Page 47 of Memories Like Fangs
Anger.
Longing.
Guilt.
Wrath.
The strongest and largest of all was love. So much love.
My heart soared.
It’s my mating bond.
It’s Byrd.
It was not a slow reawakening or gentle flicker. It all slammed into me, too fast, too much, all at once. Yet, it was far from unwelcome. It was Byrd. It was her fire. Her soul.Her. She was alive. She wasthere.
“Quinn!” Cole and Cody called out to me at the same time.
“What’s happening to her? Did something go wrong?” Nat asked, voice panicked.
“Should we do something—?” Maisie asked. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her take a step away from her sigil.
“No!” I called out, shaking my head and holding my hand out to her. My voice was rough and gravelly as I spoke, sounding like a growl. “No, I’m okay. It’s Byrd. I can feel her. I can feel the bond.”
“That must mean my spell worked. The Blood Witch-Fae and her magic were subdued, so there’s nothing blocking us,” Teddy said. He must have joined the other witches in the circle while the bond was returning to me.
“Yes! I can feel Byrd!” Maisie called out.
“As can I,” Izzy said, her pupils slit and eyes overflowing with power. “Let’s do this, everyone. Remember, Quinn, you won’t be able to touch Byrd. You’re just going to be an illusion, but you should be able to speak to her. Get as much information as you can in those seven minutes, okay? Good luck.”
I gave her a quick single nod before rising back to my feet. All of the witches’ eyes blazed with the bountiful power of their magic as they raised their hands in perfect unison. The pentagram on the floor lit up, heating my feet through my shoes like they would melt off my feet at any moment. The sigils drawn in their color of magic appeared from thin air. Then, the magical glyphs blurred and expanded into massive columns of light that reached toward the Archive’s highest branches and ceiling. The Archive’s tree seemed to wave toward me as if wishing me well as I admired the magic at work. The pillars grew wider and wider until they connected with the one next to it, mixing the colors together until they blended in swirls of violet, gold, coral, cerulean, and green. I was encircled in their glow. It was warm like the kiss of summer, summoning a gust of wind that blewmy curls back. As the magic surged, the thrum of my and Byrd’s bond vibrated with even more life and energy to match.
I closed my eyes and focused on it.
On her.
Then, the light rushed toward me, drowning me with heat and pressure and magic.
I left my body the same way I’d given her my heart: completely and without a single piece held back.
Sunbeams
QUINN
Surprisingly, leaving my body didn’t feel like dying. It felt more like I had slipped underwater in unknown seas and surfaced without knowing where I would end up.
From the moment I opened my eyes, it was clear I was in a small cellar of some kind. With the distinct lack of windows and the sound of water dripping somewhere, slow and rhythmic like a pulse, I could only guess it was underground. I couldn’t smell anything, but I felt the thickness, wetness, and stifling density in the air. Thick, ancient masonry arched overhead in a ceiling and the walls around me were warped by time. An old wrought-iron chandelier hung above, its lightbulbs made to mimic candle flames in their shape and dingy orange glow. The lighting seemed to feed on the shadows, casting long, warped silhouettes that clung to the walls like rot and made every corner bleed with dread and trepidation. It was the kind of light that made everything look sickly and wrong, like even sanity and rationality were afraid to linger here for too long.
Then, strapped to a leather chair across from the wooden table was Byrd.
The sight of her wrecked me.
She looked like a discarded doll, her body barely strong enough to hold her upright despite the restraints that held her in place. She looked so small, fragile, and empty. Her pastel pink locs hung in tangled, matted curtains around her face. Covered in dried blood, dirt, and clear paths down her cheeks from her tears, her beautiful face was all soft lines and exhaustion. When she was shifted like this, her eyes were usually neon periwinkle blue with lavender purple on the edges, and her black pupils slitted like a cat. While her pupils were slits, her eyes were that enchanting brown that I adored and so fucking worn down with bags underneath them from so many sleepless nights. Her warm brown skin was dulled to a deathly gray beige that robbed her of the golden shimmer and glow she usually had. Her vibrant scales that reflected pastel purples, pinks, and blues normally were just a monotone white with ghosts of those colors now. Some even appeared to be missing on her skin and tail, but it was hard to say for certain. The possibility made the storm inside me crack with thunder and lightning.
Every inch of Byrd was smeared with blood, either dried and cracking or wet and glistening. Swirls of red-hued magic of every shade shackled her wrists and ankles, digging into her like they were part of her skin. Magic of the same color restrained her tail and wings to the chair’s backing and back leg. Pulsing orbs of magic clung to wounds on her stomach and shoulder that hadn’t stopped bleeding. Her blood shimmered with gold and opal as it was drained from her. Every breath Byrd took sounded so shallow and uneven, her shoulders shaking from the effort alone.
There was so much pain. So much fucking pain. I felt every bit of it. It crashed into me like a hurricane, threatening to overtake me and crush my remains. The acidic poison from the blood magic coursing through her veins. The sharp ache from her wounds not being able to heal. The tiredness in her musclesand joints. The hunger clawing at her stomach. The sting of thirst in her throat. The pulsing headache that never left but was trivial compared to everything else affecting her.
