Page 16 of Bound to the Dreadlord

A shiver skates down my spine as the fire in the hearth pulse, a slow inhale of something unseen. The drapes along the far wall stir, though there is no wind.

I freeze.

It was real.It was real.

I press a hand to my throat, feeling the lingering hum vibrate beneath my fingertips, my pulse pounding in time with it.

This is not normal.

This is not human.

The realization sinks into my stomach like a stone, heavy, sinking deeper, dragging me under.

What am I?

The question spirals, tight and breathless, clawing at the edges of my thoughts, but another slams into it—does he know?

Veylan.

His magic had reacted when I sang for him. I saw it in his eyes. Felt it in the way the air crackled between us.

He suspects.

He must.

A sharp breath rushes from my lips, but I swallow it back down, pressing my fingers against the glass. If I can feel it, if I can sense the shift in the room—then so can he.

He is waiting.

Watching.

I am running out of time.

The next breath I take is careful, deliberate. I lock it down. The fear. The questions. The strange, unnaturalthinginside me that threatens to wake up.

I will not let it.

Not here. Not in his house.

I step back from the window, wrapping my arms around myself, my nails biting into the soft fabric of the dress they gave me.

Tomorrow, I will wake up in this same room, under the same watchful gaze. I will eat when he commands, sleep when he allows, live at his mercy.

And I will pretend.

Veylan Drazharel does not need to know that I am dangerous.

When the time comes, I will be ready.

8

VEYLAN

The blade in my hands is familiar. Reassuring.

Steel does not waver. It does not betray. It does not hesitate.

Unlike my thoughts.

---