“There are no other children, Arianette.”
My uncle stands before me, his face shifting like smoke, eyeshollowed by the light. The fire builds around us–slow at first, then greedy. Heat breathes against my back, licking up my spine. I can’t tell where the room ends or where the flames begin.
“Your mind plays tricks on you. You know that.”
He’s right. But also wrong.The children. The children…
I’ve seen them. Heard their laughter echo down the halls. Felt their tiny hands tugging at my skirts, soft hair brushing my palms. They’re real. Theywerereal.
“Liar!”I scream, the word cracking in my throat.“Where are they? Where did you hide them?”
The air warps. The beams above us groan and blister. My uncle looks up, mouth open–not speaking, just a shape of terror before the sound disappears into the fire. The scream melts before it reaches me, swallowed whole by the heat.
The world folds inward–light, ash, sound–and then–
I jolt awake. My body rigid. The scream trapped behind my teeth. Smoke clings to me even now, days later, that faint trace of ash forever lodged in my lungs. I smell it all the time. I think it’s inside me.
I shiver, not just from the memory. My skin is damp, cold with sweat. Heart beating in my chest. I’m back there. I’m here. I’m bent over, rod thrashing against my backside. I’m in the woods. Armand’s body pressed against mine.
Blood spilled.
Eyes vacant.
I’m not alone.
I sense him before I’m fully awake. It’s not the King. He doesn’t lurk. He owns the room. It’s not Damon. I haven’t seen him since the hospital. I don’t need to ask why. He risked his life for me. He’s angry. They’reallangry, blaming me for running, for the fire, for the hurt and pain.
No. I’m familiar with the person hiding in the shadows. I’ve felt his blade. Tasted his skin. He watches because he has to. Always watching. Never touching. Something holds him back–a darkness that shifts under his skin, behind his eyes.
A darkness that itches under my skin, a scab I want to pick and peel.
“Hunter?” I whisper, voice dry from disuse. “Is that you?”
There’s a beat. The longest moment, where I start to wonder if I imagined it. If I’ve imagined everything. Maybe none of this is real. The House of Night, or the King’s room, or the wedding, or the hunt.
“Your mind plays tricks on you. You know that.”
Maybe I’m still there. Still locked away in that other cage. The sounds of sobs throbbing in the back of my head.
Maybe… except, I hear the slightest movement, followed by a low command. “Komm.”
Then the door eases shut with a quiet snick, and once again, I’m alone.
Sleep rips away,replaced by rough hands on my arms and the clang of iron.
“No!” I shout even though I don’t know who I’m fighting. Real? Dream? I push away the murkiness and force my eyes open.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
Real.
The iron door of the cage swings open with a metallic groan that echoes in the dim room. My heart slams against my ribs, confusion crashing over me like a wave, my solitude shattered.
I blink again into the low light, disoriented, my body stiff from the confines, but instinct kicks in fast. The scents hit me first: the clean edge of masculinity mingled with something wilder, feral. It's Damon and Hunter. No one else moves like this, silent predators closing in.
