Page 37 of Night of Death and Flowers

“You already have,” she points out with a breathless laugh. “And you will get the same answer because I know nothing!”

“Fine,” I growl. “Have it your way.”

I command my shadows to constrict around her windpipe until the veins in her eyes darken into rivers of scarlet. She writhes under the pressure, her lips pressed into a hard line as she attempts to stifle her screams.

Bringing her close to the edge of death is not unlike what I’ve witnessed thousands of times. Death is peace. It is the end and the beginning of a cycle, yet this time, it feels… sad, knowing I am about to take the only mortal I have been able to touch from this world.

“What the—” Weakness creeps into my hands, my heavy arms dropping to my sides. I peer over at the witch, my eyes trained on my inky tendrils uncoiling from her wrists.

Impossible.

My heart hammers in my chest as I will my shadows to restrain her once again. To my dismay, they remain unresponsive to my command, optioning to caress her skin instead, as if they long only for her touch.

I watch her slowly crawl onto her knees, strands of hair clinging to her forehead, speckled with bits of twig and leaves. Shallow breaths leave her mouth as her hand grasps her neck, now free from my shadowy hold as they curl back into my hands.

Shock roots me to the spot as my eyes dart to the red marks kissing her smooth skin, then to her wrists. How is she still alive?

She staggers to her feet, chin lifted in defiance, the top of her head reaching level to my chest.

My jaw slacks a little, but I quickly swallow my pride, then stand closer. “Nice trick,” I say, hovering my hand close to hers, sensing the powerful magic emanating from her skin—an electrifying sensation that shields her against me. Our eyes lock for a moment, then she looks away. “But you must know,” I continue, sliding my thumb under her chin to force her reluctant gaze to meet mine. “I do not need my magic to kill you.”

“You don’t need to kill me,” she exclaims hoarsely, her throat bobbing as she struggles to swallow. I glide my fingers over the angry, crimson marks encircling her throat. “I do not know, so unless you tell me—”

“You do not command me,” I snarl as her defiance crawls through my veins.

She steps back, holding my gaze. “Why are you so threatened by me? A mere mortal as you put it. Besides, prophecies are usually made by someone else.” She pauses, her expression shifting as realization dawns, and she utters her conclusion. “Who predicted I would be your downfall?”

I grab her wrist, then tug her close to me. “Mock me again, Poison, and I will show you that there are far worse fates than death.”

She smirks upon hearing the name I have given her, as if it is a victory. Playfulness dances in her blue eyes as she bites her lip to conceal a smile. She glances at my fingers and brushes her own over my skin, making me flinch. “I’m the first person you’ve touched that hasn’t died, aren’t I?”

I swallow hard as my words jumble in my mind, rendering me speechless. The truth is that every time we touch, I’m torn by the irresistible urge to both strangle her and hold her close, while the longing for that elusive human connection I’ve heard so much about deepens.

When I don’t respond, she purses her lips and lifts her chin as her hand rests against my chest. “How long have you been alone?”

I growl, but she doesn’t relent.

“I’m alone too,” she admits, her voice cracking. “My parents don’t care for me. All I have are my sisters and my best friend, Drake. And he is imprisoned in the Incarcuri,” she divulges, as if our shared lack of love will evoke my pity. But she still has people who love her; I have no one. Yet, I can’t bring myself to snap her delicate neck to end her life, and as her fingers press deeper into my chest, I find myself immobilized.

“Let me leave. I won’t use my powers again,” she promises.

“Where would you go?”

Her eyes narrow with curiosity that teeters on dangerous.

“Away from Dahryst.”

Her breaths are uneven as her fingers slide down my arm to graze over mine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. I can’t fucking think properly with her touching me like this.

“You will never see me again,” she insists, probably sensing my growing hesitation.

I heave out a heavy sigh, then close my eyes. There is only one way I will agree to this, one where she can’t defy me, and I can humiliate Nyxara, showing her that some fates can, in fact, be changed.

The Threader’s words come back to haunt me: “The more you attempt to destroy the prophesied one, the further you will be buried by the prophecy.”

“You will leave Dahryst and never return.” Suspicion crowns her angular features. “I agree, not out of sentiment, but because I believe this will benefit me,” I remark.

“I will never return.” She nods, then removes her hands from me. “You said this will benefit you. I won’t ask why, but you should know I cannot leave knowing Drake is imprisoned.”

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