Page 99 of The Darkness Within Us

“You did this to me,” Sarkis yells as he wipes at the wispy blackness.

“I saved your life!”

“No, you made me into a monster.”

“No, I accidentally gave you my abilities. You became a monster all on your own.”

Sarkis lunges, throwing Eryx onto his back. He lands not far from the sword, but he can’t quite reach it.

Forgetting my own pain, I rush over and kick the sword the rest of the way. When his fingers curl around the hilt, Eryx brings it up and swipes it across the other man’s throat, severing head from shoulders.

No shadows seep from the wound.

There is nothing but dead flesh atop of Eryx. Because that’s a wound even the shadows cannot heal.

Decapitation is the only way to kill him.

I can’t do that.

Not that you want to, a smaller voice intones.You just actively helped him escape death.

Yes, because an unknown monster was in my room and might have killed me next.

Eryx shoves the dead weight off himself before standing.

“Thank you,” he says before scrutinizing my arm.

I dare to look. The knife made it halfway up my forearm; my skin is split wide, blood still seeps from the cut. Something white peeks at me from around some of the red muscle—

I nearly faint when I realize it’s my own bone.

I bite the inside of my cheek to stay awake, not daring to move my arm. “Damasus,” I mutter. “They said they hurt him. You need to—”

“Take care of you,” he says. “I’ll be back with supplies.”

“No, please. Check on him. On the rest of the staff. No, wait, I’ll do it.” I sway forward before I can even take a step. Eryx catches me by the shoulders, and I’m so close to him that the shadows pouring from his wounds brush against me.

They’re neither cool nor hot to the touch. Merely wisps of movement, as though the slightest breeze were brushing my skin before continuing to the floor.

“Easy,” he says. When he looks at my arm, his fangs drop down from his teeth again, making him look feral. “They cut you.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“In my own damn house.”

“Not a house. Not yours.” The words come out weak.

His eyes flutter closed, his jaw tensing, but for once, I don’t think it’s because of something I said. “This is my fault,” he whispers.

“Fine, then. Stand there in self-pity. I have my staff to look out for.”

“I’ll do it if you promise to sit still until I can call a doctor.”

“You can’t do it.”

“Why not?”

I gesture to the pools of shadow at his feet.

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