Page 132 of Facade

I scanned the storm—nothing. The sky was white and empty. Even my sense of smell was off. I bared my fangs, scanning and scanning—

He hit me from behind.

The ground rushed at me.

Pain exploded through my shoulder as it took the brunt of the impact. He flipped me over, eyes wild as he tried to pin me, ripping my sword from my other hand.

Panic seized me.

I lashed out with my dagger—determination edging me on.

He instantly snatched my wrist, a deep laugh rumbling through his chest to mine. I bucked beneath him, the weight of him as heavy as the dread in my gut as he snapped the dagger out of my hand, pinning me to the ground.

“Maybe I should have trained you. This would have been fun foreplay,” he taunted, his face angled over mine. Smoke and pine wrapped around me—the same scent that had ensnared me only a week ago. Now it turned my stomach—suffocating me.

Rage boiled, and with a surge of strength, I pulled my other wrist free of his grasp and swiped my talons across his face, leaving four jagged, bloody marks.

He roared, rearing back to his heels. I scrambled backward, managing to grab my blade. Blindly, I swung it toward him with a shout of rage as my muscles screamed and ached.

The bones in my arm shuddered as I struck steel instead, Aiden having thrown his sword up, blocking me with ease.

My muscles faltered—just for a heartbeat. It was enough.

In a flash, the hilt of his sword cracked against my skull.

Then nothing.

My arms hung limp in my lap—human once more. My bare back scraped against the grimy stone wall and a shiver coursed through me.

Rats scurried along the opposite wall, hunting for scraps. But all that lingered was blood and piss.

The manacles had already started digging into my wrists and ankles. I almost laughed at the irony—the inked shackles were gone, replaced with literal ones.

I shifted positions—white-hot agony lanced through my shoulder. Fresh blood seeped down my arm.

Chunks of grime and other things I didn’t care to examine further squelched between my fingers as I tried to stand. A grimace snaked through me as a putrid smell clogged my nose. The pain in my leg was almost non-existent—until my weight settled on it.

A yelp squeaked out of me, followed by a string of curses as I fell, the filth splashing beneath. A gag ripped free as I tried to shift, reaching for my Gargoyle.

Nothing.

I reached again—

Still nothing.

Cold panic crawled up my spine. Where is it? I still have my memories. But why the hell can’t I shift?

The door creaked open.

“Evanee…”

His voice slid through the dark in a sing-song tone. I braced myself as his slow footsteps padded toward me until he stopped in front of my cell. The four angry lines on his face gave me twisted satisfaction. Though I wished I’d struck deeper.

His gaze turned cold. “You won’t be able to shift for a while. I poured a tincture down your throat while you were passed out.”

The torchlight lit only half his face as he gripped the bars and leaned his head against them.

“I don’t know what lies that Witch fed you, but whatever you’re remembering isn’t real. The only way to ensure it is, is to have Cressida—”