Page 4

I stilled, nostrils flaring as I concentrated.

Beneath the metallic reek of fear, blood, and the king’s sour self-pity lingered something unfamiliar—a scent at the threshold of the cell. It was subtle, but I was a predator made for hunting.

I let my eyes fall shut.

There.

Beneath the magic, muffled but undeniable, was a steady thrum of a heartbeat. I turned on my heel and hurled the dagger toward the sound. It spun through the air before striking true.

A cry split the silence as the space near the entrance shimmered and tore. A woman flickered into existence, her form stuttering like a flame dragged back from smoke.

Wide hazel eyes darted between her king and me as she clutched her leg, the blade buried deep in her thigh.

Dreya.

I tilted my head, shadows tightening around me as my gaze followed her every movement, unblinking. She was frozen, blinking rapidly as if she could not believe I saw through her magic.

“This is the part where you run,” I growled. I let my shadows drop Vaylor to the floor behind me and the air whooshed out of him before he curled into a ball.

Pathetic.

The movement broke Dreya’s stillness and she turned and ran, flickering out of existence and leaving a trail of bright red blood splattering against the dark stone.

“It seems our meeting is over, Little King. I hope you have more to say next time... If you do not die from your injuries.”

My nostrils flared, but two steps into the chase and I paused.

What was I doing? This was not getting me any closer to Lyra.

Chasing Dreya would be a waste of my time, which was something I now found myself limited in.

I ran my hands through my hair, gripping the strands until it stung as much as my heart.

If Caelum had not figured out how to get to Lyra, I would tear the fucking kingdoms apart until I figured it out myself.

Shadows dove into my flesh, tearing me into nothing as I stepped into the familiar embrace of the darkness.

Chapter Two

Forced

Lyra

The wind tore past my face, stealing the scream from my lungs as I fell into the seven hells, still clutched to Helion’s chest.

His boots struck scorched earth with a dull, echoing crack, ash scattering around us in a slow, ghostly drift.

His arms remained steady beneath me, holding on to me as if I might disappear.

I blinked against the darkness, eyes adjusting before frantically looking around.

We were in a greyscale wasteland, almost as if all colour had been leeched alongside my hope at freedom.

Heat pressed against my skin, thick and suffocating, reminding me of the Fire Fates.

The ground beneath us glowed faintly through spiderweb cracks, as if something molten moved just beneath its surface.

Above us, where a sky should have been, there was nothing but thick oppressive smoke, but through it, there was one stream of light.