Chapter 22 #2
A smeared trail of something dark drags along the floors from beyond the hallway to the doors of the dining hall. One of the runners is scrunched.
I tighten my grip so as to not drop my blade.
What in the hells? Where is Devin? The guards? Are we under attack?
The memory of the Dark Seer’s vision thrums within me—black blood filling the castle. That vibration stirs again. My blood freezes as something flashes within the shadows of the reflected hall.
Not a vibration.
A growl.
Deep beyond any human comprehension. Eyes like a serpent’s blink open, staring back at me through the darkness. Through the mirror. It prowls forward, still cloaked in shadow that I can’t make out anything but its glowing gaze.
I don’t run.
I can’t.
That’s not who I am.
And if some woman has been dragged from her bed and is lying bleeding out, it’s my duty to do what I can to save her. So I drop any sense of self-preservation and step out from the corner to meet the creature.
The hallway is empty.
Quiet.
No beast is at the end waiting to pounce. No glowing eyes in the shadows. No sinister liquid smeared on the floors, or even a scrunched rug.
Everything is…normal.
Am I seeing things?
Fighting against my instincts screaming at me to turn and run, I inch my way down the hall. My dagger is drawn and pointed. My attention focused mostly on the spot I had seen the eyes, but flicking to my left and right as I move down the hallway.
My muscles tense in anticipation as I get to the doors into the dining room. Taking one last long look at the shadows near the end of the hall, I slowly crouch down to run a hand over where I swore I saw the runner scrunched. Where there was a dark trail.
A flicker in the corner of my eye catches my attention. I turn back to face the shadowed end of the hallway. Raising my blade, I point it right where I had seen those eyes last. Right where they aren’t.
Holding my stance, allowing my breath to be the only thing that moves me, I lock into the spot. Waiting for a glimmer. A shift. Something to prove that what I saw was real.
The longer the time ticks by, the more foolish I feel. Swallowing away my pride, I lower my hand. Today was too much. It’s taking such a toll on me that I’m seeing things. Sleep deprivation and intense stress can cause hallucinations—both were commonly seen when torturing prisoners.
“What in the hells are you doing up?” someone hisses behind me.
I jump to my feet and face the voice. Devin.
In the few seconds I take to slow down—to gather my breath, even my pulse, and lower my arm, I answer, “Cyrus called for me.”
Genuine confusion knits his eyebrows before they fall into something harder. Like suspicion. “Did he now?”
I take a slow step back. “Yes. He did.”
“Then why are you out here?” He motions down the hallway. “His office is not in this direction.”
“I-I heard a scream.”
For a moment, he looks completely confused. “What…scream?”
“Do not act dense!” I hiss, tossing my head down the hall behind me. “If you’re here, you have to have heard it!”
His eyes slide to the dagger in my hand. Slowly, he says, “Marcella, why do you have a dagger?”
I shake my head, taking another step back from him, but he follows my movements, maintaining our same distance. Another and another until we’ve caught a quick pace and I raise my blade to his throat.
He freezes. Hands splayed wide before his face. “Marcella, why do you have a dagger?”
“I found it,” I grunt.
His eyes narrow. “I’ve always known you as a liar.”
“Perhaps I just never liked you enough to trust you,” I spit back.
“Or you’re still upset I turned you down.”
I scoff, then it turns into a laugh as I press the blade to his neck. “Oh, Devin. Memories or not, you could never trick me into thinking you’re attractive. And even if I thought you were, your personality would be enough to disgust me.”
A corner of his mouth lifts as he looks from my feet and back to my face. With a single gauntleted finger, he pushes my blade down off his neck. “Good then. I didn’t quite enjoy flicking you off every time you came dropping to your knees before me.”
My grip tightens on my dagger’s hilt as I rip the blade out from under his fingertip. Ignoring him, I press on, “You heard that scream, too. You’re lying.”
“Marcella, you’ve had a long day. You’re hallucinating—”
“Now who’s the liar!” I snap.
“Perhaps…you’re not in the right state to have that dagger.” He takes a step toward me.
I ready my stance once more as I warn, “You will not take it from me.”
Another step closer as he says gently, “Marcella…give me the dagger before you hurt yourself.”
“Take one more step, and the only one I’ll be hurting is you.”
He sinks into a crouch, as if readying to crawl to me. He mutters under his breath, too low for me to discern. Unable to take my eyes off him for long, I take step after step back from him.
He launches at my legs, and I lunge out of the way as he captures my skirts.
We both hit the floor with a solid thump, before I scramble onto my forearms. I kick my legs to free myself from his grip, but he works his way up.
His hard body slides up the backs of my legs, over my rear, onto my back.
He pins me down with his chest, shoving me to the floor as I spew, “Get off of me!”
“Give me your dagger. Now!” he barks.
Worming my way out from underneath him, I twist until I’m looking up at his face. Rearing my head back, I slam my forehead into his nose as hard as I can.
Bellowing, he crumples, taking one hand off my forearm as he cups his bleeding nose and tries to keep his weight on my waist. His strong legs bracket me, while his other hand pins my wrist with the dagger.
It’s too damn bad that he either forgot—or didn’t know—I can wield with both hands.
I flip my dagger from my right hand and slice it across his chest plate as he dodges just in time to land it to his throat.
“Don’t make me do this, Marcella!” he snarls.
“Get off me!” I snap back and swipe again toward his face.
Grunting, he rolls off me as I follow him up off my back and onto my hands and knees. He grabs a vase nearby before I can scramble away, and slams it into my head.
Everything turns black.