Page 13 of Fated Exile

After a long, painful moment, his brow clears. Eyes fluttering open, he stares down at me. Then he nods sharply, murmuring, "Do it. I won't keep you out this time."

So I reach out a second time, feeling at the edges of his mind. This round, his eyes stay open, and I stare into his deep, amber gaze as I surge against his mind. First I delve into the first layer, and I feel it all: his hesitation at letting me in, his shame at what he's done, and his fear that I'll hate him once I see more.

He could keep me from going further in—I can sense that he wants to—but he fights his self-preservation instincts. As I push my awareness deeper in, Bastian unfolds to let me through, his mind like a dozen mazes wrapped around each other, separated by doors he opens for me.

I probe into his memories, sensing the anger and confusion he felt as he turned on Finn and the others. A dark voice presses into my mind, distant yet familiar. I'm sure I've heard her before, sure it's the same woman who spoke in my mind. Whipping around the hallways of Bastian's mind, I go deeper, bumping up against memories both old and recent.

He's a little boy at his mother's feet, practicing a growth spell. She hands him a sprout to tend to, and his big, clumsy hands accidentally press too hard on the stem. As it breaks off, tears fall, and she comforts him. Bastian doesn't try to do any earth magic for weeks afterwards, too scared of his growing body and ashamed of his own destruction.

Then I see his sister, tall as an oak and thin as a whip, her hair a long shiny black. Ella shoots a grin at him as they play a game of tag, laughing and running through the trees. Bastian looses sight of her for a few moments, only to catch her in his peripheral vision—as she pounces on him and throws him to the ground. Her long fingers tickle his ribcage, and he laughs until tears roll down his cheeks.

More and more. He's in chains, held by the vampires. Bastian is scared, but Ella comforts him. After his first fight in the arena, she holds his hair back when he vomits up the flesh his wolf consumed to survive. Then she sings him lullabies.

He's older now, his own age. This memory is recent—I recognize my house in it, then my face, seen not through a mirror but through someone else's eyes. He's brimming with emotion, full of lust as he grabs hold of my body and rolls his hips down towards me. The arousal inside him is white-hot and impatient, layers of clothing separating us, but he wants to feelmore.He's never felt it before, but he's certain it's exactly what he needs.

I swallow at this memory, reluctant to push past it, but I need to go further in. The voice is somewhere in here, and I sense that if I get close enough, I can force her from Bastian's mind. Wrapped in darkness, the evil presence hides herself, but she's just around the corner.

To get to her, I wade through memories of my own face and body, seen through Bastian's light in a new, lustful light.

As well as dark memories, this time of vampire hands undressing him. Of fangs biting into his flesh. Hands forcing him to arousal so they could drink his blood while he was fully hard, then leave him like that, full of shame and anger. The Bastian deep in these inner corners of his mind is small and scared, unable to separate the feelings of lust created by an unwanted touch from the new, different feelings rising in him.

But I'm almost at the very center. I can sense that she's there, in the furthest recess of his mind. Outside, in the real world, I hear a whimper. Ignoring it, I focus in, stepping closer and closer to the darkest part of his mind, where the voice awaits.

She laughs, her joy grating against my ears.

I take a step forward, close to a bright, shining memory full of pain.

It's Bastian, in his wolf form in the center of the arena, facing off against another wolf—

Before I can reach the memory and go through the other side to the source of the darkness itself, a figure rises from the darkness. Impossibly tall, broad, and strong, it's made of the deepest, blackest darkness there is, its figure drawing all light and hope towards it and eating it all alive.

Prowling towards me, it grabs my shoulders and snarls, glowing white fangs bright in a pitch-black mouth.

In a deep, guttural voice it screams out, "NO!"

I wince away, slapping my hands over my ears as the sound of its screams rattles around in my head. But it's too late—the sound has entered my ears, and once inside, it shoots through me, filling me with pain.

My chest hurts, my head screams in agony, and every inch of my skin is on fire. It's like all my nerves woke up and chose this very moment to fill me with pain.

Then the figure grabs me andthrowsme from Bastian's mind, slamming the door shut and breaking every part of me into a thousand jagged pieces.

Seven

Delilah

Wrenching away, I stumble from the dark presence's grasp and surge back through Bastian's mind. The figure of darkness pursues me, chasing me down winding hallways, memories both happy and sad, until I'm at the edges again. He snarls and snaps at my heels as I retreat fully, pulling out of Bastian's mind and snapping back into my own.

Blinking a film from my eyes, I stare up into Bastian's amber gaze. There's no awareness in his expression as he looks down at me, but I can't stop the shiver that crosses my spine. The dark figure inside his mind was frighteningly similar to him—and very obviously threatening.

The real Bastian, the one who's willingly submitted himself to be bound inside this house, wouldneverattack me like that. Not on purpose, at least, and not when he's in his right mind. I know that's true, just like I know what resides inside his mind. Yet there's darkness within him, born of years of torture and self-defense. I don't think I'll be able to fight the darkness away until he's ready and willing to let me in.

Swallowing, I tell him, "I couldn't do it. There was—something in the way."

He blinks, his fingers curling in towards his palm. I pull my hands away from his, feeling the loss of his warmth.

"It's okay," he says, a small smile curving up his mouth, though disappointment flits across his brow. "I knew you wouldn't be able to do it. This voice, whatever it is, has lived with me for... years. It's my punishment for what I've done, and I'm going to have to live with it."

"You shouldn't have to," I argue, growing frustrated. Rising to my feet, I pace back and forth across the narrow stretch of my late father's office, agitated and exhausted. "Whatever the voice is, I don't think it's a part of you. It's some kind of invader, one created by a witch I think. Probably the same witch who's been working with the vampires. If I can figure out who she is, maybe I can—"

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