Page 130 of Dream Reaper

The tentacle skittered past her, lost and confused as she vanished from its sight. But she was still there, still driving forward through the howling wind, her glamour a protective shield around her body and a blazing ball of magic in her hands.

Would it be enough?

It had to be, because only one tiny piece of Dragon still clung to her thoughts, the connection so weak it would snap at any moment, and then she would be forever alone.

And who knew what the shadow was doing to Brynja and the girls? As it stole Haryk’s magic and gained power, what would it do to their fragile human minds?

A vision flashed through her thoughts, of picking herself up in an empty clearing and discovering that only she had survived. That everyone had been slaughtered, and she was left—alone—in a graveyard of lost souls and broken dreams. A wave of hopelessness blasted through her heart.

Her glamour flickered, but she stifled a cry and surged forward, unwilling to give up, refusing to be driven away by a false dream of the future. The shadow had wanted her to see that, to see these ruins transformed into a graveyard marked by the mounds of corpses that had once been friends.

It wanted her to think there was no hope because then she’d give up.

The fact that it was trying so hard to dissuade her meant she still posed a threat to it.

Her boots pounded against the ground as she ran as close to the battle as she dared. Bracing her feet, she swung her hands around so that they were braced behind the writhing ball of magical energy. And then she hurled it toward the shadow.

It blasted through the wind, past writhing tentacles that didn’t even move to intercept.

Her glamour evaporated seconds before the blast smashed into the heart of the shadow in a thundering explosion of smoke and blue sparks.

The shadow roared as the phoenix loosed a high-pitched shriek. The shadow recoiled, withdrawing its tentacles from the chest of the phoenix and wrapping them around itself for protection.

And Prince Haryk tumbled out of the air and landed with a hard thump on the floor of the forest as his phoenix evaporated into flaming pinwheels of fire that spiraled delicately to the ground.

Oh no.

Ava couldn’t make her feet move as she stared in horror at the lifeless body of the prince. She was supposed to protect him, to save him.

Instead, she’d ripped him out of the sky.

She took a step toward him, tears streaking from the corners of her squinting eyes. But a large black blur slammed into her, caught her around the waist, and flung her backwards.

She screamed as she sailed through the air and skidded across the damp grass, her back exploding in pain as small rocks dug into her skin, ripping and shredding. She gasped against a sob of pain that wouldn’t tear free of her lungs. Just as she caught her breath, that dark blur took form above her.

The shadow formed its tentacle into an ugly point, razor-sharp and deadly.

Another vision smashed into her mind, the shadow invading her thoughts with the force of a battering ram. The assault was so sudden, so violent, she didn’t even have time to scream.

In the haze of the vision, she saw herself from above, as if she were the shadow about to strike. Her terrified face gaped up at her. She watched in mute horror as the shadowy spear plunged downward, skewering into her body.

Not only was she forced to watch the shock reflected in her own features, but she felt the agonizing pain as the shadow pierced through flesh and bone, driving so hard through her body that it skewered deep into the ground of the Shadewood.

The Ava on the ground coughed and burbled out blood. It ran down her jaw and onto her neck in a dark flood.

Now she screamed, and it wrenched her out of the vision just as the shadow plunged.

Throwing out her glamour, Ava rolled to the side. The ground shuddered as the tentacle slammed into the soil. The impact lifted her off the ground several inches, but as soon as she landed, she kicked herself over in a second roll, trying to get as far away from the shadow as possible.

Above her, the shadow screamed in fury. The tentacle came down again, and again, and again as it wildly thudded into the ground in a blind search. Her weak glamour held as she belly-crawled toward Jerrid, tears streaming from her eyes.

He lay a few yards away, his body motionless. She crawled alongside him, tucking her glamour around them both. It was the only defense she had left.

Haryk was gone. Jerrid wasn’t moving. Dragon was…as silent as the grave.

And she was utterly alone as a monster born of nightmares—fed by nightmares—ruthlessly attacked again and again.

She draped her arm across his chest, too weak to beg him to wake up. She didn’t care if she died today, but she didn’t want to die alone.