Page 17 of Poison Sun

Technically. Not definitely.

Because technically, Viktor was supposed to be on my side, too.

I have no idea who to trust or what to expect. I need answers. And I need them quickly.

So, I reach for my phone on the nightstand, half-hoping and half-dreading to see if Morgan found any leads on getting the potion out of my body.

There’s a text from her in response to my asking how it was going, but it’s less than encouraging.

I’m working on it.

I nearly throw the phone across the room in frustration.

Instead, I check on the messages I sent to Sunneva. But it’s still all messages from me, with no replies from her. It looks like a text chain from a desperate girl trying to get her ex-boyfriend back.

Can you tell me what’s going on?

Please talk to me?

I need answers.

Where are you?

Are you okay?

Why are you ignoring me?

The goddess who gifted me with her magic clearly doesn’t want anything to do with me. She’s probably regretting her decision to star touch me, just like how Damien’s probably regretting wanting me to be his queen.

But sitting here drowning in self-pity isn’t getting me anywhere. I have to get myself together.

And I know just where to go to do that.

So, I change into my training gear, grab my new favorite weapons—twin daggers—and take the elevator to the rooftop. Dawn is starting to cast its golden glow over the city, and I close my eyes, tilting my face upward and letting the sun’s rays sink into my soul.

With each breath, I draw in more light, imagining it as a lifeline pulling on my magic. It’s been my ritual these past few mornings, and luckily, it’s been working well enough to get me through each day of training.

After feeling decently replenished, I reach for the daggers in my boots, stare out at Central Park below, and hold them up to the sky.

Here goes nothing.

Practicing with them alone always feels awkward at first. But soon I’m lunging, spinning, and slicing through the air, each movement more confident than the last.

My imaginary partner quickly evolves in my mind to be the Shadow Lord.

He’s tall and imposing, with eyes like black holes that suck in all the light around him. His smirk is menacing, and he moves with a predatory grace, each step calculated to intimidate and dominate.

But with every dodged attack, my resolve hardens.

“You’re not real,” I say as my daggers slice through the air. “You can’t control me.”

I leap and twist, my blades cutting through the air in arcs of silver light. I’m not just fighting the Shadow Lord. I’m also pushing back at the fear of losing my magic—of becoming hunted and powerless in this world that’s out to get me.

As I imagine plunging my dagger into the heart of darkness itself, a door slams shut behind me.

I spin around, instinct taking over as I launch one of my daggers at the approaching threat.

Damien.

---