I glance at Emrys in sorrow as he struggles against the constant pull of his shadows. EvenInow feel their desperation, their clawing for consolation, and I can’t imagine how Emrys must experience their demand for attention. We have practiced my summoning of his shadows, and although it’s improving, it’s still unreliable, rendering me useless. It's a fickle and malevolent power, not easy to master. The markings have spread despite my inability to control them properly. Each attempt made them multiply. My entire leg and part of my hip bear Emrys’s mark now, but none of that seems to matter when I try to conjure them. I've noticed that improvement in summoning them occurs when my emotions are intense, such as anger or sorrow, butwhen I feel happy or neutral, the results are unpredictable. I hear their voices slither into my mind, yet they remind me of background noises—inaudible whispers I haven’t been able to decipher yet.
I want to support Emrys, but I don’t know what helpful hand I can offer as I’m unable to share the burden with him. Instead, I sit with him in silence, the oppressive stillness weighing on the room. But this silence is full of answers. He pulls me into an embrace, his face buried in my raven-colored hair.
“Their distress is pressing on me,” he whispers into my locks.
“If you want to go, all you have to do is tell me, my love.”
“I refuse to bring you into danger, Tempest.”
“What is it then that bothers you so?” I ask.
“It’s the despair of my shadows, their crying out for hers, because her shadows are just as much a part of mine as the ones buried beneath my flesh. Their call for help is one that’s hard to ignore.”
I pull back and look up at him, his dark gray eyes revealing the turmoil he's experiencing every second we sit here. My lips find his, a soft, encouraging kiss, as my tongue glides against his. It’s a distraction, and we both know it. Even I feel the soft pull, the scream for aid. As he breaks our kiss, a shiver runs down my spine, not one of arousal, but one of fear. I know the words Emrys will speak before he says them, our minds interlinked.
I hush him, placing my finger on his lips. He gazes at me in defeat; none of this is what he wants.
“I know,” is all I say.
We must leave; neglecting the cries of terror is no longer an option as they become louder with each heartbeat.
“Should I change?” I ask suddenly, aware that wearing a dress could be an inconvenience in combat.
“You will not fight this battle, my love. If there is anything that even remotely threatens your existence, we take our departure. I don’t care about anyone else but you. Only your safety is what matters to me.”
He tilts my chin and gently kisses my nose.
“Therefore, you don’t need to change. Also, I like this dress on you; the way it hugs your figure is perfect. It brings out your strong points.”
I giggle softly as his eyes roam over my body, lingering briefly on the split that reveals my untouched thigh. Unwilling to waste more time, Emrys wraps his strong arms around me, and we submerge ourselves in the darkness of his shadows.
We arrive at the same flower field, covered in red dahlias, that we visited some time ago, to whisk Caria away. It used to remind me of a pool of blood, but most of them are now burned and dead. This time, a blanket of white mist covers the area, the humidity leaving small droplets of water on my skin, and goosebumps prick up. The ghostly fog blurs our surroundings into a nightmare of distorted imagery as we glance around. The tall trees bordering the lake stand there gloomily, as their branches weep softly. Slowly, the mist thins out, returning our vision, and several figures become visible.
A loud, cackling laughter catches my attention, and I jerk my head toward the sound. I’d recognize that sickening sound anywhere; my brother, Fynn.
“Is he trying to kill the Death witch again?” I whisper to Emrys.
He wearily shakes his head.
I don’t think this is about the youngling, Tempest. Your brother is fixed on you this time. This is not good, it’s a trap.
Before we can make a move, my brother steps in on us. Using his magic, the cursed Aurum that consumes him, he manages to confine Emrys, who does his best to withstand the burning but cannot break free from the cage Fynn created.
“Take her for me, Faas,” my brother commands the dhampir, who’s instantly behind me.
“My apologies, this is not personal,” he says as he grabs me, his sharp claws digging into my flesh, drawing blood.
I let out a sharp shriek at the invasion, the sensation stinging. The dhampir locks eyes with Emrys as he lifts my arm, and he flicks his long tongue out, like the serpent he is. I feel the slimy muscle slither across my skin while he laps at the small droplets of blood that seep out. Tears begin to form as I try to stay strong, and I see how Emrys’s eyes darken, beyond black—his eyes void of any color—as the rage brews inside him. A storm that will unleash unthinkable terrors. I gasp silently at the sight. The dhampir doesn’t seem to realize that the only thing keeping Emrys at bay right now is my brother’s magic, a magical cage that rattles, as its lock does its best to keep him trapped.
Sweat beads on Emrys’s forehead, matting his black hair, but he stands up, fighting against the invisible, scorching shackles my brother created. One small step, after another, he moves toward the dhampir and me. His pacing is painfully slow, but his target is clear, as a low rumble escapes him.
“Bring her here!” my brother shouts, startling the monstrosity that holds me in place, his eyes fixed on the Umbra closing in on us.
I hear the dhampir swallow slowly. The feral guttural sound Emrys just released is a warning that rattles even him.
“When I’m done,” he snarls at Fynn.
Astonished, I freeze in place as the dhampir eagerly starts to suck at my skin. Goosebumps cover my body in disgust.
