Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Verena
AS A CHILD, I DREAMT OF FIELDS THAT NEVER ENDED—long, flowing grass bowing beneath the kiss of the sun. Warmth lingered like an embrace, scented with vanilla and caramel, sweet and safe.
A woman would come to me there, her chestnut hair spilling in waves, her smile soft as she bent low.
My little bird, she would hum, lips brushing my cheek.
Those dreams felt familiar. Felt like home.
Until the dark crept in, a shadow-tide bleeding across the horizon, swallowing light and scent and safety.
And my nightmares chased them away.
Wisps of black cloud poured from the peaks of a snow-laden mountain, slithering down its face in shadows.
My legs barreled through the passage, the path curving sharp around the border.
Crystals of white and grey fractured the newborn sunlight, mocking the collapse of my body as my knees struck the ground.
The shrouds of black behind me kept coming.
Roaring. Consuming.
Pain tore through my legs, but I shoved myself up again, staggering forward only seconds before the gloom could catch me. The bottom of the mountain was so close.
A few yards. If I reached it, it could not touch me there.
I would be safe.
A shriek ripped from my throat as something rough and cold, wrapped tight around my leg, yanking me back, hard enough my face cracked against the ice.
My nails clawed at the shadow gripping me, tearing at it. But the hold only tightened as the mass shifted, its form molding into what my nightmares had been bred from.
I screamed as it slid higher, searing into my flesh. My skin withered at its touch, curling, crumbling, until my leg turned to dust before my eyes.
My muscles seized, lungs choking for air that would not come. Every inch of me, my very existence, was pulled into the horror unfolding.
Fangs hovered inches from my lips, dripping with a toxin so black it shimmered violet, each drop searing wherever it landed, burning flesh into ruin.
I couldn’t look. I couldn’t face it. I shut my eyes, bracing for the inevitable sting, the puncture that would spill my blood and silence my heart.
But it didn’t come. That stillness almost felt worse.
When I forced my eyes open, the sight wrenched a gasp from me.
Cerulean eyes glared back, more brilliant, more merciless than any venom. The onyx slits at their center widened, stretching until they split the blue like lightning across a night sky. The mark at the corner of one iris, a patch of brown, was unmistakable.
They were so close our faces mirrored one another, breath for breath.
My body shook from it, instinct warring with the truth staring back. Its jaw unhinged, slow, monstrous fangs curving above me.
You will always believe you are in control. Always think you’ll conquer me—
The voice sliced through the core of my mind, venom slick and unrelenting.
But make no mistake…
My mouth fell open in tandem with its own, as if my body had always known how to answer this call.
A voiceless scream tore my throat as it promised, You are already lost.
The words rang through my skull, echoing, damning, until I couldn’t tell if they were from its voice or my own as it swallowed me whole.
I lurched upright, mouth still open around the scream that had followed me from the nightmare, its fiber splitting the line between illusion and reality.
Sweat slicked my spine, sliding into the hollow of it, damp hair clinging to my cheeks in strands of shelter. The ivory blanket slipped from my fingers, pooling soundlessly at my side.
My hand flew to my chest. Da-dum. Da-dum. Da-dum.
Life. Still mine. Still here.
My breath dragged rough from my lungs, weathered, desperate, until I could taste air again. Until the room no longer felt like it was closing in to choke me.
It was just another nightmare. Just a dream. Not real.
But the heat soaking through my bare skin, the burn in my throat, the rattling wheeze in my lungs, they told a different story.
My nightgown lay bunched on the floor, my feet brushing its cotton as I moved off the bed, as if my own body had fled from its confines.
The sun was cruel in its brightness, beaming through the open window, exposing me completely as I stumbled to the drapes. With a yank, they closed, muting the glare into a dull, acceptable glow.
The bed creaked as I fell back into it, dragging the blankets over my face, hoping the fabric could shield me from memory.
The Viper was quiet. I could feel the hum of its presence deep in my blood, but not the pull of its power.
For a heartbeat, two, three, it was only me.
Yet my stomach knotted still as I folded into myself, arms clamped tight around my knees, groaning into the pit I made.
I wasn’t sure I liked it.
I curled deeper into my knitted blanket, dragging it to my chin, inhaling the vanilla clinging to the threads. Faint lavender twined through it, Gemma’s scent, burrowed into the weave even decades after she’d made it.
The cold gnawed through the stone walls and I cursed myself for not lighting a fire the night before.
I had come home drenched in sweat and dirt, too fevered to bear flame. Even after I rinsed, the heat lingered. Though it was certainly gone now.
I tucked my hands between my thighs, chasing warmth where I could. The nightmares must have run by blood cold enough to strip every hint of it away.
The Viper was quiet now, at least. Perhaps even dreaming itself.
My head sank deeper into the pillow, eyes drifting shut again. A melody replayed in memory, Gemma’s lullaby, the one she used to drown out the terrors when they chased me from sleep.
The music settled me as the weightlessness crept in. The shivers subsided, the heat returning. A few more minutes of rest wouldn’t hurt—
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Seconds were all the gods granted me.
“Verena, it is—"
A voice bellowed through the door, then paused, long enough for me to maybe go back—
“Half past seven.” Damn. “Are you dead, or just being lazy?”
Fates, bury me. Not even one morning to myself can be peaceful.
I hissed, voice muffled in the blanket, “I am dead.”
“Shame,” they muttered, dripping with sarcasm, “I was just starting to like you.”
The door clicked open and I shot upright. “What in the actual fuck, Callum—” My eyes bulged, hands clutching the blanket to my chest. “How did you get a key to my house?”
My scowl etched deep as he cleared his throat, crossing the fur rug, mud trailing from his boots.
“You’re, um…” His hand waved vaguely in my direction, though his stare stayed anywhere but me.
Pink climbed his neck, flooding into the tips of his ears.
My eyes darted downward. Oh gods.
Heat flared up my own face as I muttered under my breath. Wonderful.
I yanked the blanket higher to my chin, cursing the gods and fates alike.
Callum, now unbothered, or pretending he was, tossed logs into the fireplace. A flick of his finger, and flames roared to life, warmth rushing over me immediately.
“I’d hardly call this a house,” he chuckled, moving toward the stove.
Rude.
He filled the kettle, and with another casual flick, another flame sparked alive. Efficient and always infuriating.
“Wells made me one, back when you were awakening. You know,” he settled into a leather chair across from my bed, “just in case.”
I groaned, loudly, flinging myself backward, dragging the blanket over my face. “I have not been summoned; therefore, I am free to rot in bed all morning. Leave your key, you worm, and shoo.”
The words hid the smallest smile. That he cared enough to have a key made at all.
He leaned back, hands folded behind his head, legs stretched out, boots planted wide. A portrait of arrogant ease.
But Callum was the face of uniform, always. His lucent blue shirt was tucked to precision, black trousers pressed like steel. Even his boots were polished to a glare, so bright I could probably catch my reflection in them.
He grinned, boyish and insufferable. “Ah, but you have been summoned.” A clap of his hands, as if sealing the decree. “By me.”
The blanket muted my voice, but not the venom. “That doesn’t count.”
A shriek sounded from the stove, the kettle whistling high enough to fill the cottage with steam and irritation.
I turned my back to him, refusing to look. If I didn’t face him, I didn’t have to admit how his presence steadied me. How safe I always felt when he was near. Even when I wanted to strangle him.
Boots thudded across the floor, the screech dying as he stopped. “I think you might be very interested in what I have to show you.”
“Pass.”
No force on Selvarra could pry me from this bed. Outside would be knives on skin; I refused.
He poured the boiling water, mist coiling into the room like a serpent.
“It’s stabby.”
That got me.
The word pierced straight through my resolve, my ears perking like a starved dog hearing scraps hit the floor.
Damn him.
I could feel his smile, the one that said he knew I would never resist the promise of steel in hand.
“Drink.” His voice softened as he set the cup at the edge of my blanket. “And then get up. You’ve got Elva at noon, and I’d rather not carry you out of here by force.”
He said it like he was giving me authority. The irony made me chuckle into the wool. I shoved the blanket down, finally letting the sweet scent of the tea wash over me.
“Fine.” My body stretched, muscles aching, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. “Give me five-ish minutes.”
He huffed as he moved away, the sound of metal dropping onto the table beside the mug. Another clink and his boots retreated toward the door.
“Five minutes,” he repeated, latch clicking shut behind him.
No doubt in my mind he started a mental stopwatch in his head the second he said it.
I peeked through the window, the sun finally bursting over every crooked rooftop. The air inside had gotten warmer already, enough for me to brave sprinting to the washroom.
The faucet sputtered on, the water lukewarm at best. My fault. I never could get the weekly ration just right. I hurriedly rinsed my face and teeth, cursing through each freezing splash.