Page 113 of Of Rime and Ruin
And the Beast has a selective memory, it seems. I remember Nahla’s face clearly. But the others? My mind is blank. It’s like he only wants to rememberher. He’s lording it over me—she wanted him, not me, and he’s goddessdamn cocky about it.
I take the stairs to the basement, my rapid steps echoing deep into the recesses of my castle.
Nahla was right, I’m a fucking monster. She said it when she first arrived, and I should have listened to her then. So I’m listening to her now.
I will never touch her again.
Not until I get rid of this curse. And I know just the siren to help me.
Weeks ago, Lucas started his research, and at the beginning of the hunt, he mentioned he was onto something. Something about grimoires from the old library…
Memory flashes. Nahla perched on an icy bookshelf. Her mouth popped open in ecstasy. Bubbles escaping with every moan. Her hands clutching my hips. Nails, digging. Begging for more.Harder. Harder.
I drag my hand down my face as my stomach churns, clearing the memory before her blood spills. For years, I’ve wanted access to the Beast’s memories. And now all I want is to forget them.
I clench my fist and pound on the healer’s door. “Time’s up, Lucas.”
He opens the door, creaking the old metal hinges, and peers into my face. Lucas searches my gaze for a moment and seems to find what he’s looking for. “I wondered,” he says. “Come on in.”
I grunt and step inside, surveying the familiar room. The same fireplace, the same stuffed frostcat hanging on the mantel, the same empty chair he saves for my sorry ass. I settle into it and grip the armrests.
Lucas takes his sweet time approaching me. He stops to adjust a few trinkets on his desk and wipes a bit of dust from the table, rubbing it between his fingers. I steady my breathing, pulling deep breaths to counteract the furious racing of my heart. “How can I help you today, Sire?”
“You said you found a cure.”
“A hunch, Sire. Nothing is solid. This is all pure speculation, you see.”
“Do it. I want him gone.”
Lucas cocks his eyebrow. “Gone?” He opens a drawer, retrieving several strips of leather.
“Gone,” I growl. The chair cracks under the pressure of my grip. “Now.”
“Excellent,” he says, teeth glinting in the firelight. He threads a leather strip beneath each armrest, securing my wrists one by one. Then he stoops low, tying my ankles.
Sweat beads at my hairline as I watch his hands make quick work of the task. “What’s that for?” I demand, fighting to keep the anxiety out of my tone.
“Safety precautions, of course. We don’t want to repeat the past.” He stands back to survey his work, makes a small adjustment to the strap on my left arm, then nods curtly. “This might hurt.”
After squaring his posture, the healer closes his eyes. His Voice rasps and groans, he lifts his hands, and golden tendrils slip out from his fingertips. When he opens his eyes, they glow with gilded flame.
The magic rushes into my body, crawling beneath my skin and lighting my organs as it passes. It slithers into my chest, where it swirls and builds into a large ball before sliding up my throat. I toss my head and gnash my teeth as it reaches my brain.
Fuck.
Like a thousand searing needles, his magic weaves through my skull.
My body clenches, and I flex against the restraints. Crusty leather digs into my skin. Sweat coats every inch of me. I pant, drawing labored breaths.
Lucas strengthens his song.
“Fuck!” I bark.
In the tune of his spell, Lucas answers me, “It’s the only way, Your Majesty. You must push through the pain.”
Time drags. I squeeze my eyes shut, and the light bursts against my eyelids. The pain is unending. Twisting, gnawing agony, tugging at every chord in my brain.
“Gotcha!” His voice reaches me as if through a tunnel.
