Page 76 of Satanic Shadow
“I’m trying.” The voice sounds like my own, but it seems distant. The monster within me is attempting to take over again. “Please. Kill me.”
Green eyes vanish, replaced by someone else.
I can’t see his face, but his voice is familiar, almost soothing. “You cannot let it control you, daughter. If you do, it will win. We’ll all cease to exist.”
Tears pool in my eyes as I fight, and I search for my father’s face, to see what he looks like. I forget. After all these years and being without him, I forget what he looks like. He’s a ghost, my shadow, my protector in the dark as I run into battle.
Father always came back for me, even in the afterlife. Even after the monster within me burned down our kingdom with everyone still inside.
But my mother remains a lost ghost. She’s trapped somewhere, but she doesn’t want to be saved. Not by me anyway. She’s terrified of the curse that was put upon me.
A blinding light explodes from my body as the blade sinks deeper into my gut—to the hilt—and instead of crying and begging for help, I close my eyes and let the power run away from me. It spills out of my wound and sinks into the stone beneath me. It whispers that it shall return, and when it does, death will greet me.
I open my eyes to see Dane holding the handle of the blade, his face filled with grief as he yanks out the knife and sinks it into my chest, crushing through my bones and flesh until it penetrates my heart.
The last words I hear are from him. They’re a sob within the screams gathering around us as the curse spirals from my body in a helix and smashes into the vortex above me.
“Come back to me, Seraphine. You must come back to me.”
24
Iwake with a startled gasp in the middle of the night, my heart nearly bounding from the chest I’m certain was just caved in.
Sitting up, I press my palm to my midsection, pulling it away to see there’s no blood or wound. Beads of sweat drip from my forehead, down my cheeks, and coat my chest. My back is soaked, and so is the mattress beneath my trembling form.
There’s no thunder. No lightning coming from a vortex on the ceiling above me. There isn’t a voice yelling at me to give in or a stranger hovering over me with a worried look on his face.
Who was he?
Was I dreaming?
I rub my hand down my face, wiping some of the perspiration from it.
I’m soaked. Drenched. And not in the way that Dane had me yesterday while everyone watched as our stunt doubles danced around us.
I touch my lips gently; they’re still tingling from the kiss. He didn’t need to kiss me the way he did—or deepen it so much that I warped from the inside out and begged for more.
His shadows are nearby, and I have no idea why I can sense them. As a human, I shouldn’t be able to do a lot of things, especially delving into the mind of the heir of an entire realm and grasping at his grief like a madwoman.
Something bad happened to Dane at one point in his life. I could feel it haunting him when I was in his head.
My skin heats at the memory of the orgasm rippling through me, which is weird, considering I’m in a bed that’s not mine, in a room I’ve only seen once. I should scream or jump out the bed, or at least be a little concerned.
I study the room, letting my eyes fall over the painting on the walls, the gathering of shadows, the rug settled on the floor in front of a fireplace, the calm flames heating the room.
Dane stands at the large window, staring out of his tower at the vast ocean of nothing. His hands are in his pockets, his waistcoat discarded on the seat pulled up beside the bed I was sleeping in.
The muscles upon muscles bundle at his shoulders, pulling taut at his white shirt, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. The ink peeks out at his nape, his forearms full of designs scribed by his realm. I can see from here the veins swelling beneath his skin from how hard he’s fisting his hands.
He’s silent, even as I pull myself into a seated position and hug my knees. The walls are crowded with silhouettes, all huddling to stare at me, waiting to see what Dane’s next move will be.
The little girl who usually appears in my room is here, and I tilt my head at her as she does the same, lifting a flower she must’ve picked from her shadow garden. The corner of my lip curls into a smile. A tall figure comes up beside her, takes her hand as the flower drops from her fingers, and they vanish.
I lick my dry lips and notice I’m in his clothes again—his shirt to be exact. A gasp falls from my lungs, but not because of what I’m wearing. My hands shake as I lift them in front of me. Myfingertips are stained black, with tendrils snaking around my fingers as if ink has been injected into my veins.
“It will fade soon,” Dane’s deep voice says, though he doesn’t turn around. “I had to put you to sleep to try to extract the curse, but some of it still lingers.”
“The curse?”
