CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Verena
THE AIR WAS COLD. EMPTY.
It seeped into my skin, filling the emptiness of my bones.
The dungeon reeked of mildew and old blood, every breath a mouthful of rust. Chains vibrated with each tremor in the stone around, the walls themselves carrying the screams etched into them.
Gemma’s blood clung to me, the memory of her voice still echoing. Though the curse, the Viper…there was only silence there.
Gone.
The haze cleared slowly—
“Welcome back, Verena.” Reve’s voice twisted out of the dark as he clicked his tongue, almost playful. “Gone so soon? Come now, we’ve barely begun.”
My head jerked up as he yanked it back by the roots. His hand was slick with blood, mine or someone else’s, it was impossible to know.
Time had become meaningless. I’d been strapped to this chair long enough for the stone to warm beneath me. Long enough for the thin shaft of light beyond the bars to wither and fade. But I couldn’t remember days or hours.
“Fuck you,” I rasped.
A fist split across my face as he laughed. The second blow landed before the groan left my lips.
Same angle. Same bone. He liked the pattern. He wanted me to remember.
I spat blood onto the floor, eyes watering as the ache swelled to more agony. “Ow.”
The word alone sparked more torture, sending shocks down my jaw. Talking hurt. Breathing hurt. Existing hurt. I refused to let him see any of it.
“You punch like a child,” I coughed, grinning through red. “No offense.”
The air shifted, becoming suffocating and thin. Both pouring from the glower across his face as he crept closer.
“Excuse me?”
I blinked sluggishly. “Why did it take youtwopunches to break my nose?” More tears threatened as blood streamed down my face. “Your magic is pain, congrats by the way, so that’s just embarrassing.”
Knuckles cracked as he flexed his hands. “It was broken the first time.”
Don’t say it, Verena. Don’t fuel it—
“Was it, though?”
The coldness of his stare never broke, but the whistle of air through his clenched teeth gave away what his body tried not to.
It was then I knew I had fucked up.
My throat cinched shut. Not from his hands, just crushing pressure. Air vanished as panic tore through me—black tunneling in, shackles rattling while my arms jerked against the chair, desperate to claw at what wasn’t there.
Five seconds. Ten. Thirty. A minute—
Then release.
My lungs burned, a jagged wheeze rasping free. He didn’t give me time to recover before fresh pain detonated up my leg, bones screaming as they shattered.
I screamed with them.
