Page 6 of Bound By the Beast Man
With a will I did not know I still possessed, I strain toward the new presence. I pull on a thread of mental strength that has lain dormant for years, buried under layers of grief and hopelessness. No longer the passive victim in my own mind. I am actively reaching, pushing against the suffocating darkness, my entire being focused on that single point of warmth. It’s clear I am swimming up from the deepest part of the ocean, fighting against a current that wants to pull me back down into the abyss. The effort is immense, a silent scream of exertion in the void.
As I push closer, a voice speaks directly into my mind. Not a sound but a thought, a presence given form and substance. It is a deep, masculine voice, and it resonates with a power that makes the Purna’s magic feel brittle and thin. And it speaks my name.
Diana.
The shock of it is a blow. To hear my own name, to be acknowledged as a person after being a thing, a specimen, for so long, is overwhelming. Tears I cannot physically shed burn behind my eyes. And with the voice comes a flood of feelings that are not my own, but are directed at me. I feel an unshakeable sense of safety, a warmth that chases the deep, eternal cold from my soul. And beneath it all, there is something else, something fierce and fiercely protective. It feels like a shield, a promise, a fortress wall rising up around me. It is the complete antithesis of the cold, cruel magic of my captors. This is not a violation. This is a rescue.
The feelings are so powerful, so real, that a new fear takes hold. This must be a dream. It is a new and far crueler illusion created by the Purna to torment me, to give me a taste of hope before ripping it away and plunging me back into an even deeper despair. I almost pull back, ready to retreat into the familiar numbness that has been my only defense for so long. But the feeling of safety is too profound, too absolute to be a simple trick. It is not a lie. It feels like destiny. It feels like a lifeline thrown into my abyss.
I must answer. I have to let this stranger know that I am here, that I am aware. The hope is a fragile, terrifying thing, a tiny flame in a hurricane, but I must guard it. I must feed it. I muster all of my will, focusing every last ounce of my consciousness into a single, desperate thought. The effort is staggering after years of passivity. It is like trying to shout after having your throat cut.
I do not know his name. I do not know who he is or what he is. But I can feel the shape of him in my mind, a being of honor and strength. I push my thoughts toward him, a fragile whisper sent out into the void.
I am here.
Can he even hear me? Is it even my voice? Silent for so many years, can even break through the magical barriers of my prison. But I am unwilling to let this chance, this single, impossible spark of hope, slip away.
I continue to reach for him, clinging to his presence like a drowning woman clinging to a piece of driftwood.
I am not just surviving. I am fighting.
9
CORVAK
The primal certainty that the woman in the coffin is mine rocks me to my core. It is a feeling so powerful, so absolute, that for a moment, the world outside of it ceases to exist. In my shock, I shift my weight, and a dry twig snaps under my boot with a sound that is as loud as a thunderclap in the silent clearing. The chanting stops instantly. The air, which had been vibrating with their hypnotic magic, falls completely still. As one, the Purna turn, their beautiful faces now masks of cold, reptilian hostility. Their eyes, all shades of violet and grey, fix on my position behind the tree. I am discovered.
Hiding is no longer an option. I straighten to my full height and step out from behind the ancient tree, letting my hands hang loosely at my sides. I allow the Purna to see me, to assess me. I am a warrior, and I will not be caught cowering in the shadows. There are at least a dozen of them, their graceful forms belying the immense power I can feel radiating from them. I am outnumbered, outmatched in magic, and unarmed. A direct confrontation would be suicide.
The Purna part, and one of them steps forward. She is taller than the others, her silver-white hair woven in intricate braidsthat contain what look like tiny, polished bones. Her violet eyes have slitted pupils, and she looks at me not as a person, but as an insect she might consider crushing.
“Veylana,” one of the other witches hisses, her hand glowing with a faint, dark energy. “An intruder.”
The leader, Veylana, raises a hand, silencing her subordinate without a glance. Her gaze remains fixed on me.
“You are a long way from anywhere, manticore,” she said, her voice melodic but laced with the same venom I see in her eyes. “What brings you to our sacred grove?”
“I am a traveler, shipwrecked and lost,” I said, keeping my own voice even and calm, betraying none of the rage that is boiling in my blood.
Veylana’s eyes flick toward the coffin and then back to me, a cruel, knowing smile touching her lips.
“You are looking at our prize,” she purrs, her voice dripping with condescension.
“What is she?” I ask, forcing a note of detached curiosity into my tone.
“A prize of a rare bloodline,” Veylana said, a flicker of something akin to academic interest in her eyes. “We attempted to awaken her power, to bring her into the fold of the coven. But the human part of her—her sentimental attachments, her grief—made her power wild and uncontrollable. A fascinating, but ultimately failed, experiment.”
I process this new information. They know what she is. They tried to turn her.
“A failed experiment you chose not to discard?” I press, feigning a mercenary’s interest. “She must be valuable, then.”
“Her power is potent, even if it is untamed,” Veylana admits, her arrogance making her careless. “In stasis, she is a… placid resource. A well from which we can draw, while we study how to break the human weakness that corrupts her gift. She will serveour purpose, one way or another. But she is of no concern to you. Leave this place.”
I offer Veylana a slight, dismissive bow, a gesture I hope she reads as my acceptance of her power.
“I seek only a place to rest,” I said. “I will trouble you no further.”
She watches me with her cold, reptilian eyes for a long moment, then gives a curt nod, turning her back on me like I am no longer worthy of her attention. The others follow her lead, their focus returning to the coffin, the low, hypnotic chant beginning to rise once more. They believe I am no real threat. It is an arrogance I will use against them. I turn and walk back into the forest, my pace measured, my posture that of a defeated creature slinking away. I do not look back.
