Page 95 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
My magic ignited in my veins, brutal and wild. Ravenous to be free. To unleash its molten rage just as it had upon him once before. As I tried to reach down into that chaotic well inside of me.
Not real. This wasn’t real.
‘No !’ I curled my hands against my chest, refusing to let out my magic, to let it consume me. The pain of it bowed me over, body trembling with the ferocity of it. I shook my head wildly, trying to hold on to my sanity.
It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Magic burned my flesh and agony turned my limbs against me as his laugh came back through the darkness.
Smoke gathered in my lungs, making it impossible to breathe. All I could feel was the callous, cruel nature of his touch, the pain of my hunger and the brutality of their punishments.
My back stung with a sharp cutting pain I knew too well, right at the base of my spine, where those lash marks remained even now. The pain stealing my breath and making me scream.
Run. Another phantom pain streaked my back, bending me over as I grabbed onto the roots and vines. They turned to ash beneath my heated palms. I recoiled, forcing myself up onto my weak legs, tumbling into rough brick and using it to push myself further into the dark.
I ran, letting the sharp roots claw at my skin, only for them to become small, charred hands emerging between the cracks of the brick around me, grasping and pulling.
Then came their screams. Desperate and shrill.
Those hands came from the fractures in the stone floor, wrapping around my ankles and dragging me down. My chin made painful impact with the stone. I kicked and screamed as I felt something cut into my calf, deep and sharp like claws. I kicked again, breaking free with a painful sob, crawling into the dark but unable to look away. Unable to stop listening to the screaming.
Another phantom pain of a lash came to my back, knocking me to the cold floor, more hands grasping and pulling at my hair and throat. Too many, pulling me against the wall.
A hideous sharp tightness took hold of my chest. The ferocity of my magic bowed me over. I tried to hold onto the damp stone, tried to ground myself, but there was nothing but smoke in my lungs and the sound of him coming closer.
Little troll.
‘No !’ I screamed. My hands erupted. The narrow passageway devoured in blue-and-purple flames, the force of it turning any plant life to ash, erasing those hands that held me in place. Silencing their screams. A storm of chaotic wildfire. Smoke crawled up my throat as weakness consumed my limbs. Buthe remained in the centre of it. Dark and crumbling, aflame as he had been once before.
The damp air smothered that fire in a moment. The darkness eating it whole.
Then those screams started again.
Beg.The charred remains of Master Daunton leered closer. Ready to kill me again.
‘No !’ I panted, my magic burning through my veins to protect me from the impossible: the brutality of my mistakes. My eyes screwed shut as I pressed my palms against my ears, trying to push it out. To wake up. To make the nightmare go away.
Alma’s screaming echoed all around me, followed by all the others, louder than the roar of my flames … louder than anything else.
‘Stop !’ the agonised cry left my lips, my body trembling as I tried to hold on. To stop those flames consuming me too. I curled into myself, painfully pressing down on my ears, trying to block it out.
Kat, another voice called. But I shook my head.
There was just smoke and fear. Cold, familiar magic swept around me like a breeze, flooding my lungs with air.
Something touched my arm. I cried out, eyes screwed tight as I kicked and fought.
‘Kat.’ The cold leather of Emrys’s gloves pressed against my cheeks as he held my face, unbothered as my fists struck his arms.
I was frozen in place by the deep concern in his dark eyes as he crouched before me, but there was no relief as I panted for breath, tasting the tears on my lips as I struggled to pull in enough air. Drowning in the pain of it.
I shook my head. He wasn’t here. He hadn’t come.
Nobody had.
Yet, as my hands circled his wrists, he remained before me. The darkness of his eyes reflected the suddenly soft glow from the wishing stone between us.
His thumbs dragged gently across my cheeks. The rich scent of beasam bark chased everything else away as I uncurled my trembling fingers to take hold of his ruined jacket lapel, to feel the thick familiar material of it. The warmth of him, the brutal strength of his hold.
Real. He was real.
