Without my necklace …
I peer down my nose at the blackened blade. Back to my heaving chest. A shudder rakes through me, mind drilling into that shadowy place that’s weighted down with a final full stop.
Without my necklace, nobody’s safe.
My hand tightens around the hilt—
A blow of air batters me as a crackle of lightning splits apart the sky, making me flinch. My gaze flicks to something that catches on the flash of light amongst a stir of ash: my necklace, coiled on the ground not too far away.
My curse and my salvation.
A strange feeling floods me that’s not quite relief.
I would have done it. Would have taken myself out rather than risk another lethal detonation.
The realization hits so hard I struggle to breathe, blinking, a single tear dripping down my cheek.
I scramble forward—scramble from those thoughts left somewhere in the ash behind me as I snatch up the gem and conch and inspect the broken latch with trembling fingers coated in charred flesh.
I notice it all at once, stomach knotting, another gag making me dry retch. Head swiveling in the direction of the stream, I leap up and sprint toward the water, dressed in nothing but the fried remnants of my actions.
Dropping the blade and necklace on the bank, I stumble in on legs that have forgotten how to work, and the water swallows me in a cool gulp; a purifying rinse that cradles me and wipes me clean in none of the important ways.
Murderer.
“Shut up!”
I drop below the surface, just short of the rushing current. Sitting on the rocky bottom, I press my palms into my eyes andscream—bubbles exploding from my twisted lips on their race to freedom.
If only Rhordyn knew what I was capable of, perhaps he would have put a stop to me years ago. Way back when he first rescued me from the Vruks.
I remember my nightmare. Remember the way his blade pierced through my heart …
Perhaps that’s exactly what he’ll eventually do.
Lungs jerking for breath, I shove to the surface, drawing a deep, shameful gulp of life-giving air. Hair slicked down my back, I pry a rock from the riverbank and use it to scrub myself raw.
Stare catching on my rippled reflection, my attention narrows on the black vines scribbled across my right shoulder, their tapered tips weaving over my collarbone.
I swear that’s spread.
My hand whips up, fingers running over the jagged, black branch now partially protruding from my skin like a gnarly scar—icy dread washing through my chest when I feel a round bulge poking off a particularly risen bit.
I let go of the rock, chin dropping as I look at the mark, fingers prodding at the burgeoning lump flaring with a scathing itch. I scratch at it, and a thin layer of skin collects beneath my nails, exposing a black bud no bigger than a blueberry.
My heart does a nosedive.
Teeth gritted, I lift it up off the branch that seems to be woven beneath my skin …
Delicate black sepals curl back, revealing a cluster of crystal petals huddled together in a shimmering swirl.
A tiny, crystal bloom.
Shock and confusion wrestle inside me, but one overriding emotion overpowers them both.
Revulsion.
Off.I need it off.
