“Goodbye, Marcella.”
Devin pulls her arm and sweeps her off into the night.
Fifty-Five
- LYRA -
Devin’s grip is tight on my arm, eyes wide as he scans the hallways and runs us down it. Flashes of the beast race in my mind. Horns protruding from his skull, talons cracking the tiles. Long tail whipping back and forth as those black eyes found me in the night. That indescribable, all-consuming heat of magic that pulsed over me.
Infatuatedme.
Until all I could be was desperate and hungry for it. I became addicted to the power. Drawn to touch the beast and take more. Willing and eager for anything he’d give me. And when he took me as he did, I couldn’t help but be a willing participant.
Maybe I should be ashamed I gave in. But I can’t. It felt like fate somehow wound itself into my bones, my soul. Not a lick of fear quivered within me.
Even as the beast’s voice still echoes within the halls.
You cannot run from me.
I shudder at the intention in its voice. A death threat to all who dare stand in the way.
Devin pulls me into the hideaway room he took me all those nights ago. The pain in my head returns as soon as Devin closes the door. Winding with the roaring of the beast. Every time it spikes through me, I flinch forward.
Devin gently guides me over to a chair as I struggle to keep a straight spine. I collapse down into it, overcome by the rushing wave of the creature’s presence in me.
“Lyra,” Devin pants, searching my face and kneeling in front of my chair. Those golden eyes search my face with intense concern. “I am so, so sorry. That—” His shoulders fall in a deep sigh. Voice tight with desperation as he repeats, “I am so sorry.”
I hold a hand up to him before the room begins to spin. That familiar shot of pain rips through my head even stronger, forcing me to arch back against the chair with a cry.
The beast’s magic courses through my veins, pulsing and burning.
What if I’m not strong enough to contain? To handle it?
Warm hands grab mine. Warm, calloused, and?—
I’m swept into a memory.
Three years ago.
I jiggle the key into the lock, shivering despite how much I tense against the cold. The lock itself is rusty, sure, but it likely doesn't help I can’t even stand still. Eyes are heavy on my back.
“S-sorry…” I murmur as I work the key harder. “I-it tends to st-stick.”
A warm hand brushes over mine. “Here, let me try it.”
I freeze, glancing up at the soldier who offers to open it. Slowly I slip my hand out of his, his golden eyes round on mine for a long moment before he blinks and works to unlock the door. He does so after a moment, twisting the handle and pushing open the door as it swings wide with a creak.
Seems silly to be locking a place like this.
I imagine it’s going through their heads, too, as the soldier and his other three comrades peer into the dark building.
It’s not nearly as impressive as it once was. Once upon a time it had been a gorgeous forge for dragonblades, but now it’s little more than a stone frame with its roof caved in. And the rain only highlights the ruin. Sheets of droplets pour in through the center of the building, collecting in a massive pool. Other parts of the roof still standing leak, littering other muddied puddles around the space.
I gesture them inside, waiting until they all enter before I do. While thebuilding does provide some shelter from the wind, I’m already soaked to the bone. My thin flats are drenched.
“Where were the materials originally stored?” one soldier asks.
I walk toward the direction of the far corner, finding no opportunity to miss the puddles. My flats sink and squish in the mud, and water slips up past my ankles.
