Chapter 35
Dominic didn’t look back as he set off into the Ruins. Adara would be fine. He’d only cut off her air until she fell unconscious. That way, he’d have enough time to put some distance between them.
She was right. It indeed would be smarter to stay together, but Dominic could not afford that. Not when he didn’t know what sort of things from the past might be dredged up in this haunted desert.
The only sound was the sharp whine of the whetting stone against Dominic’s daggers as he sharpened them one by one.
The onyx blade reflected no light, as if it ate away at such things, tossing it into a void.
He rotated it, admiring the polished blade Adara had gifted him during Livisian, contemplating what her blood would look like running down its sharp obsidian edges.
A lot of his time had been spent pondering his recent epiphany that he had been in love with Adara Rhyes. Had been. His previous emotions for her changed everything and yet nothing at all. Adara, no doubt, was the reason he’d carved out his own heart. Now, it was time he did the same to her.
He wished he’d never rediscovered that part of his past, wished he was still oblivious to the fact that he had met Adara before.
Could someone stop loving another? Or was it ever really love that he felt for her?
Perhaps not. Maybe that was why she chose Cal over him.
That constant reminder was the one thing keeping him from losing the war.
Knowing that even if he was capable of love, she would never reciprocate it.
That and he had to win. He had to take her key to extend his life before Andreilia’s curse killed him.
Its magic was the only thing keeping him alive without a heart.
Yet even that would be difficult—to know that if she did miraculously fall in love with him and give up her key, none of it would be real.
She’d only fall in love with an illusion of him, crafted with lies.
If she was going to love him, he wanted it to be real.
Something nipped at his heels, jarring him out of his thoughts, yet when he turned, nothing was there. He hoped he wasn’t already losing his mind.
Rain drizzled lightly from the gray clouds above, chilling his skin all the way down to his bones, like ice piercing his insides.
Screams erupted in the distance. Long, cracked sobs filled with agony as if whoever it was had been tortured for days and they’d screamed until their throat was raw.
Vultures swarmed overhead, their caws an echo to the tormented shrieks, swooping low to feast on the rotting corpses.
Dominic ignored the cries and continued on.
Where he was going, he barely had the slightest clue.
Casting this place out of his memories was one of the first things he did when he left.
Now, it was nothing but a barren desert, littered with crumbling buildings, fallen pillars, and collapsed cottages.
To others, the Ruins was a wasteland, haunted by ghosts and deadly creatures seeking revenge from the Wasted War. To Dominic, it was all that and a land full of memories he wished he could forget.
Truth be told, he knew the Ruins would not break Adara. He was more worried about what this place would do to him. Leaving her alone in the dark, tied to a tree, wasn’t ideal for either of their survival, but he could not let her see what he’d become when the Ruins started playing tricks on him.
He continued trudging through the thick sand, his clothes soaked with the rain pouring overhead.
Lightning flashed, followed by thunder booming, jolting the silent night awake—if it was even nighttime, he couldn’t tell with the charcoal clouds blanketing the sky.
Screams rang out again, louder this time.
He tried to ignore them, tried not to think about what he’d do if one of those screams belonged to Adara.
Were they the lost souls from the Wasted War calling out for help after they’d been condemned to the Ruins in the afterlife?
Or were there others here in the desert with him, crying for help as whatever monsters that crawled this place tore them to pieces?
A shiver ran down his spine as the ghost of claws raked down his back, though nothing was there.
Mice skittered through the sand, a group of them running ahead of him.
Dominic had enough sense to quicken his steps and keep an eye out for anything out of order.
Except it was nearly impossible to see through the darkness and rain.
He summoned magic to his palm, an orb of yellow light flickering to life.
Dominic cursed as it continued guttering—either another sign of his powers fading or some trick of the Ruins—but shone dimly in the dark.
Dominic! That scream had him halting in his steps, scanning his surroundings. Nothing was there. He shook his head and began again.
Dom! the voice called out, strained with panic.
“Adara?” he said into the darkness, pulse quickening at the sound of her distressed cries. Slowly, he turned in a circle, searching for where she could be.
Dominic, help! Her shouts grew louder and more urgent with each beckon to him, rising in horror.
Dom, please! His pulse raced. He took a step in the direction of her voice, apprehension churning like a hurricane in his gut. What if she’d been attacked? He’d left her there, alone, defenseless, unconscious.
Dominic halted, sand shifting beneath his feet at his abrupt stop. He shook his head, turned, and continued in the opposite direction. Adara was fine, he reassured himself. It was only the Ruins trying to lure him to his death. She would never call for his help, especially not after he left her.
Her voice incessantly followed him, calling out his name.
Pressing his palms over his ears, he ignored it and kept walking.
Shadows skittered through the desert, lurking in the corners of his vision, watching, following, caressing his skin.
No wonder, people had gone insane in this wretched place.
He could hardly tell what was real and what wasn’t.
Doubt crept into his mind. What if that voice was Adara? What if she needed him?
Dominic! This time, the voice was different. A higher pitch than Adara’s and much younger. His face scrunched in confusion as he held up a hand, trying to shield his eyes to see through the pouring rain.
Help!
Eyes widening, stomach churning, Dominic dropped his hand and called out, “Saige?”
No, it couldn’t be. His sister was dead. He watched her die two centuries ago.
Saige called his name again, over and over and over, until it rang in his head.
The agony, the worry, the despair. Dominic could not stand the fear in her voice.
He knew it was foolish, rash, and downright idiotic, but that didn’t stop him from taking off in a sprint toward his long-dead sister’s voice.
Rain pelted him, but it did nothing to slow him down as he squinted through the torrent of water, desperately searching for her.
Lightning cracked through the sky, a blinding white flash, and for a moment, Dominic saw the silhouette of a girl.
“Saige!” he shouted over the boom of thunder, over the sound of the pounding rain, the hissing of unnoticed creatures lurking behind him, the screams of the lost souls.
The only sound was his sister’s distressed voice, and the blood rushing in his ears as he hurtled through the rubble.
Real or not, if there was a chance he could see Saige’s face again, he’d take it.
Tree branches rustled nearby. Footsteps followed behind him. Dominic halted, drawing a dagger from his belt. Its smooth obsidian blade was one with the night as the light in his hand dwindled to nothing, plunging himself into the shadows, undetected.
Except something else was also obscured by the dark, which Dominic only discovered after stumbling blindly back into it. An arm wrapped around his neck, along with the overwhelming scent of carrion. It squeezed and he choked, gasping for air.
Dominic threw his head back, swift and harsh.
Something broke with a sickening crack beneath his skull.
Hot liquid ran down the back of Dominic’s neck, but it wasn’t his own.
The thing staggered back. A furious, guttural sound emerged from its throat.
Dominic leaped forward, burying his dagger into its throat.
Blood sprayed as he yanked his weapon out, anticipating the next attack.
He turned in a slow circle, scanning the desert for more of them.
Shadows emerged from the depths of the sand.
Lightning streaked across the sky to reveal humanoid creatures, but there was something off about them.
Their eyes were elongated vertically, pupils thin slits rimmed with red irises.
Their noses were nothing but gaping holes in the middle of their faces, and their mouths stretched entirely across their faces, lined with rows of needle-like teeth.
Tattered clothes clung to their emaciated bodies beneath plates of broken chainmail.
Weapons were clenched in their hands—swords, axes, knives, spears—and Dominic wondered if this was what happened to the souls from the Wasted War.
Morphed into these hideous creatures as punishment.
Long, barbed tails flicked anxiously back and forth behind them as they prowled closer on two long legs.
A sinister grin spread wide across Dominic’s blood-spattered face.
He’d seen these creatures before, and while he used to run in terror, he would not run now.
He’s spent every moment loathing this desert, wishing to purge it from his memories, to destroy the wretched place that destroyed him. Perhaps now, he had the chance.