Page 80 of Whisper of Nightmares

They moan in agony and rage.

Fingers grasp at her—some plump, others picked clean to the bone. One claws at her stomach. Another grabs her arm. Hands tangle in her hair. Pulling. Kneading. As if one fistful of something real will restore them to life.

All the while, Euphemia is screaming. Kicking. Trying to break free. While the rumbling in the ground grows louder.

She doesn’t know which will be worse: death by being devoured or ripped to pieces. All she knows is she doesn’t want to find out.

A corpse near her feet grabs hold of her legs. It starts pulling itself up the length of her. Tongue lolling through the empty place where its lower jaw is missing. Euphemia presses a hand to its forehead, keeping it at bay. But other bodies press in harder. Pulling at her hair. Her clothes. Her flesh⁠—

When a sword stabs through the corpse at her feet.

Relief barrels into her at the sight of Ash standing over her.

He pulls the blade out with ease and strikes again, this time landing purchase on the creature pinning one of her arms beneath it.

Ash makes quick work of the rest of the bodies, severing limbs and heads.

Then he offers her his hand, covered in gore. Euphemia looks down at her own hands, slick with fluids she’d rather not decipher.

Euphemia fits her hand into his and he hoists her to her feet.

“Go!” Ash bellows, shoving her behind him, closer to the entrance. He readies his sword again. “I’ve got Níðhöggr. You get yourself out of here.”

Panic sinks its teeth into her as the ground trembles. “I can’t leave. My father—he’s in here somewhere.”

The flames of Ash’s eyes flick to her. Briefly.

But the serpent advances quickly. Recognizing that Euphemia is unmoving, Ash instead shields her between his body. And when the serpent slithers near enough that a wicked grin starts to crack its face open, Euphemia’s protector charges forward.

He slides through viscera, sword swinging in one clean arc across the serpent’s neck.

The head falls with an earthquaking thud. The impact sends a shockwave through the castle. Bones clatter and snakes fall from their perches.

Before triumph and relief can even begin to wash over Euphemia, she notices the serpent’s body twitching. The place where the head had been throbs. Something thin and papery weaves across the wound.

“What’s happening?”

Ash sheathes his bloodied sword. “The head will grow back. We don’t want to be here when it does.”

He grabs her hand with the fervor of someone who knows imminent danger.

Euphemia knows it too. She knows the last thing she wants is to face such a creature ever again. But the agonizing temptation of what if still lingering in her chest.

She rips her hand from his grasp, lips quivering. “I am not leaving until I’ve found my father.”

Something like a sigh grumbles in his throat.

Ash stops.

Twin flame eyes assess her.

Then the serpent.

Then without warning, the beast of a man grabs her by the waist and hoists her over his shoulder.

“Unhand me, you beastly thing!” She hammers against his spine as the words slip from her mouth, unburdened. If he wants to act like a beast, then she refuses to feel guilty about calling him one.

But his grasp is ironclad as he carries her from the chamber. And she swears she hears a hint of a smirk in his tone as he says, “You will be the death of me yet, wretched creature.”