Page 59 of Claim Me

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Souls of the patriarchs, I marvel, my throat suddenly thick.

Only for another breath to rush out of me.

Pushing. Seering.Demandingthat I inhale.

Then exhale.

Then inhale again.

My bones start to rattle, my form far more existent in this plane than should be possible. But I suddenly feel very much alive. Vibrant.Renewed.

I wonder…I push up against the shackles, their existence one I can feel more than see, and I sense them stretching beneath my motions.Just a little more…

Glass shatters around me, the sound startling.

No. Not glass.

Ice.

From the binds.

The death stone crumbles into dust beneath me, then morphs into a strange silvery liquid. I stare down at it in confusion, the glittering substance oddly alluring.

Then it begins to seep into the rocks near my feet, providing me with another burst of vitality.

Another inhale.

Another exhale.

A throbbing pulse.

I close my eyes, reveling in the contentment that sensation brings me. It reminds me of a summer afternoon with the sun beating down on my exposed skin.

A sigh escapes me.

This is peaceful.

This is life.

“Fallon.” The deep voice startles me, my limbs immediately freezing.

The patriarchs are trying—

“Fallon,” the male repeats.

Solo. One man. Not a series of voices.

My lips curl down.

Patriarch O’Neely?

No. That voice was too… soothing… to be—

“Come on, little flame,” the man whispers. “Open your eyes for us.”

The brush of knuckles against my cheek accompanies the soft words, the touch chasing away the remnants of the death plane.

I’m warm here.

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