Page 57 of The Surrender

Kronos carried half my soul for years before the Kings stole it and consumed it. What if I am just one curse-in-waiting? An ice storm chills my insides, confusing the emotions welling up in my chest. The horror grips my spine with the question: what if Shadow is right?

Raking my nails into the frost and grit below me, I grip a handful and release a feminine snarl as I hurl it. I won’t let him break me. I won’t let anyone break me.

The gray girl of my past haunts me. Numbs me. I can’t return to that. So, I do what I’ve always done. I remove the broach fixed to the bodice. Unclasp the pin. Lower the pin to my arm. And open an old wound. All I need is one.

Pain reminds me I’m still alive. And this isn’t a dream. Tears pour out of me because some dreams become nightmares. I found Drago’s soul, but why should I believe I could find all the others? Blood mates with the raindrops on my skin.

Drawing in deep breaths, I study the slit on my arm and the abrasion on my belly. The thick, crimson liquid falling down the sides of my brow assures me I took off a layer of skin with the star.

As the extreme facets of my psyche war with one another, I let one win. And imagine salt in the wounds. Let them hurt. Let them fester. Let them bleed.

And. Let. Them. Go!

The ones with the greatest scars are the ones with the deepest hearts. I’ve just buried mine deeper. Down, down, down where they can never find it, much less touch it. Shadow can’t touch my heart. None of them can. It’s safe and sound where it can’t break.

Nothing but endorphins and hormones and pain and pleasure from now on. Oh, they can make me their pet again. They can touch my skin and flesh. They can own my blood and bones. They can gaze into the windows of my soul.

But I’ve painted the windows black.

A new thrill lights up my nerve endings. I’d swear my blood itself is shining.

When they throw punishments at me, I’ll whimper and smile as I collect the lovely bruises and marks with all their darkness and shadows and demons. Let their scars fill me up to overflowing. If the lows are lower, the highs will be far higher. It’s what I need to stay alive and raw and real.

Because I’m the mad and wild girl who followed the monsters through the Veil of Souls.

I’ll kiss their chaos and dance with their shadows. I’ll burn with their demons and touch their claws and teeth. No fear of the bite.

Not a queen. Not a savior. Not an angel.

I’m just the gray girl who plays with monsters while the true monstress hides in a heart...so lovely, dark, and deep.

With this familiar and rooted sensation stirring my blood, I curl up next to that tree. My small, shivering, cold, and bleeding body.

I’m faintly aware of the sound of boots crunching in the forest.

“Holy saints, child!” a hearty, rich baritone proclaims. No, I'm pretty certain they'd want nothing to do with me.

I look up to find black hair, pale but not sallow skin, and those gray phantasms for eyes...just like mine. The second after he touches me, I pass out.

39

I’ve fallen right into the belly of the beast.

QUINTESSA

I wake to warmth cocooning me, the crackling of a fervent fire, and a heavy wool blanket rasping along my naked skin.

At first, I want to believe I’m in the Court of Storms again. I’ll wake up to Drago on one side, Kyan on the other—or between any of the Kings—and they’ll bring me pancakes and golden berries.

But when I blink my eyes open to find a humongous tree in the center of a small cottage, I know I’m still in the village. And on the main floor of a house. At least the bed is tucked into the far corner of the treehouse, away from the largest windows. I peer around, studying the area, searching for my fallen angel gown, but it’s nowhere near. A crude dresser on one side, a bookshelf on the other, a broad sitting chair. The firelight flushes my cheeks.

I stiffen as a familiar figure ushers through the arched entryway into the bedroom carrying a wooden tray with steam rising from a bowl in the center. His dark plait rests on one side of his chest. He regards me with a warm, approving smile contrasting his icy gray eyes and long, dark robes, which remind me of the Brothers in the Borderlands.

“I noticed you were rousing. And thought you might be hungry after such a monstrous time in the woods,” he says while lowering the tray to a bedside table nearby. “If you had been left to the elements any longer, well...let us thank the little fox who led me to you.”

“Fox?” I nearly squeak.

“I just gave him some cooked hare and berries from the meal. He should be along soo—”

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