Chapter 39 A mockery of comfort
A mockery of comfort
ZARA
Pain seeps into my bones, constant and always twisting.
It digs deeper with every passing second.
I screamed and now I’ve stopped. There’s no point.
Every inch of my body is being ripped apart, piece by piece, and crying out won’t stop that.
The agony is inevitable and the only options that remain are to endure or succumb to it.
The blood weave thrums weakly in the background, but even it is fading, barely a whisper against the chaos that surrounds me.
Galen knows, and his gaze hardens. His eyes are as cold as the grave and they push down on me, willing me to collapse.
Every flicker of his attention is a lash across my skin, every word he utters a shard of glass that sinks further into my flesh.
“You’ll break,” he repeats, the confidence in his voice like a hammer striking an anvil. “It’s just a matter of time.”
I won’t.
I can’t.
My muscles scream for release and the raw ache of my bones protest every moment I’m forced to remain still.
There’s a part of me that wants to give in but the greater part knows I’m finished as soon as I do.
I know what happens when witches give in.
I’ve heard the stories. I’ve seen what’s left behind.
The hollowed-out husks left in place of the women they’ve robbed of everything, their eyes glazed and their magic spent.
They’re worse than dead.
They’re empty vessels.
And whatever was stolen from them cannot be returned.
Galen won’t just drain me. He’ll take everything that makes me who I am and twist it into something unrecognizable. Something worse than eternal agony. Something unspeakable and foul.
The air reeks of blood and rot, the sharp tang of iron coating my tongue. My arms are heavy, dangling from the bindings above me, wrists raw and slick with my blood. Every breath is an effort, and I force myself to draw the next one as I force myself to keep going.
I will not break.
I can not break.
I must not break.
Malric crouches closer, the same sick grin still plastered across his face. He’s savoring every second of this, and his crimson eyes burn brighter as my shoulder joints sink lower. His bony fingers trail over my arm and his touch makes bile rise in my throat.
“She’s close,” he murmurs to Galen, his tone triumphant. “I can feel it. Just a little more and she’ll be mine.”
His.
As though I’m some prize to claim or a tool to wield. My stomach churns with hatred, white-hot and simmering beneath the pain.
Galen’s expression darkens and danger flashes through his features.
Shadows ripple around him, subtle at first, but growing murkier with every passing second, like smoke curling from a fire that’s only just begun to rage.
His eyes shine with a sharpness that’s keener than malice.
He’s control wrapped around fury, his insanity barely held in check by his reason.
“She’s not yours, Malric,” he snaps, his voice as cutting as any whip.
Malric flinches, but his smirk doesn’t falter. “Not yet.”
I clench my teeth, biting back the scream that’s clawing its way up my throat.
Acid bubbles through my chest and my heart shudders, wondering where the fuck Kade could be.
He should be compelled to act by the blood weave, even if he didn’t truly care, dragging him like a moth drawn to a flame.
The ebon chain should have pulled him by now if it were working as it was supposed to, but instead, there’s an empty space where he should be.
And that void looms larger with every passing moment.
Doubt gnaws around the edges of my resolve and a cold whisper speaks against the heat of my pain. I close my eyes and pray I wasn’t wrong to believe in him, to put my faith in a warlock as despicable as Kade. My instincts told me not to trust him, but he seemed so sure.
Maybe I was wrong to believe that someone like me would find someone like him.
Maybe I was wrong to hope for something better, something that made sense.
Maybe the despair feels more binding than the rope cutting into my wrists, and my breath catches, jagged and shallow, as I contemplate the choices that led me here.
But I cannot think like that.
I cannot give in.
Or go under.
Even if hope feels like an echo of a long-forgotten memory, a fragment of reality I’m no longer sure exists.
A fleeting note carried on a wind too cruel to hold it for long.
It’s the glint of wings against a dying sun, a reminder that some things migrate far beyond my reach, chasing warmth that may never return.
Pain blows through me like a hurricane, shredding the fragile remnants of my strength, but I refuse to let it destroy me. I bend like reeds in the storm, my defiance supple where it could snap. Oaks fall, but reeds endure.
Malric circles me like a vulture, his presence overwhelming, his delight in my torment palpable. Those scarlet eyes I want to bore out stare into mine, and I hold his gaze, refusing to flinch. Not for him. Not for anyone. Not now. Not ever.
“She’s resilient,” Malric sneers, his claw-like finger dragging along my cheek, leaving a line of searing pain. The metallic tang of blood fills the air as he digs in just enough to break the skin. “But even the strongest steel bends when the fire is hot enough. Don’t you agree, Galen?”
Galen doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on me, his expression a mask of control wrapped around a core of seething fury. Shadows ripple around him again, twisting and writhing as though they’re alive. The air grows colder, the shadows darker, but Malric seems unbothered.
Instead, Malric steps closer. Too close. His breath is hot against my skin, and the stink of sulfur and decay makes me want to retch.
“Perhaps a more direct approach will help her understand,” he purrs, his tone oily and insidious.
Before I can brace myself, his claws slice down my arm, leaving ribbons of burning pain in their wake.
Blood flows freely, hot and thick, pooling at my feet.
He moves quickly, efficiently, his claws biting into my flesh again and again, painting me in my own blood.
The agony is blinding, each new wound an explosion of fire beneath my skin.
Malric works quickly, methodically, his movements almost clinical despite the perverse delight twisting his face.
Each new strike of his claws bites deeper, carving into my flesh with brutal precision.
The air reeks of copper and sulfur, a nauseating mix that clings to my lungs with every shallow breath I manage.
My body is a canvas, and Malric is painting his masterpiece in crimson streaks.
My screams rip through the silence, raw and guttural, but they only seem to spur him on. His grin stretches wider, revealing sharp, predatory teeth that gleam in the dim light.
“Stop playing with her,” Galen snaps suddenly, his voice sharp and cutting through the oppressive atmosphere like the crack of a whip. His tone is cold, but there’s a dark, unsettling edge to it that’s more depraved than mere annoyance. “You’ll ruin her.”
Malric pauses, his claws hovering over my abdomen, but the grin remains, even as his gaze flickers toward Galen. He presses down slowly, deliberately, the sharp tips puncturing my skin. My body arches instinctively, and a scream tears from my throat, the sound echoing off the chamber walls.
“I’m only preparing her, Galen,” Malric says, his voice dripping with mockery, his words slow and measured like a hyena savoring its meal. “A vessel like this requires refinement. You, of all people, should understand that.”
Galen steps forward, the air around him shifting as shadows surge outward like living things, twisting and writhing with malevolent purpose. The temperature in the room plummets, the oppressive chill sinking into my bones, turning my blood to ice even as it pools beneath me.
“That’s enough, Malric,” Galen says, his voice low and heavy, carrying a weight that presses against my chest. His tone is laced with venom, and its dark promise sends a shiver down my spine. “I don’t like others ruining my toys.”
Malric’s grin falters, a flicker of unease crossing his features. The tension in the room thickens, the air vibrating with the clash of unspoken power between them.
“She’s on the brink, Galen.”
The confidence in Malric’s voice wavers ever so slightly. His claws remain poised, the faint tremor in his hand betraying his unease.
“I decide when she’s ready,” Galen replies.
The shades around him deepen, spreading outward like a tide of ink, consuming the light and swallowing the space with their evil.
The power radiating from Kade’s brother is palpable, a force that makes the air vibrate and hum with latent violence.
Even Malric is afraid, and his crimson eyes flicker as his fear dances through them.
Silence stretches through the chamber, heavy and fraught, as if the room itself is holding its breath. Time stops moving and I swing from the ceiling, a pendulum that moves unbidden as the world waits for what happens next.
“Of course,” Malric says smoothly. “I live to serve.”
The words drip with mockery but his claws withdraw, the sting they leave behind another fresh wave of pain that washes over me.
He steps back, but the malice in his gaze lingers, his satisfaction tainted with defiance.
Galen’s shadows seem to pulse, pressing outward with deliberate menace, and the space between them crackles with unspoken challenge.
“I don’t recall granting you permission to indulge yourself,” Galen says, his voice lethally calm, a predator’s growl beneath the surface. His fingers twitch at his sides, shadows coiling tighter, their edges sharp enough to cut.
Malric hesitates, his lips curling back in a snarl that bares his teeth.
“You’ve grown possessive, Galen,” he spits, his mockery now laced with bitterness. “A power like hers is wasted on your whims.”