Page 86 of Bound to the Dreadlord

His other hand lifts, trailing to my jaw.

No.

Not like this.

The fear sparks something bright and vicious.

The heat in my veins unfurls. The tight coil in my stomach snaps.

And I sing.

Not a melody. Not a song. A sound.

A single, aching note.

The guard stiffens.

His body jerks. Eyes go wide, too wide.

His grip tightens—then falters. His breathing stutters, lips **parting as if to speak—**but no sound comes.

Veins blacken.

Skin drains of color.

His body spasms, and then he collapses.

Blood drips from his nose. His mouth. His ears.

I stumble back.

I killed him.

Not with a blade. Not with my hands.

With my voice.

The corridor spins. My body shakes, heart slamming against my rib cage.

I expect horror.

I don’t feel it.

I expect guilt.

I don’t feel that either.

What I feel—what terrifies me the most?—

Is how easy it was.

How good it felt.

I press a hand to my mouth, smothering a sound that is not a scream.

I need to get away.

Before someone finds me.

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