Chapter 33
ESME
The Forest of Verith looms before us.
Ancient trees twist together into a solid wall of darkness, their trunks thick and warped into shapes that look uncannily like misshapen faces. I can’t shake the feeling that they’re watching me.
Yet the canopy above is so thick it kills almost all the light. Only a few weak beams manage to sneak through, cutting pale lines across the ground.
I shiver despite myself. “Well, your mother certainly knows how to pick a vacation spot…”
Dayn’s hand finds mine, his heat a welcome anchor against the unnatural chill that’s spilling from the forest.
“Verith was old when my great grandfather was young,” he says. “It’s older than most recorded history.”
“And now it houses an immortal witch,” I murmur. Apparently the precise witch we need to help get rid of the spiritual chokehold my dead grandmother put on me. “Guess that tracks.”
We stand at the threshold, neither of us seeming quite ready to step across that invisible boundary. It feels like the air at the forest’s edge shimmers with some kind of warning—not a physical barrier, but… a spiritual one. It presses against my senses like a migraine building behind my eyes.
“I can feel them,” I whisper suddenly. “Spirits… Hundreds of them.”
I dare take a few steps closer. They’re somewhere beyond sight, a pressure against my spiritual awareness. Unlike the ancestral guardians of our coven, these feel different. Seriously ancient. Feral. Hungry.
Dayn nods darkly. “Salome has probably bound them here as her first line of defense. They’ll attack anything that tries to enter uninvited.”
“And we don’t have an invitation.”
His mouth curves in a humorless smile. “Not exactly.”
I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. “Shall we get this over with, then?”
He doesn’t let go of my hand as we step forward together, crossing the boundary.
The effect is immediate and visceral, like plunging into ice water. The air grows heavy, oppressive, thick with the weight of what feels like centuries. My lungs struggle to expand against the pressure.
The spirits swarm us without warning.
They materialize from the shadows between trees, translucent figures with elongated limbs and faces contorted in rage.
Their forms flicker and shift, never quite settling on a single shape.
I’ve never seen anything quite like these before.
All of them scream—a cacophony of spiritual fury that batters against my mind.
I throw up a shield of shadow magic, the darkness coalescing around us like a dome. “There’s too many,” I hiss.
Dayn’s eyes flare molten gold. Fire erupts from his palms, spiraling outward in a protective ring. Where flame meets spirit, the entities shriek and recoil, their forms temporarily scattered.
“Keep moving,” he growls. “Don’t stop.”
We push forward, step by agonizing step. The forest fights us with every inch gained. Roots suddenly writhe from the earth, snaking around my ankles. I slash downward with a blade of shadow, severing them, but more rise to take their place.
A spirit—larger than the others, with a strange crown of antlers and hollow pits where eyes should be—lunges through my shield. Its spectral nails rake across my shoulder, and actual pain explodes through me, cold and sharp as a blade of ice. I cry out, my concentration faltering.
Dayn’s grip on my hand tightens hard enough to hurt. “Stay with me, Esme.”
The cold from the antlered spirit feels like it’s seeping into my marrow, trying to freeze my very heart. I stumble, my knees hitting the loamy, rot-scented earth, and for a second, the darkness of Verith feels like it’s swallowing my vision.
Dayn hauls me against his side, his body a furnace of heat that hits my frozen shoulder like a cauterizing iron. I gasp, the air rushing back into my lungs. His arm is steely around my waist, anchoring me to the physical world while the spiritual one tries to shred us.
“I’m here,” I rasp, my fingers digging into the hard muscle of his forearm. “I’ve got the shadows. You keep the fire.”
It seems to be a rhythm we’ve found without trying, a synchronization of blood and bone that feels older than our names.
I reach out with my free hand, my Salem heritage surging up as a weapon.
This time, I don’t just summon shadows; I attempt to command the very gloom of Verith itself.
I weave the darkness into jagged, obsidian spikes that erupt from the ground, impaling the lesser wisps that dare to drift too close.
Beside me, Dayn becomes a storm of gold and amber. He lashes out with arcs of white-hot flame, the fire roaring with a hunger that’s fed by our blood-deep bond, by the combination of both of our magic.
“They feed on fear and hesitation,” he says, voice tight with focus.
“Right,” I grit out. “I’ll just turn that off.”
“Should be easy, with me by your side.”
I don’t have a second to roll my eyes as we move like one organism.
When I step left to dodge a weeping, translucent widow-spirit, Dayn pivots with me, his shoulder bracing my arm, his fire providing the light my shadow-sight needs to aim.
When he overextends to blast a cluster of feral shades, I’m already there, my dark magic snaking out to catch the spirit trying to flank his blind side.
It starts to feel almost like a dance, more than combat.
And in the heat of it, with the screams of a hundred dead creepers ringing in my ears, I feel the bond between us hum like a live wire.
A bright, sharp tether. I can feel the thrum of his heart against my ribs, the sheer, arrogant certainty of his will.
He’s doing more than just protecting me.
He’s trusting me. He’s leaving his back open because he knows I’m there to cover it.
“The pressure’s peaking,” Dayn shouts over the screaming spectral sounds. “We’re getting closer.”
The forest itself seems to realize it.
Branches suddenly reach down, lashing at us like whips. One snags my hair, yanking my head back painfully. Dayn’s free hand slashes upward, severing it with a blade of fire. The branch falls away, writhing like a wounded snake.
“This place really doesn’t want visitors,” I gasp, ducking under another reaching limb.
“Too bad,” Dayn replies, his eyes scanning the twisted path ahead.
“And this is some impressive animation mag—”
My voice cuts off as a massive root erupts from the ground, thick as a tree trunk itself, barreling toward us like a battering ram.
I react instinctively, dropping to one knee and driving my palm into the earth.
Shadow magic pulses from my fingertips, racing along the ground to meet the oncoming root.
The shadows split it down the middle, cleaving it apart just before it can crush us.
Dayn doesn’t waste the opening. He pulls me forward through the gap, and we sprint several yards before the forest can regroup.
“Nice move,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I quip.
“Careful,” Dayn replies, his hand sliding from my waist to my shoulder, pulling me flusher against his heat. “If you keep impressing me, I might start thinking you actually enjoy being my wife.”
I duck under a low-hanging, necrotic vine that reeks of old graves. “I enjoy the part where you’re a giant, fire-breathing space heater. The rest of the package is still under review.”
“Your review process is glacial,” he counters, his amber eyes sparking as he incinerates a hovering shade. “I’m starting to think you’re just stalling for another coronation in the Crown Hall.”
“In your dreams, dragon,” I mutter, though the heat in my face has nothing to do with his flames. “Focus on the path. I’d hate for a tree to be the thing that finally shuts you up.”
“Nothing’s managed it in centuries,” he replies, his thumb grazing my wrist. “I’m not betting on the trees.”
The deeper we go, the more vicious—or desperate?—the attacks become. The forest itself seems to be waking up, its ancient rage focusing on the intruders who dare to breach its defenses.
I’ve got to admit this woman is good. If I survive this, I should get automatic tenure at Darkbirch.
A wall of thorny vines erupts before us, each spine glistening with what looks suspiciously like poison. Before I can even think of a counter, Dayn spins me toward him, one arm wrapping around my waist.
“Hold tight,” he murmurs, his eyes meeting mine for a heartbeat.
Then we’re… airborne. He’s leapt upward with inhuman strength—the kind I’ve never seen him exhibit before in human form—carrying both of us over the wall of thorns.
For a moment, we’re suspended, my body pressed against his, his heat enveloping me.
Time seems to slow down. I’m acutely aware of every point where our bodies touch—his arm around my waist, my hands gripping his shoulders, our faces inches apart.
His eyes lock onto mine and something sharp and stupidly real cuts through the panic. Not magic. Not fear. Just… us.
Then gravity remembers we exist, and we’re dropping again. We land hard on the other side of the thorns, the impact jarring, but Dayn absorbs most of it, his heart thudding a heavy, triumphant rhythm against my own.
“Showoff,” I wheeze, trying to find my lungs.
“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘savior’,” he murmurs, his eyes scanning the gloom for the next nightmare.
My gaze catches a flicker of silver deeper in the woods. “Save the drama for the witch,” I breathe. “I’ve a feeling we’re being watched.”
The shadows ahead stop twisting. Instead, they settle into a heavy, expectant stillness… and I realize the spirits have retreated, replaced by a silence so absolute it feels like an almost physical pressure.
“She should be waiting,” Dayn murmurs, his hand sliding down to interlace with mine. “Stay close. If she’s still alive and anything like the legends, she won’t appreciate guests who can’t keep up with her wit.”
“Then you’re in serious trouble,” I retort, squeezing his hand. “Good thing you brought a professional.”
The trees thin slightly, their twisted trunks giving way to reveal a small clearing ahead.
My breath catches in my throat as I spot it—a cottage so ancient it looks like it’s grown organically.
Roots and vines form its walls, woven together so tightly they might as well be stone.
The roof looks like it’s made of overlapping layers of bark and moss.
A movement catches my eye near the door of the cottage, just a flicker like moonlight on water. I squint through the gloom, my hand tightening around Dayn’s.
“Think she’s making us wait on purpose?” I mutter. “The ancient witch equivalent of leaving someone on read?”
“Patience isn’t your strongest virtue, is it?” Dayn’s voice carries that hint of amusement that makes me want to simultaneously punch him and press closer. His thumb traces a small circle against my palm.
“I have many virtues you haven’t discovered yet,” I reply dryly. “But yes, waiting for mystical ancient beings to decide they feel like talking isn’t on the—”
The air beside me shifts, and it’s not a breeze. Before I can react, she’s there.
A woman stands less than three feet away, so close I can smell the strange, herbal scent clinging to her skin, like wormwood and nightshade and other things I can’t name.
She’s surprisingly short, just over five feet, but there’s nothing small about her.
Power presses off her in slow, steady waves, dense enough that my skin prickles under it.
Not like the spirits. Not wild, but controlled.
Contained. As if she’s holding something vast just beneath the surface and it’s taking very little effort to keep it there.
Her hair hangs long and unbound, dark with streaks of silver that catch what little light makes it into the clearing.
Her skin is pale and unnervingly smooth, etched with faint silver lines that almost look like runes.
But it’s her eyes that root me in place—light blue, sharp, faintly luminous as they flick over us.
Before Dayn can even draw breath to speak, a sickle carved from some kind of bone is hooked under his chin, and a pulse of dark energy—blacker than any shadow I’ve ever summoned—is a hair’s breadth from my heart.
The killing intent radiating from her is so thick I can almost taste copper on my tongue.
“Dragon king and shadow-brat,” she rasps, her eyes like twin cold stars. “You’ve brought the stench of the dying world into my garden.”
She leans in, the tip of her sickle drawing a dark bead of blood from Dayn’s throat. Her smile is like a graveyard of secrets.
“Tell me,” she whispers, the air freezing in my lungs, “do you want to be buried together, or shall I let the trees fight over your remains?”