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That deep, dark void in the back of my head yawns wider with my pleas. It sucks in every thought and channels my entire being toward blood lust. My ring finger pulses to the steady thrum of a war drum, and pure rage rushes in my ears. I can hear nothing, see nothing. Ibecomewrath as my fingers slide across the marble and reclaim my sword.
“Don’t you want your answers?” The Beast asks, his tone calm, even bored.
I lift from the floor, my cheeks wet from my tears, but my vision is clearer than it’s ever been. “No.”
“No?” He scoffs and looks at Cristen. “Fine, then it’s time to finish this job. I’m tired of this game.”
Cristen remains on his knees. His eyes look almost wholly black, as they had after he tried to read my threads.
I take slow, precise steps forward, my eyes narrowing on The Beast’s chest. I wonder if there’s a heart in there to rip out.I’m going to know soon.
“Capture her,” The Beast commands.
Cristen stands, and my attention snaps back to him. “I can feel it,” he says, his voice so quiet I know he means the words only for me. The dark haze of his eyes glistens with starlight and prophecies. “I can feel the thing inside you, how it’s sunk its teeth deep into your skull.”
“There isnothinginside me.” Another step forward. “There is only me.” I raise my sword.
“Grab her,” The Beast says. His hands tighten into fists at his sides as I move closer.
Cristen remains still, his shoulders pressed back, his face resigned. His jaw slackens as he enters some kind of trance, every light left in his eyes obliterated. “It wants me, too,” he whispers, the words sharp as knives.
I don’t hear him, but I use his distraction to my advantage and focus on the one person I know deserves to be taken out. I turn my blade on The Beast, prowling forward with determination.
He grumbles something under his breath and knocks past Cristen, unsheathing a blade at his side. “I suppose if you want something done right, you ought to do it yourself.” He lifts his sword and motions me forward with a sly smile. “Come on. Race to your cage.”
“I can’t be caged,” I spit at his feet.
“Oh, Zora,” hetsksand taps his sword lightly against mine. “You already are.”
My brow furrows, but I don’t have a moment to let his words sink in. The dark wave inside me rises as he masterfully carves his sword toward my torso.
I jump out of the way and spin forward, lunging sword-first toward his thigh. I cut into his slacks, opening a gash across his skin.
The Beast growls and slams his fist down atop my wrist.
I gasp and my sword falls, the attack forcing my fingers open.
He yanks my back to his chest and places his sword beneath my neck. “Not much of a fight,” he says.
I drive an elbow back into his gut, and he stumbles back. “I didn’t realize it was over,” I taunt, grabbing my sword and wielding it forward with blunt force. My muscles strain as I corner him.
He meets my blade, tries to drive me back.
But the glittering panic in his eyes presses me forward.
Maintaining my hold on my sword, I quickly grab a small knife from my waistband and slash it toward The Beast’s forearm.
His face twists with pain and surprise, his sword falling as he moves to place pressure on the wound.
I slam into him, lifting onto my toes and holding my blade to his throat. “Take off your mask so I can kill the coward beneath.” When he doesn’t move, I allow my blade to slice the smallest amount into his neck. “Take it off!”
He raises a trembling hand, and I track the movement as he carefully undoes his mask.
Whatever he sees in my eyes, he isn’t questioning my resolve.
“Are you sure you wish to kill me?” he asks and peels the mask away.
Illusions snap and crackle outward. His bone structure slims further, sharpens. The sleeve of ink on his arm swirls from a muddy mess into the crisp lines of strange, patterned runes — maybe ancient letters of an equally ancient language. They carve up his entire arm, his neck. A large archaic symbol of an eye opens across his forehead, the ink as dark as the thing writhing inside me.
