A pull, like talons sinking deep into my chest, drags at my soul. My vision swims, the hunger to run surging again, and I thrash against my bindings. I kick off the blankets covering me. My limbs strain and my body contorts.
Whoever tied this was cautious. A growl builds in my throat, vibrating through my bones.
Movement draws my attention to the side, and I see the blue-skinned warrior with silver hair and a gaze like that of tempered steel. He was there the last time I awoke, intruding in my room. He stood in my path just as he does now.
I… think I know him.
His presence tugs at something buried deep, but he is not the one I seek.
He is in your way. Kill him, as you did the other. Use a knife, and I will guide you. Or better yet, use your fingers.
This voice is different from the first that spoke to my mind. Deeper. More ancient.
You will like the feel of his blood on your skin.
My lips peel back, exposing my teeth. My body lurches against the restraints. Rip. Tear. Kill—just as I had the other one.
I salivate for his death.
Then—another voice, fragile, distant, yet familiar.
Stop!
It is my voice. The words flicker at the edges of my mind, an ember in the storm of my thoughts. My breath hitches.
“Arlet,” the man before me murmurs, his voice impossibly soft. It is strange that a thing so delicate engulfs me so entirely.
The sound wraps around me, tugging me back from the precipice.
And then I slip, my focus breaks.
I flinch,panting and shivering. My muscles lock as the monstrous desire inside me fights to reclaim its hold. I am trapped between control and ruin.
Vann crouches beside me, the moonlight catching the silver in his hair. The glow casts long, flickering shadows over his sharp features, his expression unreadable yet unwavering. He does not flinch. Does not step back. Instead, he reaches forward, his hand pressing against my arm, solid and warm.
I snarl and try to bite him. It is involuntary.
“Easy, Firelocks. I see your eyes. I know the darkness is retreating.” His voice, quiet but unshaken, slips through the madness and settles deep in my soul.
I shudder. My body trembles, my instincts scream, but I do not lunge. I do not snap.
Tears burn, hot against the cold sheen of my skin. I am so tired. “Vann, I?—”
“I know.”
His fingers curl gently around my neck, grounding me. The hunger writhes. He brushes a loose strand of hair from my face, his touch so cold and careful that it sends a sharp pang through my chest.
“You’re going to be all right,” he says, not as a question, but as a certainty.
The exhaustion surges forward, dragging me down like a wave. The voice in the dark still whispers, but it is fainter now.
Exhaustion from a full day of walking returns. It almost makes me forget I am tied up.
The thought of ropes bound around me again should make me afraid, but I find myself welcoming the barrier between me and Vann.
Ropes symbolized a lack of power in my life—something that had resulted in a loss. Now, something lurks inside of me so frighteningly powerful that I must be restrained to avoid killing.
“Vann, I heard a voice,” I murmur.