’s soul, burrowed deep within the Nightshade.
I don’t know how I’m doing it – until now, I didn’t even know I could – but instead of drinking in the Nightshade’s energy and using it to conjure something physical like a weapon, I’m allowing it to interweave with my mind.
I accept the Nightshade’s pain as my own and, with it, its thoughts.
Its will.
My hands tremble, but the energy responds. Slowly, the swirling mass of shadows shifts, bending to my silent command.
I grit my teeth. My body strains. I redirect the Nightshade away from Taron and me, and towards the other teams.
Cyrus and Gideon barely have time to react. The Nightshade curls its wispy tendrils around them and flings them through the air. They land with a sickeningcrunchamong the gravestones. Kara is next. She backs up, but the Nightshade is upon her, dark limbs reaching for her. Savannah screams. She summons darts of sand from the earth and fires them at the beast. But the Nightshade easily absorbs the spikes.
Its hazy form shrinks briefly, as though it’s taking a deep inhale. Then an exhale comes in the form of a bone-chilling roar that reverberates through the graveyard.
As the beast’s form expands again, Savannah’s spikes are fired back at twice the speed. She stamps her foot on the ground, and a feeble wall of dirt shoots up in defence. It deflects the spikes, but she’s overexerted herself.
Savannah falls forward on her knees, and I silently order the Nightshade to ensnare her. Then Kara, then Cyrus, then Gideon. They’re all lifted off the ground, held captive in the air by the withering tendrils of darkness.
My head throbs. “Crystal stars,” I mutter. “Grab their crystals…”
I try to cling to my connection with the Nightshade, but the effort of controlling it is too much. My vision blurs, my knees weakening.
Taron coaxes two halves of a crystal star from Cyrus’s utility belt and guides them through the air into his hand. He tightens his hold on my waist to keep me upright. “Are you controlling it? How are you doing this?” he asks, andhis voice is filled with awe. But there’s fear in his eyes, too.
“I don’t know,” I breathe, barely able to get the words out. “But I don’t think I can hold on much longer…”
Taron lifts me off the ground and cradles me in his arms. He places the united halves of the crystal into the gleaming slot at the temple’s entrance and, as he carries me inside, my head rolls back. Everything goes dark.
Chapter Thirty-two
I wake to the murmur of voices, sharp and discordant, rising and falling like waves against the shore. My head throbs in time with the noise, each pulse in volume driving a spike of pain through my skull.
Someone groans in the distance, and I realize it’s me. My body feels like it’s made of lead when I try to move, too heavy to obey.
I force one eye open, wincing at the light. It’s not particularly glaring, but it stings nonetheless. The world around me swims in and out of focus. A soft, muted glow casts long wavering shadows across the ground – stone, instead of upturned earth. I’m not in the graveyard any more.
