“What kind of stupid thing is that to joke about?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Is it stupid, Caria? Lately, it seems I know nothing, as everything…everyoneI trusted to help me understand this world, lies to me.”
His eyes are icy, expressionless as he locks his gaze onto mine. His jaw tenses as he speaks.
“I don’t like lies, Caria—not even white lies. It’s what my mother and my sister constantly do, spreading words that I cannot trust. Ihateit. I need you to be truthful with me; if you can’t, I won’t be able to see you anymore, and our friendship… or whatever this is, will be over.”
I swallow the rising fear, the taste bitter, then fold my arms. I tilt my chin and tell him he can ask me anything he wants. Fynn smirks, but not the cute boyish kind—it's an arrogant smirk, like someone who knows too much and is ready to interrogate me. He has me exactly where he wants me, vulnerable and trapped. In that very moment, I realize that if I don’t answer to his liking, he’ll burn me to the ground. I can tell by the emptiness that houses in his gaze. It seems like Fynn’s evil inner demon has taken over, as if he is possessed, losing the battle that rages within him with each passing day. I never particularly liked Fynn. I never saw him as anything more than someone who has something I need, but I’d rather deal with the other Fynn than this malicious, demonic side of him.
My skin breaks out in goosebumps when he speaks, his voice deeper than usual, more intense. Sweat beads collect on my forehead, and I do my best to control my loud thumping heart.
“I asked you before, but I’ll repeat myself. What do you know about Aurum?”
I don’t miss the undertone filled with malice. I should never have come here, unable to foresee his volatile, erratic mood swings. I grit my teeth and decide to be somewhat honest, as much truth as I can manage. My jaw tightens, and the atmosphere around us shifts. The air grows denser, the sun hotter—or maybe it’s Fynn’s doing—but it feels like my skin is burning from the heat.
“I know everything… It’s part of our upbringing,” I say softly.
“Speak up, Caria, don’t give me this shy-girl act. I know you better than that.”
Again, he licks his lips, and I feel bile rising in my throat at the thought of what he can force me into with just his mind. I won’t survive it either—his body would sear through mine, leaving me a bloody, pulpy mess with blackened bones. I underestimated how dangerous and fatal he can be to me in his current state, unaware of what Faas tutored him.
“I know about the Aurum. We’re taught about it in our coven lessons. It’s a large part of our history as blood witches," I say, louder this time.
“Good girl,” he mocks, tilting his head and grinning at me.
I bite back a snarl, despite a burning desire to wipe that grin off his face.
“Alright, next one! Why do you pretend you can’t control those shadows of yours?”
“That’s not a lie! I don’t know what that dumbass dhampir told you, but I am a youngling witch. I truly have trouble maintaining my powers; it’s part of the maturing process of a witch. We need to familiarize ourselves, and that can take years.”
Fynn slowly claps his hands, the sound menacing. “What a show…”
“I’m not lying, Fynn!”
As if to prove a point, my shadows start to spread on their own, sensing the threat Fynn is becoming. Large, smoky tendrils surround and coil around me. Tears pool in the corners of my eyes as I beg him to believe me.
“I love seeing you like this,” he murmurs, and I see the straining of his cock.
I do my best to keep my face neutral, hiding the disgust I feel upon seeing that this arouses him, his wicked side, partially controlled by the curse. His handsome face twists into something unrecognizable. Small ash particles stir in the wind around me, their paths as fickle as the person responsible for them. The air is heavy with the sting of scorched earth and oil—a bitter, smoky scent. It smells like burning leaves and frying grease, mixed with the ghost of sulfur and ruined blossoms. I watch in horror as Fynn slowly sears through the fields, flowers dying, red turning black, as he forces the magic out with his own mind. Destroying where blood-red dahlia fields once bloomed.
I start to cough as the scent suffocates me. Fynn’s eyes are bloodshot, the tiny vessels in his eyes broken and turning red, his expression void of life as he seems to stare through my soul. Slowly, I begin to back up while I feverishly try to plan my escape, yet every option I think of has the same result: my body joining the ash of the ruined flowers. I never learned to shadow walk like the Umbra; I don’t even know if I’m powerful enough to do so.
“Where do you think you’re going? I never should have trusted a blood witch. Fuck, Caria, I think I was even in love with you, and what did you do? You danced circles around me, spinning your web of lies, while I blindly followed you. Ifuckingloved you.”
“Fynn, please, don’t hurt me. This isn’t you. I wasn’t lying!”
Completely absorbed by whatever darkness dwells within him, he ignores my every word. My skin starts to burn, and Ibite my lower lip as I try to withstand the pain threatening to consume me. Tiny bubbles and blisters begin to burst on my arm, while Fynn is frying me, without even touching me. Tears run down my face, but none of it fazes him. If anything, he seems to revel in my despair.
I apologize to Reiner, murmuring the words, for being an idiot, for leaving him like this, despite my promises. The idea of him shattering into a million pieces breaks my heart.
Out of nowhere, a large cloud of shadows forms near one of the weeping willows, and through my blurry vision, I swear I see the Umbra stepping out, and I laugh softly. My mind is playing desperate tricks on me. But if he is real, I pray he’s able to take out Fynn, but I have a nagging feeling that Fynn, with his newfound powers, is at the top of the food chain, and the Umbra no longer is. How can anyone defeat such strength, a magic designed to overcome the darkness?
I’m unable to keep my eyes open any longer, and I collapse. Unconsciousness takes over as I can no longer withstand the pain surging through my body. My skin slowly peels and curls, and I don’t have the energy to weave it back together, to heal myself.
A pair of soft, cold hands caresses my cheeks, waking me up, and I open my eyes, blinking until my vision clears. It’s Harlot’s face that looks back at me, worry marked on her soft, pretty features. Her long, black hair is held together by a French braid that drapes over her small shoulder. I want to get up, but she pushes me back down, her strength surprising me.
“Shh,” she soothes. “You need to rest. Your body is still healing itself, together with your magic.”
