Page 114 of Heir of Illusion

Let me in, Ivy. You know you’re nothing on your own. So weak. So unworthy.

The words echo inside my skull, reverberating against my bones. The voice is everywhere. It’s unescapable.

Let me in.

I cover my mouth with my hands, desperate to stop the screams rising in my throat. Blood drips from my nose and ears. My entire body convulses as I struggle to hold on to my illusions.

Let me in.

I no longer sense myeidolon, nor the prickle of invisibility against my skin. I can’t even feel my own body. Like some sort of ghostly figure, I’m floating on the wind, untethered to anything but that all-consuming voice.

LET ME IN.

Through the haze, something silver flashes above me. It gleams brightly as it cuts through the air, heading straight for my?—

The ground shakes as a large presence lands right in front of me, the force pulling my mind back from the ether. For a moment, I’m sure it must be a meteor, some righteous fury raining down on us from the stars.

But then I spot the wings.

Black feathered wings fully extended, shielding my view of the rest of the alley. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recognize the curved blade peeking out from beneath those feathers. A scythe.

“Kill them all,” a dark voice growls.

Barely a second later, bloodcurdling screams fill the air as shadows descend upon the alley, blocking out any trace of moonlight.

Flee,the voice pounds through my mind again, louder than before.Run, you fools!

A flurry of footsteps race past me as our attackers try to escape the avenging angel of death who’s come to claim them. The wings disappear from my sight right before a sickening crunch comes from my left, telling me someone’s just had their bones broken.

“You thought you could hurt what’s mine?” Thorne’s voice tugs at the dark recesses of my mind, pushing me to fight through the fog clouding my thoughts. “You thought you could touchher?”

The screaming continues all around me as the alley descends into utter chaos. I slowly become aware of the rest of my body, noting how my cheek presses against the bloodstained cobblestone. I push myself onto my forearms, but before I can rise to my feet, something heavy lands on my back, shoving me down again.

“You fucking bitch!” Taron shouts in my ear. “You’re going to pay for this.”

His hands grip my hair tight, tugging my head back before smashing it against the hard ground. Pain shoots through my skull, radiating down my spine. Moving on instinct, I reach for his wrist and drive my thumb into the tendon there, causing his grip to loosen. Before he can react, I pull his hand to my mouth and dig my teeth into one of his fingers, biting down until I hear that horrible snap.

New screams join the horrific symphony of cries filling the alley. Blood spews into my mouth, but I don’t give myself time to let the disgust set in. Instead, I use his distraction to my advantage and flip myself over.

“You’ve ruined everything!” Taron screams from above me as he pulls his bloody fist back.

Those words hit me harder than the blow that lands against the side of my face. They’re the same words I’ve forced myself to hold back again and again. Every time I see Baylor’s face, I want to scream and rage at how he’s destroyed everything that my life could have been. Whenever I see him, I’m forced to mask that same searing hatred that’s burning in Taron’s eyes right now.

Have I become the very thing I despise?

Another punch lands on my cheek, the impact making my body jolt. But still, I don’t block it. This pain is different from what came before—sharp and focused. Seductive. An indulgence I haven’t allowed myself to enjoy in far too long. I swore to Alva and Morwen that I would stop doing this, but what’s one more broken promise? One more failed oath. If I ruin everything I touch, let this pain be my punishment.

A cleansing.

Taron’s fist flies toward me once more, but it never connects. Instead, his body is suddenly thrown off mine, and he hits the wall with a force that likely snaps several bones. Before I can even blink, a new face is in front of mine. Blacked-out eyes search my features, cataloging every bruise and scrape. I do the same, noticing the drops of blood scattered across his face. Without asking, I already know it’s not his.

“Angel,” he breathes.

Shivers trail over my skin, mingling with pain and exhaustion. A reminder that I’m undeserving of the nickname. I’m not something good or pure.

“I’m fine,” the muffled words end on a wince as I force myself to sit up.

“You’re not.” His fists clench at his sides, as if he’s physically restraining himself from forcing me to lie back down. I bristle at his concern, hating the way it makes my skin feel too tight.

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