Page 145 of A Storm in Every Heart
My wrists are still bound tight, crusted with blood from old wounds and fresh ones reopening. My tongue tastes like iron. Surely, that must mean I’m not dead—but then, why has the pain abandoned me?
Heavy footsteps stomp across the floor. My stomach clenches, and I refuse to turn my head to look, already knowing it’s Magnus. The stomping footsteps are always Magnus.
He comes to stand in front of me, and his hair is slicked back, his face clean and expressionless. He sets a mug down on the table beside my head, then sits on a stool and regards me with an air of cool detachment. “Welcome back.”
I open my mouth to speak, but my throat is too dry, and nothing but a raw gurgling sound comes out.
Unbothered, Magnus reaches for the mug and, with a slow, careful motion, lifts it to my mouth.
I don’t bother resisting. He can’t possibly feed me anything worse than the sedatives he’s been shooting into my arms, and if he wanted me dead, I would be. Maybe he’s only keeping me alive for entertainment.
Or maybe he’s waiting for something else.
The first sip of tea scalds my tongue, but I force it down, the warmth spreading through my chest. I cough, then clear my throat. “No torture today?” I ask, my voice hoarse from screaming. “What happened? Are you getting bored?”
Magnus sets the mug down, wipes my mouth for me, then leans forward, elbows on the table like we’re old friends catching up over drinks. “Not at all,” he says conversationally. “It’s onlythat I have something to tell you, and the sedatives can cause severe confusion as well as pain.”
I glare at him. He doesn’t need to tell me that—I’m not sure what’s real and what isn’t. Honestly, this conversation could be happening in my head and I would never know the difference.
In case this is real, I grit my teeth and stare at the ceiling, determined not to give Magnus the satisfaction of eye contact. The stalactite overhead is still there, fanged and dripping; if I could reach it, I’d break it off and drive it into Magnus’s heart.
“I wanted to make sure you were lucid enough to understand my news,” Magnus says lightly. “Today is my wedding day.”
I blink at him, the words not fully penetrating my sluggish brain. Wedding. Today.
He steeples his fingers, the picture of calm. “I wanted to be sure you understood when I told you that I’m marrying your siren this afternoon. She’s going to be my queen.”
A stab of pain shoots through my chest, worse than anything Magnus has been able to inflict.
Magnus keeps talking, but I can’t hear him.
The bond that I’ve been ignoring for decades ignites, exploding inside me. It’s not a gentle burn, but a bloody inferno. It’s as if the bond has a mind of its own and would rather kill me than tolerate the idea of Odessa being forced to marry someone else.
I think back to that day so many years ago when I woke up on a beach near the castle, unsure what had happened the night before. My memory was hazy, but there was this overwhelming feeling in my chest. It was like a second heartbeat, but I had no idea who it beat for.
Now, I suddenly know that it was always for her.
I don’t understand how it’s possible, but I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.
Every time my chest throbbed when I thought of her, and I assumed it was because she was a threat to the bond, it was really the bond trying to tell me she was mine.
When the oracle inked her likeness on my skin, it wasn’t a mistake; it was a prophecy.
When I begged her to understand that I didn’t want anyone else—couldn’t want anyone else—even though everyone knows that it’s impossible to betray your soul-bond, I should have realized what was happening. I wasn’t a fluke, and the bond wasn’t wrong—it was, in fact, doing exactly what it was supposed to do, because even the idea of some hypothetical other person could never compare with Odessa.
And now, I understand why it’s impossible to betray your bond, because hearing that she’s going to be forced to marry someone else is physical torture. The sedative is nothing compared to the sensation of a living bond being slowly, methodically torn apart.
Magnus pulls out another syringe. I barely even notice when he stabs it through my skin, then stands, adjusting his cuffs, and with a final, satisfied glance at my shaking body, he leaves. He’s gone back to find Odessa, while all I can do is lie here, staring up at the stone ceiling.
My body burns and burns until my vision blurs.
I’m burning alive, and for the first time in all this agony, I want to die
ODESSA, AGE 16
I’m barely aware of my body changing as I dive beneath the frothing waves. I almost don’t notice the scales coating my legs and torso or the webbing stretching between my elongating fingers. My body knows this is where I belong in a way that my racing mind cannot, will not, comprehend.
Not now, while my only focus is on finding Kastian before it’s too late.
