Zaya survives.
And this time, I have people to survive for, more than simply functioning at the behest of the universe. People who love me — me, Zaya.
The Cataclysm’s grip on the back of my neck tightens, sending more pain radiating through me. His features ripple as the unknown creature within him threatens to tear through his skin.
I laugh harder, trembling with the effort. That darkly tainted, utterly mocking mirth shudders through me.
He can’t kill me.
He can’t kill me.
He can’t kill me.
He twists my head to the side and back, forcing me to look away from him as those sharp teeth slice through my skin. He always bites in the same place, where my neck meets my shoulder, and the wound never fully heals.
A numbness spreads through me from that bite, as if he’s pumping some sort of venom through me as he tries to feed.
I don’t close my eyes.
I don’t try to retreat into my mind.
I stare at the blood runes painted across the wall next to the bed — because I can’t turn my head to trace them any farther than that. I stare at those runes, that language I don’t understand, but which feels as if it might be akin to the runes carved into the pillars and posts at the Outcast’s compound, and I wonder … I wonder again and again …
Whose blood is powerful enough to stymie the universe?
Despite my intent to stay present, my eyesight begins to dim at the edges. The Cataclysm snarls against my neck, angry now. As he’s been each time he’s fed from me within the confines of the blood-warded room. Because my blood won’t yield more than a trickle of essence to him.
If he wants to truly feed from me, he’ll have to let me out of the room. If he lets me out of the room, he cannot control what the universe will do — what I will do — to get me away from him.
The Cataclysm knows all that because he was once soul bound to my aunt, the Conduit before me. They were together for easily seventy years, as far as I’ve pieced together. Until he murdered his own brother. Until my aunt rejected him. And that rejection … has it sent him on this corrupted path? Or was he already on it even before he killed his brother? I still don’t have any of those answers.
Not that the past matters.
I exist only in the now, after all.
I’m up in the air without warning, moving, moving, moving until I fall to the bed. Once more. Once again. He’s tossed me aside this time, not bothering to lick the bite wound to try to seal it.
My raspy laughter, barely a whisper now, follows the Cataclysm from the room.
His disappointment, dissatisfaction, is palpable.
He can’t kill me, and he hates that I defy him on any level.
He can’t kill me, and unless he allows me to heal, to touch essence, he’ll no longer get everything he wants from me.
The defiant laughter drains from me until I’m barely breathing.
That’s when I realize that I’m bleeding out — slowly but surely. He’s nicked something vital in my neck.
He can’t kill me.
But … if the universe can’t reach me … then … can he?
Can he kill me? Even if that’s not his intent?
“Whatever is happening to this woman must stop,” a quiet voice says, drawing me from my pained slumber. “She has to be given time to heal.”
“I understand,” a woman murmurs back. Her voice is familiar, with a southern accent like warm caramel sauce.
