Page 65 of The Sacrifice

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This will not be my suicide.

QUINTESSA

I don’t look back.

Not even when I hear his breath laboring. Sweat cleaves to every inch of me as I scramble among the bones, digging, digging, digging. Thanks to Kronos, I have an idea of what I need to look for, but with every frenzied breath I take, and the more the Hag hums her glee in the background, the more outrage hammers me, scrambling my senses. I turn the mountain of bones into a crater, grit my teeth, then move on to the next. The Hag laughs again, and it’s the first time Drago’s pained growl strikes horror into my blood.

I still don’t look back.

Wincing from the Hag’s laughter that boils my blood, I hunt through countless bones, searching for any signs of his soul, imagining what it must look like. Not a silver fairy like the first one I held. Drago’s will be flames and embers. And if he has strings, they won’t be fine, nor delicate as a lacy kite. They will be thick and hot like tongues of hellfire. Touching Drago’s soul will be like feeling a hot coal.

But everything here is cold. Too cold. Not because I’m numb because Drago is here, he’s close but because there is no trace of him here.

His labored breath battles the Hag’s taunts for territory. Both are like venom pricking at my spine, wanting to invade, slow my blood, and rattle my heart from its place. On my knees with my whole body trembling, panic splinters through me. A voice of defeat twists my thoughts, an echo of the Hag and the promise of what she will do.

I still don’t look back.

Instead, I shut my eyes and shake my head, determined to block them out. If I fantasize about the past few days with the Kings or dream up some vision of Drago and me somewhere else, it would be worse than taking these few moments to process. No, my heart quakes with the knowledge of what I must do. I need to imagine myself in some dark, silent womb, some tunnel closing in on me.

For the first time, I choose to enter that place inside my mind, inside my soul. I enter the gray nothing. Deeper I creep into those chasms of pain, trauma, of blood dripping from new scars, of scabs opened and left never to heal, of the icy shackles of isolation, and the pain of delirium and madness. I don’t stop until the sound of the Hag’s torture dims and fades.

Tremors rupture through my being, but I don’t break down. My pulse thunders with blood loud enough to split my eardrums, but they hold their strength. The seething of my breath funnels a hurricane within my lungs, but I don’t inhale or exhale a struggle.

Every nerve ending inside me explodes as I rise from these remains because they are the Hag’s discarded tokens, not trophies. And she has too much pride, too much arrogance to hide his soul within such scraps. No, she would place it somewhere she may glory and revel. Nothing like Drago and I where we crashed and burned within a simple tower bedroom, within a dark dungeon, an underground steam room, a Court of Ash, and a field of weeping roses. We bonded through a blade and mud, through blood and fire, and the darkness of beautiful nightmares.

When I open my eyes, the first sight that meets my eyes is the swampy water I tumbled into when I fell from the tunnel. Everything catches fire inside me. Without looking back, I grin. Without hesitating, I harden my eyes, my spine, my whole body. Power and passion blaze through me, and I lurch into a run. The wrathful hiss seething from the Hag behind me only sparks my adrenaline and sends a thrill shooting into me.

One plunge into that thick, filthy water is all it takes. One plunge into this swamp that engulfs me to my chest with undeniable warmth is confirmation. The dark, dirty, and wet womb closes over my head, and I let it. I surrender to it, take a deep breath, shut my eyes, and enter the gray nothing…

The water is too thick, too viscous. It takes all my muscles to wade through it. Long threads of lichen, scum and mud, rot and brine, decay and methane, and the crippling weight of heavy silence consume me—as heavy as a burial ground. But it would not be mine. I push through the labyrinth of swamp, hands testing, fingers feeling. It takes beyond what my lungs may handle, so I stand to capture more air. The third time I do, Drago’s growl has transformed into a pained roar. But his words, his command thunders louder in my ears.

Be my dirty, good girl, my pet.

Yes, I belong to him, them. Their willing slave, their sweet slut, their pretty pet, and their goddamned Queen of Ash. I am not nothing. I am everything!

You will do this. You won't look back, little one.

I don’t. I dive beneath the scummy water despite how I know it’s not just water. It’s blood.

Because every second wasted is a drop of blood.

You will use every moment to find my soul. And once you do, little Tessie, Thayne and I will fuck you until we send you to heaven just so we can bring you back again.

Oh, gods, I nearly erupt from the memory of those moments. From the unbearable pain that bowed beneath the unstoppable rush of pleasure, no matter how much it shook my soul loose and sent me to heaven. It wasn’t the first time I visited the land of spirits.

Remember, Thiago, my Queen. And find my fucking soul.

My fingers collide with something hard. Lungs on the verge of bursting beyond their breaking point, I pitch my head to the surface, flinging my hair back. Another growling roar. Another savage laugh from the Hag. The scent of Drago’s blood conquers the stench of swamp.

Instead of giving into the fear to let it ice my blood and bones, I fucking use it! I become violence and vengeance and every shade of rage until I feel hot enough to set this swamp on fire and watch it burn. The hard force meets my hands again, but this time, my fingers tunnel into rotted flesh. Beneath the water, I shriek and yelp, but the blood-curdling horror of the enormous corpse is not enough to quell the heat of the embers flickering upon the edges of the body. Because I’m close. I’m so fucking close!

When I break the surface of the swamp again, Drago’s roars and growls have quieted. The Hag’s hums torture the air, and I know I must not have long. How much flesh has she shredded? How many bones has she broken? How close is she to his heart?

Battling the thoughts wanting to divert me, I dive. And I rip at the decayed corpse. I tear through decomposed skin and flesh, through shriveled muscles, brittle bones. More than once, I retch, but I don’t stop. I don’t rise because the embers grow hotter. Not even when my lungs protest and sizzle in my chest. Instead, I go deeper. Blind and deaf, with nothing but touch, nothing but this furor spurring me onward, I fight my way into the massive dragon corpse itself. A fever of madness and delirium ignites my blood, my heart, my soul. Not birthed from the gray girl of my past but rebirthed from the girl who first touched Drago’s chest. I become flames and magical embers ever burning to gild my skin like stardust.

Nothing and no one can take that from me. This is my truest sacrifice.

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