Page 48 of What Whispers in the Dark
Magnelis knew of Alynthia but could never infiltrate the wards. No matter the failure, the High King never ceased his intent to break the barriers, stationing a heavy stream of soldiers there permanently.
Garrik had dawned to these mountains more than a few times to let the darkness devour him as he sought a bloody escape. Only, Alynthia’s wards were down. Killing Ravens this time was not only for mere sport.
You’re a killer. Just like Magnelis.
Leather groaned under his hand, so tight his black-veined knuckles blanched.
Just like Magnelis.
In the glow of moonlight, twelve figures split through the trees and froze.
Garrik’s grin twisted utterly wicked, embracing the very thing he hated—himself.
Three Ravens did not so much as breathe before they were nothing more than heaps of gurgling blood and torn flesh. Bodies paling as their lives rushed from them and seeped into Firekeeper’s realm, where they belonged—wherehebelonged.
Swords angled toward him, and five soldiers on trembling knees circled closer. Their reinforcements, of higher rank, drifted backward toward the solace of the trees. Not like that would help them any. Only a delay in their deathstamp.
Perhaps he should cut them down slowly. Take his daggers and stab their hands above them to the trees while he cut out their tongues so they could not scream. Then, cut by cut, their hearts.
Garrik rapidly shook his head. Serpent darkness, like venom, roared inside his mind, producing thoughts not solely his own.
But, before Garrik could determine his true considerations, two Ravens broke free and lunged.
He swung. The heavy clang of metal ripped through the roaring silence as a shock vibrated down his arm from the impact.
And though it may be foolish, Garrik allowed the second Raven to slice into his arm, to think he had opened a blind spot, only to force the male close enough to rip his throat out with Garrik’s fist.
Even with the blood dripping down into his leathers … he felt nothing.
Another sword slashed into his forearm. Garrik pleaded to feelsomethingas his eyes darkened. To feel pain—to feel punishment—for every soul he had ever stolen.
Butnothing. There wasnothing. Numb and empty, the only thing that convinced him he was alive was a ragged, fogged breath.
And when the last Raven ran through the forest as if he were prey fleeing the hunt, the Savage Prince dawned inches from his face and took the male’s head between his hands. Even when the lethalsnapresounded and echoed off the trees … Garrik did not feel anything.
Only heard Magnelis’s voice snicker,You are just like me.
Camp stretched endlessly before them; each step weighed down by the belief he was irredeemable. AMadefor Magnelis. Born from blood and mindless obedience …
Amonster.
The word flamed hotter than the burn on his chest.Alora’s burn.
And now, she walked behind him. Far enough he could not feel her warmth.
Would he ever feel it again?Did he even deserve it?
In the silence of the night, her thoughts bled into his mind.Pleading.Reaching for him.Searching for the male they thought was worth saving.But she did not need to beg a beast. Not when she had spoken the truth.
This bonus chapteris a POV shift from Chapter Fifty-three hours after Thalon, Garrik, and Alora convinced two young Mystics in Alynthia to trust them, but not before Garrik would seek out the legend in the Mountain, saving their grandmother. Exhausted, magic depleted, they returned to camp with new scars engraved on the outside … and within.
Garrik could not look at her. Certain that he never wanted her looking at him ever again.
Alora’s tent was mere feet away, and he stumbled across every single word he wanted to say, but nothing—nothingwould matter.
Please, look at me,Alora cried out to him, but he could not answer. Not when she saw?—
Garrik’s blood iced over.
