Page 57 of What Lies Within Blood & Heirs

Everything reminded him of?—

Stumbling another step, Garrik vomited again and clutched his abdomen as Smokeshadows billowed from every plane of his body, cleaning the mess.

The walls were caving in—like he was drowning. His armor suffocating, squeezing the pathetic life from his blood.

Garrik mercilessly tore into them. Shredding and tearing with claws forming at his fingers, stemming from that which lurked deep in his soul. The only thing that fought the pain he felt.

Savagery. Who he was Made to be. Who he couldneverescape.

But his trembling hands could not pull the leathers apart quick enough, so Smokeshadows intervened. They viciously surrounded him, turning his armor into mist until only his tunic and pants remained.

In the corner, his untouched bed for the last ten nights awaited. But his feet were unstable. The floor shook beneath him as the room spun.

It was too much.Everything was too much.

Garrik stumbled, steadied by shadows at his feet and shoulders, until his legs gave out at the edge of his bed. There, his arms draped across the sheets, upper body pressed into the mattress.

Turn over.It was too much.

Turn the fuck over.

There were hands… So many hands?—

Your back—she could?—

Twisting in pain, Garrik fell to his knees before he retched, hoping this was the last. Hoping the vile feeling would turn to ash and blow away in the wind.

His abdomen twitched, sending excruciating slithers of pain across his muscles.

Black veins marbled from his fingertips as he rammed his eyes closed.

A shower. He needed one—desperately.

And his shadows knew it because without requiring his command, they gathered at the side opposite of his tent and traded his table and chairs for an earth-colored stone structure. But Garrik could not will himself there. He was not ready to disrobe. Was not ready to see …

Garrik mustered any strength he had left—though most had not returned from the Raven’s camp—and pulled himself onto the sheets.

Barely able to flip himself onto his back, strangled groans escaped his lips when black-veined fingers traced over his tunic, which covered fresh blood and scars. Traveling lower and lower and lower, Garrik’s numb fingers collided with metal, stopping at his belt.

He pulled.

And pulled and pulled and pulled.

Pulled until his belt cut off circulation and fastened it.As if that could truly stop anything. As if it could keep the nightmares at bay. Keepheraway.

With a mere thought, an opened bottle of amber liquid appeared in his palm by shadow and smoke. But they pulled at his arms as if in protest.

He paid them no mind as he lifted the neck to his mouth and grimaced at the welcome burn. Swallowing deep until it emptied and another appeared.

“Please.”His voice shook the inside of his tent.

Garrik watched the liquid empty from the second bottle and felt the burn rip down his throat.

Make me forget.

Aroaring thunderstorm jolted her awake. Nothing else had ever ripped her from sleep in a panic quite like it. The rest of camp, consistently crackling with burning-out flames and heavy steps of armed sentries, slumbered in the horrific howl of the storm.

Tonight, a shuddering chill hung low in the night air.

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