Chapter 39
When Dominic woke, the sky was painted the dim orange and pink of twilight. A crescent moon hung low in the sky, the first glimpse of its white, luminous glow shining through the darkness Shit, had it already been all day?
Dominic blinked, the action causing pain to shoot through his left eye, which viewed the world in a slitted blur, swollen shut from a brutal beating that never ended.
It was no doubt black and blue, like the rest of his body must be beneath his tattered clothing.
He closed his eyes once more, head hanging in defeat.
The whole first day of the allotted time he’d given them had gone by.
Adara hadn’t come for him.
But that was exactly what Dominic had planned, wasn’t it? To be so ruthless and impassive toward her that she wouldn’t hesitate to leave him here. All so she wouldn’t follow, so she wouldn’t see him weak.
Dominic painfully peeled his eyes open, his black eye straining with the effort, sending another wave of agony through his head.
With great effort, he lifted his chin. Nausea sluiced through him—from pain or his dwindling powers, Dominic didn’t know.
He despised it all the same. But the agony of lifting his head was worth it when he saw a shadow moving along the horizon.
He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her undying loyalty, but he had never been more grateful to see the slight disturbance in the sand as Adara silently sprinted through the desert. The corners of his mouth kicked up, something snapping back to life inside him.
Pulling against his restraints, Dominic groaned loudly.
His wrist bled with the effort of twisting and yanking against the rough ropes.
Warm trails of blood slid down his arms and drip, drip, dripped to the ground.
He groaned again, exaggerating every noise of pain.
Dominic almost laughed at how simple it was to draw his father’s gaze, giving Adara an easier path without being seen.
He prayed she could make it past the creatures still circling them.
His father strode over to him with an arrogant swagger. “Finally awake for more?”
Dominic laughed bitterly, but said nothing. His father’s fist swung through the air, delivering a strong blow to his jaw. The pain lanced deeply through his bones. His head snapped to the side. A coppery tang filled Dominic’s mouth. He spat out blood. His father stepped back, frowning in disdain.
“Why don’t you kill me and get it over with?
” Dominic asked breathlessly. It felt like every single one of his bones was on the verge of cracking, his muscles tearing apart, his skin peeling away.
His head throbbed so much he felt like it would explode.
The magic that was trickling away, leaving his wounds open and bleeding, did nothing to help.
His power clawed at his insides, clutching at him, begging him to keep it inside as Andreilia’s curse scrambled to reclaim its magic.
Dominic held on to that clawing, desperate power. It wanted him, and he wanted it. He would not let go so easily.
The edge of his father’s dagger gently lay against Dominic’s cheek. “Because,” he began, wrathful bloodlust filling his green eyes, “I want to draw this out. I want to make you scream.”
Dominic blanched. It was like looking in the mirror. He had inherited the same striking emerald eyes his father had, the same rage they held. His eyes squeezed shut before he could pick out all the other similarities he shared with his father.
“I want you to suffer just as you made me suffer.” Spittle flew from his father’s mouth as he snarled.
The tip of the knife dug into Dominic’s cheek, slowly tearing his skin open.
Dominic let out a mirthless laugh that sounded more like a strangled choke through the excruciating pain that shot through him.
He hardly felt the sting on his cheek compared to whatever was happening inside him as his magic fought.
“Then you’re going to have to try a little harder.
” He reveled in the fury in the ghost of his father’s eyes.
Perhaps Dominic’s humanity had drained away after all, his magic following as a punishment for his callous soul.
His father bared his teeth and raised the dagger, its blade glistening with blood, poised to stab into Dominic’s gut.
The sound of metal singing as weapons were pulled from scabbards echoed across the desert. His father whirled at the sound of the monsters raising their weapons to find streaks of silver shining through the night. The creatures started falling, one by one, knives protruding from their throats.
“This isn’t over,” his father growled in his face before running toward his gathered army, shouting orders and unsheathing a sword.
“Of course, it is,” Dominic muttered, though he knew his words fell on deaf ears, occupied by the urgency of an attack.
He lifted his head. His eyes fell on the rope tightly wrapped around his wrist. He needed to escape while Adara distracted them.
As much as it pained him, he gritted his teeth and rotated his wrist in an attempt to slip out of his bonds.
He twisted and pulled every which way, but the ropes wouldn’t budge.
The taste of copper filled his mouth as he bit his lip, wrists stinging.
Blood dripped down his arms, but he’d long since lost feeling in them.
His fingers tingled with tiny pinpricks, barely able to move.
Magic surged beneath his skin, but it would not be released with these creatures stifling his power.
That was no doubt why Adara attacked with blades instead of fire.
Noticing Dominic’s movements, his father whirled in his direction .
. . and didn’t hesitate to hurl a knife into his good leg.
Dominic cried out. Blood spurted from his thigh, and his knees buckled beneath him.
Pain shot through his wrists, his shoulders, as the only thing that held him upright were the ropes searing into his skin.
Tears welled in his eyes. Black faded in and out of his vision.
The darkness swept in as Dominic collapsed.