Page 9 of Heir of Illusion

Ten feet from the door, something cold slips around my ankle, causing me to tumble to the ground—hard. Thankfully, my training doesn’t desert me. I’m able to land on my side and roll onto my back.

Searching for my attacker, I find one of the shadow snakes has wrapped itself around my leg. I don’t bother to stop the scream rising in my throat as I struggle against its hold. It doesn’t matter since the reaper has known exactly where I was since the second he got here.

Using my free leg, I try to kick at the snake, but its punishing grip only clings to me tighter. I dig my nails into the floor, pulling myself toward the door. I only make it a few inches before the snake drags me back, hissing at my attempted escape.

Ice drips down my neck as heavy footsteps make their way to me. I cling to my useless illusion, the only shield I have left.

“Reveal yourself,” he demands from behind me.

“Bite me,” I snarl, my broken fingernails still trying to find purchase in the grooves of the hardwood.

“The time for games is done.”

The snake twists my leg painfully, forcing me to roll onto my back. The reaper stands over me, holding his scythe out toward my invisible form, it’s tip only inches away from my nose. My gaze flits to his face, finding nothing but cold determination.

“And my patience is wearing thin,” he warns.

I watch in disbelief as something moves underneath his heavy cloak. His shoulders roll as he shrugs it off, revealing two black feathered wings unfolding behind him. They’re massive, at least six feet on both sides.

With the cloak gone, I get my first glimpse of the powerful man beneath it. He may be a demon, but he could rival any angel with his beauty. The strong lines of his body are wrapped in clothes similar to mine. Other than his face and neck, every part of him is hidden behind dark, durable materials that cling to his broad form like a second skin. His build reminds me of a panther, strong and lean, but undeniably graceful.

For a moment, I have the foolish instinct to reach out and touch his feathers, to find out if they are as soft as they appear. I squeeze my fists, quickly dispelling the wild notion.

“Reveal. Yourself. Now.” His lips pull back as he bares his teeth, speaking each word like a curse.

At this point, I’m not sure I have any choice but to obey him. And since maintaining my illusion will only drain me, I release it. The whisper of magic fades from my skin as my body becomes visible.

As he takes me in, his full lips part on a silent gasp. His eyes are wide as they scan my features. I can’t tell if the reaper is shocked or horrified by what he’s seeing. He doesn’t even seem to realize that he’s lowered his scythe to his side.

A blush of roses stains my cheeks as they heat under the intensity of his gaze. In my mind, I imagine red petals falling from my face one by one, each marking another moment of this silence.

His wings start to curve inward briefly before he snaps them back, folding them to fit tight against his back. The movement is enough to pull me out of my daze. Capitalizing on his distraction, I snatch the last blade sheathed to my thigh and move to cut his shadow off me. He shouts as he reaches for my hand, but this time, I’m faster.

My blade strikes right through the shadow, as if there’s nothing there, before sinking into my calf.

With the adrenaline coursing through me, there’s no pain, only the cold jab of steel contrasting with the hot, thick blood dripping down my leg. Detachedness settles over me as I stare at the wound. This isn’t my first time being stabbed. Sadly, this isn’t even the first time it’s happened by my own hand.

For a moment, everything goes completely still before the darkness shifts once more. Shadows loom closer, predators scenting their prey. An undercurrent of hisses and growls fill the room, reminding me of the jungles my brother and I used to read about when we were children.

The snake, still wrapped around my leg, goes rigid.

My eyes dart to the reaper’s and I spot a trace of fear in his wintery gaze. His jaw clenches as the blood drains from his face. He holds himself absolutely still.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice clipped as my hand moves toward the blade.

I know the weapon wouldn’t do me any good, but holding it would make me feel less helpless. Still, I listen to him. From the look on his face, I get the sense that evenhedoesn’t have complete control over these shadows.

The snake slowly uncoils from around my leg until its dark head is pointed directly at my wound. The others are writhing on the floor, desperate to get a taste of my blood. Only a single pool of moonlight shines through the windows now, illuminating me like some sort of unholy offering. The reaper stands over me, his stance protective as he tries to hold them back. He stares intensely at the shadow, willing it to stop, but even his command can’t compete with the lure of blood.

A whimper escapes me as the snake inches closer to the wound. I expect the sharp sting of its teeth, but instead I watch in frozen horror as its wispy tongue laps against my skin.

A deranged laugh bubbles up my throat at the strange sensation, but he silences me with a hard glare.

“It tickles,” I explain.

The shadow pulls back, watching me with its red eyes for several seconds before moving to the wound again. Clenching my eyes shut, I hold my breath as I steel myself against the pain that is sure to follow. I’ve met death before, but this iteration is particularly gruesome. I don’t relish being ripped apart in a feeding frenzy.

I wait for the agony to begin, but it never comes.

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