Page 36 of Dark Fate

Erik has the grace to look abashed. "You cut quite the striking figure in shadowed leather, Little Huntress..."

As I slip past, I can't resist a quick, playful flick to Erik's ear. His wide-eyed response nearly makes me crack up.

Their chuckles are a cozy blanket wrapped around me as I retreat to my tent, a comforting end to a day filled with the weird and wonderful.

Danica

15

Istand frozen, horror strangling my voice useless. Before my disbelieving eyes, shadows wrap Rhyland in grasping tendrils until only the ice-blue sparkle of his gaze shows through the writhing darkness...

Then, those beloved eyes sink midnight black entirely. His frantic thoughts scream through our tattered bond—chaos, hunger, madness—like razors shredding my mind as darkness utterly consumes the man who is my world.

Rhyland's last shreds of light gutter out just as cruel laughter splits the gloom.

Azrael.

The sound pounds my skull like spikes. Behind Rhyland's unmoving form, a towering specter looms—fathomless hunger given monstrous shape. It, too, awaits my vampire Viking's inevitable surrender, inevitable fall to chaos...

Rhyland turns slowly to meet my terror-filled eyes, and only soulless void stares back. No recognition lights that alien gaze. Wicked desire claimed him fully at long last. Azrael's amused whisper slices my heart to ribbons...

"Now he belongs to me and mine—eternal. Such wondrous darkness, never again to walk in light..."

I scream soundlessly for my lost heart as Moretemis' smoking claw reaches to claim his shattered prize...

"No!"

I jolt upright with the choking plea, heart hammering wildly. Cold sweat plasters hair against my neck as panic slowly loosens its stranglehold. I sag back atop fur blankets, orienting to quiet canvas walls and the low burbling fire pit nearby.

It was just another nightmare, the third one this week. But Seraphina's ominous warnings echoed through my mind, stealing fragile peace. "True darkness dwells not in Rhyland's spirit. But still…he is tempted to darkness and can easily be swayed."

How long can Rhyland resist the darkness without me to reignite his inner flame?

Our broken bond proves too weak for me to reach through, to know what horrors he now endures alone...

Is his noble spirit still strong against that vile queen's assaults? Or has my dream been shown to be true? Has Rhyland already slipped to Stygian depths without my guiding light to cleave to?

Frigid dread pumps through my veins. I have to reach Rhyland somehow before nightmares become a reality. We're running out of time...

After over a week of Erik and Faedryn's kickass crash course, which has turned me black and blue, I slowly roll out of bed.

The silence from the Shadow Court is deafening—there have been no whispers from the Shadow Snatch yet.

To bid my time and keep my mind busy, warrior training is no joke for us out-of-shape mortal types! I groan like gutshot prey, longing desperately for a hot bath and an even hotter masseuse to get upright again.

But oh man, catching Erik off guard with a sweet leg sweep yesterday—two hundred plus pounds of cocky vampire suddenly eating dirt! Sure, he repaid the favor ten times later, but watching Sir Broods-a-Lot's shocked face kissing soil once was priceless!

Even my extraordinary spidey sense warns no quick heal exists against Erik's special brand of cheerful sadism—"Builds grit and reflexes!" my muscular ass!

Erik, bless his undead warrior heart, whipped up some badass daggers for me. With Faedryn's book smarts thrown into the mix, they've forged a pair of dazzling fae daggers—think gleaming fae silver with runes that would make Elektra jealous.

He tosses me a compliment with a twinkle in his eye: "They're petite, lethal, and agile—just like you, Little Huntress."

There's some hocus-pocus on them that makes them mine, all mine. Anyone tries to use them—Poof, right back to me. Talk about a party trick for the ages.

Those same runes have another nifty feature—they let me play teleport tag with my new pointy friends. I've been getting my reps in all week, and much like my new zippy vibe, my weaponry's gotten an epic level-up. I’m all about slicing and dicing with finesse, twirling those bad boys around like I was born doing it.

Erik's efforts haven't gone unnoticed. His dedication to occupying my thoughts and keeping me from spiraling into despair is as steadfast as his warrior's resolve. Despite the constant distraction and the busyness he orchestrates, the absence of Rhyland carves a deeper hollow with each passing day. The pain of separation, it seems, has its own cruel agenda, growing more acute as time ticks by, a relentless tide eroding the shores of my will.

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