Page 83 of Too Dangerous To Die

I look at the runes, feel the pull deep in my marrow. The pact isn’t just a memory. It’s a tether. To sever it… something must replace it.

“Everything,” I say.

And I draw my blade and the artifact.

40

NORA

The scream tears through the air before I realize it’s mine.

It burns its way up from the pit of my lungs like fire turned inward, my vision blurring as I stumble backward from the collapsing altar. Dust falls like ash from the crumbling dome, stone groaning as if the ruin itself mourns something ancient and vengeful being ripped away.

Rhaegar is on his knees, breath ragged, the fractured remains of the artifact still clutched in one hand—sharp obsidian edges biting into his palm, blood dripping like an offering across his knuckles.

And then everything stills.

The magic doesn’t fade.

It shifts.

Turns.

Twists inside me.

I feel it burrow into my ribs like a splinter. Cold. Familiar.

Unwelcome.

My legs buckle.

I hit the stone floor hard, the cracked bones of my wrist flaring with pain as I reach blindly for something—anything—to anchor me. But the altar pulses with residual magic, and I realize too late what it was hiding. Not just the tether.

A gate.

A door.

And I left it open.

She’s already inside me before I can scream.

I know this voice.

It slides through me like silk dipped in poison. She doesn’t rage. She doesn’t beg. She purrs.

“You should have left well enough alone, child.”

I try to move—claw my way out from under her weight—but my limbs don’t answer. My thoughts fracture. Her laughter echoes inside my skull like shattered crystal. My breath seizes. My heart stutters.

Rhaegar’s voice is distant—too far away to reach. “Nora!”

But I can’t speak.

Can’t warn him.

The world tilts, and I see my body rise.

Only, it's not me anymore.

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