Page 99 of The Madness Within

A knock thundered at the far door. One of Thalia’s familiars slithered in through the crack and hissed, low and warning.

“Another rift just opened,” Noxen said, standing, hand going to his blade.

Vaelith’s veil fluttered. “This one brings a hunter. Something old. Something that knows your names.”

I stood, Ember beside me. “Then we hunt it back.”

Everyone stood as one.

There would be blood.

There would be battle.

But we weren’t alone anymore.

Chapter Forty-Four

??The Night Before Fire

Ember

The fire crackled low, casting soft shadows across the room as I lay curled beside Dorian, his hand resting over my thigh like he was afraid I might vanish.

The silence between us was heavy, not cold, just full of things unsaid.

I stared at the ceiling, fingers tracing the scar on my hand where our blood had mingled.

Married. I was married.

No dress, no vows, no I love you. Just blood, fire, and ancient words that tied me to him in life and death.

It should’ve felt like a nightmare. But somehow, the strangest part was how natural it felt. Mundane, even.

Like every girl dreamed of her wedding day, and I’d just survived mine with blood on my hands instead of rings.

But I wasn’t normal. Not anymore.

The mansion no longer felt like Dorian’s.

It felt like ours.

The way he looked at me now, like I was the last piece of him he didn’t know he needed until I stood in front of him and refused to move.

Our allies had claimed every room with varying degrees of menace and mysticism.

Mirek had holed up in the stable and sharpened his obsidian hand until it sparked. Thalia left a trail of herbs and ash wherever she walked. Vaelith hadn't moved from the atrium, just sat, bones splayed on the floor, whispering into death. Noxen curled in the sunken den like a caged wolf, silent, still, waiting for violence.

I should’ve been afraid.

Instead, I felt… whole.

Feeling the need to stretch my legs, I get up and let my feet take me where they thought I needed to be.

Minutes later, I found myself in the war room, tracing the map of rift points across the oak table. My fingers hovered over one marked in red, Hollow Orchard.

My childhood home.

My mother’s secrets buried beneath the blood-soaked floorboards.

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