Page 127 of Dream Reaper

His mouth went dry, his hand tightening around Ava’s forearm as she too stared at the battle raging behind them, a battle spiraling out of control.

The phoenix and the shadow were both impossible to defeat on their own…but together? Their magic out of control?

No force in Rhuin would stand against them.

He had to intervene. He knew that. He was no fool.

But he wanted Ava to be as far away as possible when he did. And he wanted to be in full control of Dragon. He sent a silent request through his mind, but only silence answered him.

A shiver ran down his spine.

He glanced down at his feet and saw dragon scales retreating, as if they were crawling back up his ankle.

“Dragon?” Ava asked, spinning toward him with a horrified whisper.

Her face went gray, mouth slackening as she also realized that something was very wrong…

Darkness ripped through Jerrid, blinding him. His body went rigid as the fiery energy inside him cooled in a violent rush. It was like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him, drowning him from head to foot.

Except it wasn’t water.

It was darkness, nightmare, and shadow.

His muscles spasmed and then went limp, as if he were nothing more than jelly. Ice crawled through his veins, leeching him of warmth. Of life. A deafening roar filled his ears—not the roar of a beast, but more like the steady, unchanging roar of a waterfall.

“Ava, you need to cut the connection with Dragon!” he rasped into the darkness, panic clawing at the back of his throat. “Cut the connection! Now!”

Could she even hear him?

Dragon slipped away from him. The scales across his body vanished more quickly, and the wings on his back drooped and shriveled. This wasn’t a normal shift. This was…

Dying, Dragon whispered faintly, his thoughts a mere breath in the back of Jerrid’s thoughts.

The shadow pulled more from them, stealing Dragon away, using him…

But for what?

Jerrid’s mind thrashed wildly as he tried to break free, even as his body remained frozen in place. A low, taunting laugh coiled through his mind, clawing against his consciousness with talons as jagged as splintered bone. He screamed, but no sound escaped his throat.

The shadow laughed again as he scraped away more of Dragon. Jerrid could feel its thirst…

He peeled his eyelids apart, the world taking shape around him. But it wasn’t the world he had left. The Shadewood had disappeared, and he found himself standing in a courtyard surrounded by fog. The air nipped at his skin, icy and fierce. When he breathed, his breath misted on the air in front of his face.

Cold stone rose behind him, towering over him. When he turned, he had to tip his head all the way back to see the top of the jagged tower silhouetted against a sky devoid of moon or stars, a tower so dark even the empty sky paled in comparison.

Despair seeped into his bones, a tangible thing that writhed out of the poisoned soil beneath his feet and burrowed into his soul. He should give up.

There was no point in fighting anymore.

It was as if he had fallen into Helheim, the realm of mist, cold, and gloom. And the tower that rose before him was the Elvidnir, the Tower of Suffering.

“Can’t hold on much longer.” Dragon’s guttural voice sounded from behind him.

Jerrid tried to spin, but his movements were sluggish, hampered by the mist that clung to his arms and legs. Behind him, a small dragon huddled in the fog, his body drooped and broken. The dragon’s scales, as dark as obsidian, were dull and scuffed.

“Dragon,” he breathed.

Dragon lifted his snout when Jerrid reached out and pressed his hand across the dragon’s nose. He was cold to the touch. When Jerrid withdrew his hand, his palm burned as if he’d pressed his fingers against icy stone.