Page 91 of Forging Darkness

He’s done a good job distracting me, so when he strikes, I don’t see it coming or have a moment to lament my end. One moment I’m there, and the next there’s nothing but darkness.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Emberly! Emberly!”

Someone yells my name. Darkness fills my vision, and my first thought is that I’m dreaming. But the pounding in my head is too painful for even a nightmare. Second thought is that I’m dead—but I dismiss that for the same reason.

My pulse thuds, whooshing through the tiny veins in my head and making me want to rip them out with my bare hands, but it’s another confirmation that I’m still alive. I’m not sure I want to be at the moment, though.

There’s a loud clang, and it feels like there’s a spiky metal ball bouncing around empty chambers in my mind, smashing against the sides of my skull.

I release a low moan, but the sound doesn’t stop. If anything, it gets worse.

My arms must be weighted because it takes a thousand years to drag them up and press my palms against my ears, muting the noise just enough to give me a measure of relief.

Releasing a sigh, I crack an eyelid. I already know I’m lying face-up. The hard surface beneath me sucks the warmth from my backside, but it’s the least of my current discomforts. I check my surroundings through a slitted gaze.

It’s dark, but with enough ambient light that I can see minor details. I’m staring at a low hanging ceiling. It takes all of one second to realize I’m in a cell. Not a fancy room with a bolted door, but a real cell this time. Stacked stones make up the walls. I suck in air permeated with a dank musk so strong it isn’t covered by the flowery spectrum air.

Very dungeon-esque. How unoriginal.

My name is shouted again, the sound adding to the clanging chorus of agony tormenting my poor head. I tilt my head back as far as I’m able, searching for the source of the noise. My upside-down view takes in metal rods stretched from floor to ceiling, but there isn’t anyone on the other side of them.

Flopping over, I crawl toward the bars, ignoring my instinct to curl in a ball in the corner.

“Sss . . .” I want to yell for it to stop, but my throat is too dry and refuses to push out the word. My next “stop” sounds more like a toad croaking than an actual word, but it does the job. The harsh repetitive clanks cease as I lean my body against the solid iron bars that make up the fourth wall of my cage.

“Emberly.” The word is barely louder than a whisper this time, and I’m finally with it enough to recognize the voice.

There’s a thick wall separating my cell from his. It’s impossible to see into the other area, but my eyes widen as an arm reaches out in my direction, patting the ground between our cells.

Blunted nails and raw knuckles. Dried blood covers patches of rough skin. Have I ever seen anything so wonderful before?

Shoving my hand through the bars, I reach as far as I can, finally covering the hand with my own—the cool skin a comfort. A tear tracks down my cheek and splashes to the cold, harsh dungeon floor.

“Steel?” My voice is rough and clogged with emotion. What is he doing here?

“Thank the Creator.” His hand squeezes mine almost to the point of pain, but I don’t care. “I saw them bring you in, but you were unconscious and bleeding from a head wound.”

“Head wound? What head wound?” I bring my free hand up and touch a tender spot on my forehead. My fingers come back sticky and coated in garnet blood. Oh, that head wound. “Never mind.”

“I thought you said you weren’t being hurt,” he growls, the familiar animal undertones comforting.

“So it wasn’t a dream?”

I don’t have to explain what I mean. Steel knows. “No. Itwasa dream, but you pulled all of us into it. When we woke up, we confirmed we’d all had the same experience.”

I want to take a moment to wonder at the marvel of my new ability, but there are more pressing matters. “Steel, what happened? You shouldn’t be here. Are the others here as well?”

“You said you were being treated well.” Another loud clang makes me wince. He must have hit one of the bars with his free hand. “You said that some Nephilim male, Thorne, wasn’t hurting you.” He practically spits the name, and the growl in his voice intensifies. Pushy male. I’m not getting any answers out of him until he calms down.

“Please stop hitting the bars. I think I have a concussion. Or maybe it’s just a killer migraine.”

“Answer the question, Emberly,” he demands, but doesn’t punctuate it with an aggressive outburst this time.

“Iwasbeing treated well.” Probably not the time to mention the beat-downs I took in the training pits. “I couldn’t figure out how to connect with you guys again, so I’d convinced myself it hadn’t actually happened, that it was just a regular dream. I was locked in a room for the past week, but it was left unlocked today. I tried to escape, but . . .” My stomach dips and loops when I remember the humans. The poor young man and the mother Seraphim brutally murdered. The child who was going to be, at best, scarred for life.

“Emberly, what is it? What happened?”

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