An itch crawls up my spine.
“Where is he?” I ask Nyssa. “Where’s Dayn?”
“Lord Daynthazar?—”
“I will not call him that, no matter how many times you repeat it!” I snap. Heat licks through my veins at the thought of him, quick and burning, while something darker twists low in my gut. Hunger… or thirst. I won’t dignify it with a name, won’t admit what my body is demanding. My nerves feel raw. Stretched. “Where is he?”
“My lady, I?—”
“Where is that two-timing son of a?—”
“My lady!” Nyssa’s voice suddenly cracks like a whip, and in an instant my body betrays me—locked, frozen, every muscle heldfast. A current thrums through me, cold and merciless, and I realize too late that I’ve underestimated her. She might play the part of a maid, but she’s dragonkind. Ancient, terrible, and deadly, just like Dayn.
“Lord Daynthazar will be with you shortly,” she continues evenly, as though she hasn’t just stolen my will. “He has several matters to attend to, given his unexpected return.”
Her invisible hold snaps loose, and I suck in a breath. I roll my shoulders, every muscle twitching as I shake the lingering weight off me. But something darker has already ignited—molten and sharp, threading with the shadows of my own newfound powers as they stir, coiling.
“I don’t really care, Nyssa,” I say, my voice cold, steel-edged. “With all due respect, I can’t stay here.”
“My lady, it would be wise if you would just?—”
“I can’t stay here!” I snarl, done with courtesies. I bolt for the door, determined to leave this place no matter the cost.
Isander’s wing was decimated when he tried to help me escape from Dayn. My grandmother’s spirit and all the souls who aided her in their mission to retrieve me… they were scattered away like they were nothing more than wisps of smoke. Then there were all the other darkbloods who put their lives at risk to extract me. I don’t know where they are or if they even survived.
My people were hurt, despite his promise that none of them would be, despite me swallowing his stupid deal. And now I’m supposed to sit here like some obedient girl, waiting for Lord whatever to grace me with his presence? Just the thought sends me into a spiral of rage.
I reach for the doorknob—and Nyssa’s hand smacks my hand away.
Instantly, I’m activated and whirl on her to make sure she can’t stop me.
My shadows surge from my fingertips before I can even think, instinctive things I still don’t fully understand but that whip out in dark tendrils and snake toward Nyssa's throat. Her eyes widen—justa fraction—before her hand slices through the air. My shadows dissipate like smoke hit by a gust of wind.
“My lady,” she says, her voice maddeningly calm, “please reconsider your actions.”
I don't. I can't. The fury burning through me demands release. I instinctively pull on the darkness in the corners of the room, feeling it respond to my call with an eagerness that's almost sentient. The shadows deepen, coalescing into razor-sharp projectiles that hover around me.
“Last chance,” I warn her, the words coming out as a growl. “Move aside.”
Nyssa sighs—actually sighs—like I'm a child throwing a tantrum. “I cannot allow that.”
I launch my attack, hurling the shadow blades at her from multiple angles. She moves with inhuman speed, her body twisting gracefully as she evades the first volley. Her hand traces a pattern in the air, and a barrier of shimmering light materializes before her, absorbing the rest of my projectiles.
“You are not at your full strength,” she observes, her eyes tracking my movements. “The journey has left you... unstable.”
“Shut up,” I snarl, gathering more shadows to me. The effort costs me more than it should, my reserves already depleted from the ritual with Dayn and the confrontation afterward. My stomach clenches painfully, reminding me I haven't eaten in... how long has it been?
Nyssa's form blurs, and suddenly she's beside me, her hand closing around my wrist. Her touch is strangely cool, sending coldness through my veins as if to counter the fire of Dayn's blood—though I’m not sure if she even knows about the blood exchange. I try to wrench away, but her grip is unyielding.
“You're making this harder than necessary,” she says.
I slam my free hand into her solar plexus, or where it would be on a human. Nyssa doesn't even flinch. Instead, she captures my other wrist, her eyes flashing with an inner light that reminds me forcefully of what she truly is.
“Enough,” she commands, and power ripples through the word.
I feel my shadows responding not to me but to her, retreating back to the corners of the room like scolded pets. The betrayal of my own abilities sends a shock of fear through me.
“What are you doing to me?” I demand, still struggling against her grip.
