Page 87 of This Vicious Dream

For me.

Stupid. Gods, I’m so stupid.

Bridin writhes, attempting to make it to her stomach. Calpharos takes a step closer to her.

An arrow slices through the air, aimed at the dark god’s head, and he merely raises a hand, his obsidian shield jumping into place around his body. The arrow drops to the ground, immediately followed by three more.

Two soldiers remain, far enough from the swamp that the serpent can’t reach them. Kyldare is half hidden behind a tree, and yet I can hear his hateful voice ordering them to fire.

Calpharos ignores them as each arrow they aim at him continues to fall uselessly to the ground. His head tilts, his eyes turning blurred, unfocused. It’s as if he’s frozen—lost somewhere I can’t reach.

More arrows hit his shield, and he smiles, his eyes sharpening. “Try harder,” he purrs. Slowly, he turns his head, focusing on Bridin.

The witch freezes, her eyes meeting mine. They’re the pale, faded eyes of an elderly woman who has lived for decades more than she truly will. “Please,” she croaks.

A flash of triumph rushes through me. “Remember that time you trapped me within my own body?”

Calpharos ignores us, but his hand is suddenly wreathed in dark smoke and he looms over Bridin. There’s nothing human in his eyes. Nothing remotely close to the man I took to bed.

I’m going to have to try to kill him. And he’ll probably kill me.

Agony erupts in my chest, hot and horrifying. It blazes through my body, until the only sound I can make is a choked moan. I stare uncomprehendingly at the arrow lodged in my chest.

Kyldare’s voice winds through the space between us.

“If I can’t have your life, I’ll gladly take your death. Think of me as you die choking on your own blood.”

Calysian

The woman with the dark red hair lets out a choked sound.

It’s an irritating sound that slices through my nerves. When she slumps to her knees, I remove my attention from the witch at my feet.

I’m instantly engulfed in deep, sickening horror. It’s as if I’ve been plunged into a pool of ice-cold water, the shock of it freezing my lungs.

Madinia.

My mind rebels against the sight in front of me. The sight I know to be true.

No.

My two selves merge, memories ofbeforeknitting seamlessly with those from the past several centuries.

It’s agonizing.

Among the memories, this woman stands out like a flame in the darkness—vivid and unyielding. It’s as if the rest of my memories are painted in black and white, while those involving her alone blaze with color: her sharp tongue and unexpectedly soft heart. Her withering expressions and her breathtaking face.

Absently, I strike out at the witch, ignoring her as she chokes and writhes. Madinia slumps to her back, eyes wild as she stares up at the sky. Stumbling to her, I drop to my knees at her side, momentarily frozen.

Movement to my left.

Kyldare’s soldiers are dead or dying, and yet he has remained, likely unable to resist watching Madinia take her last breath.

“She’s going to die.” He looks suddenly lost. But within moments his eyes turn crazed and he gives me a slow smile. “I’ve taken her from you,Calpharos.”

I slash out with my smoke, but he’s already diving into the swamp, risking the serpent. I ache to chase him, to make him pay.

Madinia lets out a sound that makes cold sweat drip down my back.

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