Page 183 of The Wolf King

If I had the strength to pray, I’d tell the Goddess I’ll choose to live differently, if I survive this. I’ll live my life fully. I’ll dare to hope and dream andwant.I’ll stand up for myself and for others. I’ll learn to fight. I’ll make my own stories, rather than be the side character in the stories of kings. I’ll never be shackled again.

And I’ll love. I’ll love wholly and unreservedly. I’ll love until I am bursting with it.

My breathing slows. The night swims around me, dark and full of shadow. My soul aches. My eyelids close. Someone is shouting. Someone is whispering.

Everything is cold.

And then, silence.

I’m back in that forest, in the cavernous dark.

The branches don’t whisper, and the undergrowth is still. There is nothing but thick unrelenting darkness.

And I don’t want this.

I want to live.

A wisp of light flits toward me.

I frown as I reach for it.

My eyes jolt open at the same time as Blake’s. His lips part, and he exhales.

“Yes.” The muscles in his forearm clench. “That’s it. Take it.”

I grab onto it, whatever it is, and I feel...life.

It is dark, and smoky, and warm. I pull it toward me, and Blake slips. A low sound scrapes against his throat as he prevents himself from crushing me.

“That’s it.” He swallows. “Take it.”

The scent of the night fills my lungs. I smell dark forests, and musty parchment, and flickering candlelight.

I breathe it in. I pull it closer. Blake’s arm shudders, and his fist curls into the earth.

The sound of dripping water echoes in my ears. I taste mildew on the back of my tongue. Thunder rumbles, or perhaps it is the sound building in Blake’s chest.

I need it. I want it.

My fingers sink into the wet earth, and I pull harder.

My back arches as the wind builds around us.

I see a glint of silver. A surgical knife. I see shackles, and chains and blood. There is so much blood. Someone, somewhere is screaming. Is it me? Is it someone else?

I don’t care. I just want more.

Images flicker before me. There’s a woman shouting. A rabbit runs across a dark room. There’s the cracking of a whip. The taste of lightning. A thousand stars light an endless sky.

I smell poison, blood, and darkness.

“Fuck, Aurora.” Blake is breathing hard, and his eyes are bright.

And I’m walking through a forest.

Or perhaps I am in the church in the King’s City. Only, branches have burst through the stained-glass windows. Vines curl around the stone columns, and weeds break the mosaiced floor. It is dark, as if someone has blocked out the sun.

A low growl rumbles through the space and shakes the altar. It is coming from the dark mouth of the crypt, where shadows trickle out like smoke.

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