The woman I sense at the edge of my consciousness. The woman whose heart and body call to me, demanding that I come to her, demanding that I give her everything she desires, demanding that I hold nothing back from her.
And then?—
The light sparks, a final flash. It vanishes as quickly as it began.
Every emotion I welcomed into my body, mind, and heart rushes away from me even as I try to hold on to them, slipping away like water draining through my fingers.
My roar turns to ice as my cold heart takes control once more, and I’m left empty. Thirsty. So fuckingbitterwith the knowledge that my needs will never be met. Needs that are far more acute now I’ve tasted what has been denied to me.
The female Oracle.Shehas been denied to me.
My surroundings crash back into view: the dry sand, the burning village, my wolf’s white fur, her alarmed growls, her nose nudging my back, her concern strongly indicating she wasn’t affected like I was. She might not have even seen the golden light.
I thump my fist againstthe sand, sending rivers of ice cascading out in front of me, safely away from my wolf, turning the hot granules beneath my knees to snow.
My resolve has only strengthened.
I need to find the Oracle before my enemies do.
I need to claim her body and soul. I need tofeelagain, and she is the key.
Just as I stand, a woman’s scream peels through the air, reaching me across the distance, painfully sharp in my hearing.
A cry of challenge and grief.
Andpower.
Her shout rises above the chaos of the burning village, calling me as surely as a bell ringing out across a snowy field, as strongly as melting ice dripping from a thatched roof, as certainly as a falling snowflake landing softly on my palm.
Without another moment’s hesitation, I leap onto my wolf’s back, urging her northward in the direction of the scream.
The female Oracle is there.
She’s challenging me to come and get her.
She must be mine.
Chapter Five
Thyra
As the blade’s power rages through me, a scream of agony tears from my throat.
Never have I felt so helpless. Never have I been so mindless with pain, not even when I felt the cut of an iron blade or the scorch of Ember fire.
My hand is clamped around the wrapped blade’s hilt, gripping it above the cross-guard, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t let go. I can’t seem to unfurl my fist.
The dagger’s power has locked itself onto me.
I beat my fist with my other hand, trying to knock my fingers open, but it’s no use.
The most I can do is extend my arm, trying to hold the blade as far from my body as possible, but it brings no relief. Agony continues to strike through my arm and into my chest, radiating through every part of my body.
It’s paralyzing, stripping me of my own free will.
Just as I’m certain I’m about to pass out, the cloth begins to uncoil. It starts at the tip, an unraveling that sends my senses into an even greater spiral.
With everyswish-swishof the unfurling cloth, it’s as if another blade is scraping at the surface of my heart, shredding pieces off it, peeling layers away, attempting to dig right down to the core of me.
