The king had ensured Lykor would never be able to form mental barriers again by utterly eviscerating his mind. Everything would be on display, ripe for the taking—Aesar, the wraith’s location, and his future plans.
An icy fear crawled out of Lykor’s chest at the potential exposure, the armor around his ribcage constricting his air. Steadying himself with the grating of steel, Lykor crushed his gauntlet into a fist at his side.
They both had their secrets, but the offer was one Lykor didn’t think he could refuse. He wasn’t sure what business Jassyn truly had in the jungle, but the elf hadn’t demanded an explanation for his presence either.
“If…if you can assure me that all you will do is unravel the coercion,” Lykor finally said, his spine tensing from the risk, “I’ll tell you all I know of how the wraith came to be.”
Jassyn’s eyes examined his with a clever intensity. “But you’re not wholly wraith.” His arms abandoned their defensive, folded position as he hovered an orb of illumination over his fingertips.
Lykor decided to offer a fraction of his knowledge, to bridge some sort of trust. “Galaeryn returned a handful of my talents.” Voice wavering, he focused on digging the toe of his boot into the grass. “I was among the first transformed into a wraith.” Not quite the truth since he’d emerged after the king had tortured Aesar, but unpacking everything concerning his other half was a tedious tale for a different day.
Another moment stretched too long. Lykor glanced up, the scars down his back twinging from the motion. Those fascinating eyes trapped him like a fly in honey, prolonging the awkward silence.
Breaking free and rolling the tension out of his cramped muscles, Lykor said, “In the dungeons, I learned what Galaeryn intends to do with the magic he’s plundering. He’ll redistribute Essence—if he hasn’t already. To the pure-bloods, creating arch elves of those who aren’t, augmenting the powers of those who are.”
Aesar’s residual anger roiled in his gut at what his people had endured. Innocent citizens who’d been in the wrong place the night Galaeryn had become drunk on power.
As Jassyn’s calculating eyes absorbed every word, Lykor nearly felt compelled to mindlessly spew more. “I think the king encouraged the breeding of half-elves to exploit as a source of magic.” Lykor gripped the blade at his side—the one he’d stolen. “Collecting enough Essence will grant him immortality—”
“And he either hasn’t harvested enough yet or it requires replenishment over time,” Jassyn finished. Tilting his head, he idly trailed his fingers over a vine dangling from a tree. “What if we could work together? Our people could unite against the elves’ oppression.”
Now he sounded like the girl. “The wraith can’t stand against the king as we are.” Lykor tightened his grip around the dagger’s hilt. “We need an edge. Our own source of power.” He glanced at the surrounding jungle as it suddenly became eerilystill. “I’m taking my people away—hopefully to a place the elves can’t reach. You could come with us.”
The words slipped past Lykor’s flapping tongue before the thinking part of his brain had any hope of catching up. Heat stained his cheeks. He couldn’t believe he’d suggested something so absurd. To someone he didn’t even know.
Lykor averted his gaze, attempting to recover with an explanation. “As an Essence wielder, you could help the wraith.” Still wildly unbalanced, another inadvertent admission skidded out. “I was going to take your friend Serenna—”
Jassyn moved so fast that Lykor had no time to react. Pain streaked through his shoulder as Jassyn shoved him, crashing his back into a tree.
Instincts flaring from the impact, Lykor ripped Essence to his command. Except…there was nothing there. His attention flew to a golden blade—a sister to the stolen one at his side—protruding from a weak point in his armor. Black blood spilled over the hilt. Before he could tear the weapon out, vines erupted from the ground, wrapping around his wrists, legs, and torso, rooting him in place.
Shock mauled Lykor’s chest as he sucked in a broken breath. Jassyn had shaman powers too. Of course he fucking did. Lykor nearly laughed at his own sheer stupidity for not predicting this.
Jassyn drew himself to his full height. “Have you harmed her?” he demanded, towering over Lykor. “Where did you take her?”
This was about the girl? Lykor scoffed. “She came tome,” he hissed, writhing against the restricting plants. His agitation and fear careened into anger. “Release me.”
Lykor flinched when Jassyn’s hands rose to the sides of his face. His skin buzzed in alarm from the proximity. The vulnerability. Essence churned around them, a riot of whirling magic.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” Lykor snarled, extending hisfangs. Every muscle strained as he struggled against the vines. Yanking in progressively more panicked breaths at the constriction, the jungle’s oppressive air threatened to smother him.
Jassyn hesitated, fingers hovering next to Lykor’s temples before he grabbed him. A thought assaulted Lykor, diving into his mind. A command. Coercion.Show me where she is.
Lykor’s spine went rigid as telepathic power penetrated his skull. The past repeated itself, drowning him in a whirlpool of horrific memories. Galaeryn invading his mind. Breaking him. Shattering him. Reforging him. Binding him with orders. Rendering him powerless. Tethered and shackled to a cold stone table. Alone. Left for dead time and time again after every transformation from elf to wraith and wraith to elf.
Recoiling from the flashbacks, Lykor furiously wrenched his awareness back to the glade. Jassyn clutched his face, impaling telepathy further into his brain, lodging the magic like a spike.
Lykor snapped his fangs in an attempt to reach him. To stop him. He had no other defense now than to tear out the elf’s throat. His pulse thrashed in his head as the coercion tunneled into him, burrowing into his thoughts.
“Get out!” Lykor barked, grappling the restraining plants with all his might.
Disregarding him, Jassyn’s fingers tightened around his face.Where is she?His eyes glazed over as he delved further, invading the depths of Lykor’s mind.What else do you know?
Lykor was a fool, believing this elf had wanted to help him. Jassyn’s true intentions were clear now—exploiting him to discover what the king had tucked away, concealed from the world.
“I am not a curiosity for you to poke and prod,” Lykor snarled.
An animalistic rage erupted at the helplessness. Lykor went wild ripping at the vines—a rabid beast chained, fighting forfreedom. He was unable to toss Jassyn out, unable to assemble a mental barricade, unable to do anything but stand there as the elf rifled througheverything.
