Page 7 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

Where did the Gryphon end and her own senses begin?

Just as she thought she might lose herself completely, strong arms embraced her. The world around her shifted abruptly. Skylar blinked, disoriented.

Oh.

She was no longer soaring above the battlefield, but kneeling once more in the blood-soaked mud. The position of the sun startled her—hours had passed in what felt like mere moments. The sudden shift in perspective was dizzying, leaving her reeling.

Arye held her tightly, his body a solid warmth against her back. She could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the thundering of his heart. His armor pressed uncomfortablyagainst her, the metal cold even through her clothes. “I’ve got you, Sky,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. His voice was low, meant only for her. “You did well. Let go now.”

Skylar sagged against him, utterly spent. Lavender fragrance and a golden light washed over the battlefield. The Divine Beast was gone, its task fulfilled, leaving her feeling whole yet hollowed out. Every inch of her body ached, as if she’d been beaten by iron rods. Her muscles trembled with exhaustion, barely able to support her weight. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth, and she realized she must have bitten her tongue at some point during the transformation. The metallic flavor made her stomach churn.

As awareness slowly returned, Skylar became conscious of the whispers surrounding them. Countless eyes seemed to bore into her, the air thick with a mixture of awe and fear. Their voices drifted to her, a low murmur of disbelief and horror, punctuated by sharp intakes of breath and the shuffling of feet as soldiers unconsciously backed away.

“Did you see? The Duke is truly cursed!”

“A monster. That’s what he is. A gods-damned monster.”

“How can we trust him? How do we know he won’t turn on us next?”

Each word was a knife in Skylar’s heart, twisting and cutting deeper with every syllable. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out their accusations. But she couldn’t escape the truth of them. She was a monster, a freak of nature bound by an ancient curse. How could anyone ever look at her the same way again?

Shame burned hot in her chest, threatening to consume her. She had saved them, hadn’t she? Turned the tide of battle and secured victory for her kingdom. And yet, a small part of her, a part she didn’t want to acknowledge, had reveled in the destruction. The power, the freedom of giving in to theGryphon’s primal nature… it had been intoxicating. What did that say about her?

She forced her eyes open, needing to see, to know despite the darkness creeping in at the edges of her vision. Her gaze found Arye’s face, searching for any sign of revulsion or fear. What she saw there made her breath catch in her throat.

Hatred. Pure, unadulterated hatred burned in Arye’s eyes as he glared at the whispering soldiers. His jaw was clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. His lips moved, forming words she couldn’t hear. And then everything went black.

3

Skylar’s eyelids fluttered, struggling against the weight of exhaustion. Even the muted evening light seeping through her lashes sent sharp pains through her head. A low groan escaped her parched lips as she squeezed her eyes shut again.

What happened?

The question floated hazily in her mind, accompanied by a rising tide of panic. Memories of the battle crashed over her—blood and screams and the overwhelming presence of the Gryphon. Skylar’s heart raced, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps that seemed deafening in the quiet room.

Wait. This wasn’t her war tent.

Forcing her eyes open, Skylar blinked rapidly, willing the world into focus. Motes of dust danced in weak sunlight that filtered through gaps in rough-hewn wooden walls. The familiar scent of pine and yarrow filled her nostrils, grounding her. A small cabin. One of the temporary structures at the edge of their war camp, her mind supplied hazily.

Her gaze darted around the room, taking in every detail. Her armor lay neatly stacked in the corner, cleaned of blood andgrime. The sight of metal plates gleaming dully through supple black leather sent a chill down her spine. Memories flashed behind her eyes—the sickening give of flesh beneath talons, the crack of bones shattering, the gurgling screams of the dying.

So much death. So much destruction.

She shook her head, trying to dislodge the images, only to wince as pain lanced through her body. As the discomfort subsided, Skylar became acutely aware of something else—her clothes. She was dressed in her undergarments, her wig intact, the bindings across her chest uncomfortably tight and damp with sweat.

Thank the gods.

Relief flooded through her, quickly followed by a wave of shame. How could she feel relieved when so many had died? They hadn’t even had a chance to run or surrender.

With trembling fingers, Skylar reached for the chest bandages, loosening them just enough to take a full breath. The fabric was stiff with dried blood and caked with dirt, the acrid smell making her stomach churn. She ignored the angry red lines crisscrossing her skin, focusing instead on the simple act of breathing.

In. Out. In. Out.

Each breath was a reminder that she was still here, still human—at least for now. The thought sent a chill through her. How much longer could she maintain this charade? How many more times could she summon the Gryphon before losing herself completely?

Just a few more weeks, she reminded herself. Her mother’s pregnancy was progressing well, and soon she could finally be free of this burden. After nearly twenty-five years of deception, mere weeks felt like nothing—and everything.

The creak of the door startled Skylar from her reverie. Her muscles coiled, body tensing in preparation for a fight. Butit was only an old woman who shuffled into the room, each step accompanied by the soft rustle of fabric and the groan of floorboards. The woman’s face was round and kind, weathered by time and the elements. Her eyes, Skylar noticed with a start, were milky white—unseeing.

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