Page 13 of Wings of Shadow
I lean forward, pulse quickening. “Who?” The word escapes as a guttural growl, feral and hungry. “Name them, and I’ll?—”
“The Draken girl.”
The daemon’s whisper cuts through my thoughts like a blade of ice. Each word drips with malicious glee, and I feel them sink into my mind, taking root.
“Her blood is the spark to your tinder,” it continues. “Claim it, and you’ll rise as dragon reborn—a force to shatter empires and reshape the world in your image.”
Exhilaration floods my veins, a heady rush that leaves me dizzy. Clarity hits me with the force of a thunderbolt. Clarissa Draken. The woman who’s haunted my dreams, whose mere presence sets my nerves alight. All this time, she’s been the key?
Unbidden, a memory surfaces:
The library at Deveraux Manor. Dust motes dancing in shafts of afternoon sunlight. And Clarissa—gods, Clarissa. Her back to me, fingers trailing reverently over ancient tomes. Unaware of the predator in her midst.
I remember the thrill of closing in, of maneuvering her into that secluded alcove. The solid press of oak shelves behind her, the heat of my body before her. A cage of flesh and wood and barely restrained desire.
Her breath catching. A blush staining porcelain cheeks. The air between us charged, crackling with possibility.
This encounter wasn’t fate, but vindication. Proof that my relentless drive, my endless scheming, has been leading me toward my true destiny all along. I’ve been the architect of my own ascension, and Clarissa... Clarissa is the keystone I unwittingly sought.
“How?” I rasp, throat suddenly dry. “How do I take her blood? How do I use it to awaken what sleeps within me?”
Azrakan’s laughter assails my senses, a discordant din that shakes the very walls and reverberates in my marrow. “That, little warlock, is your trial to face.” Its eyes gleam with cruel mirth. “But heed this warning—the path ahead twists through shadow and flame. It will test your will, your resolve... your humanity.”
I clench my fists, sensing the sting of reopened wounds. “I will not fail,” I snarl, as much to myself as to the daemon. The taste of copper fills my mouth—whether from biting my cheek or from the oath itself, I cannot say. “I will claim what is mine. No matter the price.”
Azrakan’s mirth abruptly ceases, its eyes narrowing to gleaming slits. “Ah, but there’s one more thing you should know, young dragon king.” Its voice drops to a whisper, forcing me to lean in despite myself. “A caveat, if you will.”
Verdammt. My blood runs cold at its tone. “What caveat?” I demand, my voice rough with suppressed fury and fear.
The daemon’s mouth stretches into a grotesque parody of a smile, too wide, too many teeth. “The Draken girl’s blood,” it hisses, “must be offered willingly.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. “What?” I breathe, my mind reeling.
“Oh yes,” the daemon purrs, clearly relishing my shock. “You can’t simply take it, can’t trick her or force her hand. She must give it freely, knowing full well what it means. What it will cost her.”
I stagger back, my carefully laid plans crumbling around me. “But... but that’s impossible. She would never...”
The daemon’s laughter starts up again, a grating sound that scrapes against my soul. “And therein lies the true test, little warlock. Not of your strength or your cunning, but of your ability to win her trust, her love. Can you do it, I wonder? Can you make her love you enough to sacrifice everything?”
Its words echo in my mind, a mocking refrain. I think of Clarissa—her fierce spirit, her kind heart, her unwavering loyalty to her family. How could I ever ask her to give that up? How could I twist her feelings for me into a weapon against her nature?
But even as these doubts assail me, another part of me—the part that has schemed and plotted for years—begins to formulate new plans. If I can’t take her blood by force, I’ll have to win it through other means. I’ll have to make her love me so deeply, so completely, that she’ll offer it willingly.
“I’ll find a way,” I growl, meeting the daemon’s gleeful gaze with steely determination. “Clarissa Draken will be mine. And her blood will awaken the dragon within me.”
Azrakan’s laughter echoes through my study, a sound like breaking glass and dying dreams. “Such conviction from one whose heart wavers. I see the doubt festering in your soul, warlock. The... morality that still clings to you like a disease. Will you not regret this deal, I wonder?”
I straighten, my lips curling into a cruel smile. “Regret is a useless indulgence. I prefer certainty—every move calculated, every consequence accepted before I ever act.” I lift my brow. “A moral compass? Yes, I have one. It just doesn’t point north. It points to me, to power and inevitability.”
As I speak the words, something fundamental shifts within me. The last vestiges of hesitation, of morality, crumble away. In their place, a singular purpose crystallizes—hard and sharp as a diamond’s edge.
Clarissa. My key. My catalyst.
My sacrifice.
The daemon inclines its head, a gesture of acknowledgment and respect. “Then go forth, Kaisner Drachenstein. Embrace your destiny, and let the world tremble before the might of your awakened dragon.”
With a final, bone-chilling laugh, the creature vanishes, fading back into the shadows whence it came. And I am left alone in the flickering candlelight, my heart hammering with the significance of the knowledge I have gained.
