Page 165 of Heir of Illusion

Screams fill my ears as something hot and vicious unleashes within me. A scalding heat rips through my veins as it both destroys and remakes me. My body convulses uncontrollably. It’s as if every part of me is being swallowed whole.

Deep within my mind, a cage door swings open.

Not the one that houses my painful memories. No. The beast within this prison is far more deadly. A monster both ancient and inevitable. And now, thanks to the sword, it’s been set free.

Finally.

When the firebeneath my skin cools, I’m left weak and exhausted. The world is nothing but a blurry haze as I crack my eyes open, my gaze settling on a single object lying before me.

A broken collar.

It lies on the dusty floor, its opulence completely at odds with the grimy environment. The silver metal of the clasp has been sliced in two. Those rubies that once sat against my skin now flicker with the moonlight that peeks through the open door.

I’m free.

The shock of the realization makes my head spin. After years of praying for freedom, finally, it’s here. My muscles protest as I trace my fingers over my bare neck, gingerly brushing the place where the collar sat. It can’t be real, yet somehow it is.

Everything around me is silent. Like all battles do eventually, this one has reached it’s inevitable end. Worry creeps into my mind as my friends’ faces flash before my eyes. Are they alright? Did they survive? Della, Griffen, Fia, Darrow, and Thorne.

Thorne.

The name is a horn blaring through my mind, spurring me into action. My body is stiff as I roll onto my side and push myself to my knees. Scanning the destroyed living room, I find him lying a few feet away. His chest moves steadily up and down, but there’s a puddle of blood dripping from his nose and ears. Fighting against the whispers for that long must have drained him completely.

My gaze drifts to the sword, lying a few feet away from him. Darrow always said there would be a cost for using thealmanova, but Thorne paid that price for me. Instead of bending to the sword’s will and taking my life, he used it to remove my collar.

He freed me.

An unfamiliar emotion blooms inside my chest, more powerful than anything I’ve ever felt. Somewhere in the back of my mind, my subconscious knows what that emotion is. It’s what spurs me forward, giving me the strength to crawl toward the God who nearly gave his life for mine.

I’ve almost made it to him when footsteps pull my attention toward the door. My mouth opens wide as I gape at the man on the other side of the threshold.

“Hello,pet.”

Baylor looks terrible. His skin is sallow and thin, as if it’s been stretched too tight over his bones. Bandages cover his ruined eye, a bit of blood seeping through the gauze. His only remaining eye has shifted crimson, the bloodshot veins making it appear as if his irises are leaking. The color is a bad sign, telling me he’s dangerously close to revealing the monster he keeps tucked away. Theotherthat hides beneath his skin.

My hands move to my sheaths, only to find them empty. My blades have all disappeared throughout the battle, leaving me without a weapon as I sit at the feet of my greatest enemy.

His gaze falls to where the sword lies between us. “What do we have here?”

I push myself across the floor, but he’s faster. His fingers wrap around the hilt, and he snatches it up. A low growl rises in my throat when he points the tip directly at Thorne.

Baylor tsks, cutting me a glare. “One wrong move and I’ll drive this through his chest. Sit back down, Iverson.”

With no choice but to do as he says, I drop to my knees once more as I brace myself for Baylor to turn Forsaken.

“Mmm,” he murmurs. “How nice to have you back where you belong.”

At first, I think he’s speaking to me until I realize his attention is on thealmanova.

“Did you know this has been in my family for a very long time?” he asks, his gaze reverent as he runs a finger down the length of the blade. I shiver when I notice that his claws are fully extended. “My grandfather used to keep it on display, allowing his guests to covet what could only ever belong to him. He alone was unaffected by its influence.”

His words send a wave of apprehension through me. Something about what he’s saying is familiar. Important.

“You see,” he continues, “before the Fates raised my grandfather from obscurity, he was anenchanter. Andthiswas one of his creations.”

My eyes flare as my mind makes the dangerous connection. No. He can’t be…

“You see, Iverson, only those born from my grandfather’s bloodline are able to withstand the whispers.”

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