Page 31 of Realm of Nightmares
She’d shattered the realm.
Billowing and churning, it fanned out, cutting through the Ether, exposing a chasm-like vortex. Shrieks and howls reverberated off the walls of the alley, raking along her mind. The screams of a thousand lost souls.
The rift between the worlds wavered, dragging the wandering souls into its finite darkness.
Maeve crawled through the fog, desperate to escape, when a frigid hand snared her by the ankle.She cried out, but one of the souls latched onto her as it was sucked toward the abyss.
“No!” she screamed, calling out to the goddess to spare her.
She couldn’t die.
Not now. Not like this.
A flash of obsidian streaked overhead, piercing through the oblivion. It wavered once, then vanished completely, taking the wandering souls with it, while the one holding onto her became nothing more than a pile of ash and dust.
Maeve sagged against a wall, exhaustion needling its way deep into her bones. She choked as she tried to breathe, while every muscle, every inch of her body, throbbed in agony. There was a faint burn of magic, like it was attempting to heal her wounds, but was simply too weak. Her chest heaved, and she looked up to find Laurel standing over her, pure hatred marring her pretty face. She was decked from head to toe in glinting black armor, embossed with an insignia Maeve had never seen before—a sword set to the forefront of a sun with the phases of the moon encircling it.
But what scared her the most was the weapon Laurel held in her hand. It was a blade of void. Of absolute nothingness. A gathering of darkness. Capable of stealing every shred of light, every thrum of magic, every flicker of energy.
And it wasterrifying.
Laurel glared down at her, her eyes glittering with fury. “What in the seven hells have you done?”
* * *
Rowan downed a shot of whiskey,then dropped into a leather chair. He cradled his head in his hands.
Maeve would never speak to him again.
Not after how he treated her, not after what he said to her.
But more importantly, because sheknew.
The illusion carried on around him, but it was always the same scene—the Dawnbringer and the Nightweaver being torn apart from one another, the binding of their souls becoming the sacrifice for the first breath of life. For the first magical fae to walk the realm.
His own words played again in his mind.
The yearning, the longing within the deepest part of his heart would not ease.
“Mine.” Rowan’s voice came out strangled. Hoarse.
In another time, in another realm.
“She was never mine.”
* * *
Tiernan torethrough the Shadow District of Niahvess, his storm escalating with every powerful stride.
The skies flashed in anger, seething. Rain pelted down around him, soaking through his clothing. He gritted his teeth against the onslaught, swallowing the acidic rise of fury that continued to froth and bubble inside him.
His boots clicked against the cobblestone street as rainwater splashed up around him.
Merrick and Lir followed closely behind, their magic vibrating through the city. Fae scrambled in their wake, darting into shops or ducking into alleyways. No one dared to meet their gazes. No one dared to cross their path. Wind howled between the buildings, battering the worn rooftops, causing the shutters to creak and groan on their hinges.
Tiernan had a general idea of who he sought, but he wasn’t entirely certain where to find her. The company she kept and her particular type of magic was not for the faint of heart.
And he was done waiting.
