Page 9 of This Vicious Dream

The first vine curls upward, sharp and black as a dark shadow, wrapping itself around the first soldier’s ankle. He curses, stumbling in an attempt to shake it off.

A thorn spears through his thigh.

His scream is brief as he’s pulled deep into the mass of knotted, thorny vines.

The other soldiers pause. One of them is smart enough to take a few steps backward, shaking his head.

“Keep moving,” a gruff, older soldier barks. “Or what these thorns will do to you will seem merciful compared to Kyldare’s punishment.”

Idiots.

I leave the soldiers to the thorns. Distantly, I wonder if I should be concerned that my thorns have enough awareness to be hungry for blood. To strike at those who consider me to be prey.

But I return my attention to Kyldare. He stands, hands on hips, eyes hard.

Four soldiers surround him, all frozen in place.

They must have heard the screams.

“Cease this behavior, Madinia Farrow,” he calls. “You’re only making it worse for yourself.”

If I could smile, I would.

They begin walking once more. More screams cut through the night, but I pay them no attention. Kyldare’s mouth becomes a thin line, and he picks up his pace.

“Spread out,” he orders. “I don’t want any tricks.”

The soldiers are trembling. I might feel sorry for them, if several of them hadn’t held me down while Kyldare placed those chains around my wrists. He could have done such a thing while my body was still lifeless, but he enjoyed seeing me fight. Loved watching me realize there was no help coming.

I’m looking forward to seeing the same realization in his eyes.

My thorns slither toward the soldiers, and I pull my power tight. For this to work, I need Kyldare closer.

I cast my mind to the other side of the tower. Another solider is crying out as the thorns tighten, ripping him apart. This man once grabbed my breast and twisted, laughing as I screamed.

His blood feeds the thorns. Feeds the dark power. Feedsme.

For the first time, the bonds of paralysis begins to weaken, and I take a long, deep breath.

Triumph roars through me, and I open my eyes. My trap is ready. All I need is for Kyldare to step through the front door at the bottom of my tower, and he’ll be caught in the same spell his witch cast on me. It will be his turn to live through every moment of my torture.

The soldiers surrounding Kyldare are spooked. With a jerk of his head, he sends them toward my tower.

Coward.

One of them briefly closes his eyes, praying aloud to some goddess I’ve never heard of. This is his first time here. He has never personally done me harm. Perhaps I will be merciful.

The others forge forward, stomping toward the tower. I ignore my instincts to kill. They need to enter so Kyldare will follow.

Behind the tower, more blood sinks deep into the ground, and the invisible ties encircling my limbs disappear. For the first time in a year, I sit up.

My muscles should be wasted. But that wouldn’t have suited Kyldare’s purposes. I’m weak, woozy, and my limbs feel as if they’re attached to someone else’s body. But I can walk. I have to.

I swing one leg over the side of the bed. And then the other.

My first attempt to stand ends with me falling back onto the bed. I plan to burn this bed. But not yet.

Kyldare takes another step forward.

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