Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Ashwiyaa
“Everyone has light around them, except for you. You have shadows.” -Richelle Mead
"Ican’t do it!” I scream, my tiny fists balled at my sides, trembling with a mix of frustration and fear. The raw emotion surges through me, but I’m too young to fully understand it, too small to know how to handle it.
A low growl rumbles in response, deep and menacing, sending a jolt of terror through my body.
My eyes widen as I search the yard desperately for Penn, tears blurring my vision.
He’s normally always here, always stepping in to take some of his father’s wrath, shielding me from the worst of it. But today, he’s nowhere to be seen.
The slap comes, swift and stinging, snapping my head to the side. I knew it was coming, had even braced myself for it, but it still takes me by surprise. The shock of it ripples through me, making the tears I’ve been holding back spill over.
“Do not cry!” the voice booms, cold and merciless. “You are a warrior. A weapon. Now get up and try again!”
I curl in on myself, my small frame trembling. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to test my magic. It scares me, more than anything. More than the dragon shifter’s wrath, more than the sting of his slap, more than the cold, unyielding voice of Ryuk Kotov.
“You will go hungry until you obey. Now, do it!”
The threat of hunger gnaws at me, a familiar emptiness that I know all too well. Slowly, I force myself to stand, resolve hardening in the pit of my stomach. I can’t fail, not again.
“Please don’t consume me,” I beg silently, pleading with the dark magic that stirs within me, a force I don’t understand, a power I can’t control.
“It’s okay, child,” a voice whispers back, gentle and soothing, like a comforting embrace in the darkness.
“We have you,” another voice joins in, echoing the first, a promise of protection.
I whimper, the fear and uncertainty still clawing at me, but I quickly wipe away my tears. I can’t afford to show weakness, not here, not now. Not ever again.
I jolt awake, my heart pounding violently against my chest, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like a cold sweat.
My fingers tremble as I hurriedly brush my hands across my face, pushing the damp strands of hair away.
It’s been an eternity since I last encountered a nightmare, but this one felt different—more like a warning than just a bad dream.
I take a deep breath, trying to shake it off, but the unease lingers, coiling tight in the pit of my stomach. The impending confrontation with the Kotov brothers is what truly sets my nerves on edge. Just thinking about it makes my stomach churn with anxiety.