Page 24

Riven
The fortress is older than time itself. Not in the way the mortal world measures age, not in years, not in centuries. No, this place predates history. It was carved from the bones of something long forgotten, a relic of a war that no longer has a name. The stone walls aren’t just black; they’re void, absorbing what little light dares to touch them. The architecture is jagged, shifting, a labyrinth of impossible angles that make the fortress feel alive, like it’s constantly rearranging itself.
And in the center of it, buried deep, past the layers of ruin and rot, is me.
I’ve been in cages before. I’ve been shackled. Bound. Torn apart and put back together again.
But this? This is different.
The room they keep me in is a chamber of old magic. The kind that sinks into the marrow, poisons the blood. The walls drip with something alive, not liquid, not smoke, but something between the two, a substance that moves like it’s watching, waiting.
Chains bite into my wrists, my ankles, my throat. Not steel, not iron, but something far worse. Something carved from the bones of fallen gods, inscribed with runes that hum against my skin. I can feel them burrowing beneath my flesh, slithering through my veins like parasites, anchoring me to this place.
Severin is smart. He knows what I am. Knows what Wrath does, how pain doesn’t break me, doesn’t weaken me. It feeds me. Makes me stronger. So he doesn’t deny me pain.
He drowns me in it.
The cuffs at my wrists burn constantly, sending pulses of agony through my arms, like fire licking against my bones. The chains across my chest constrict every few minutes, crushing my ribs just enough to bruise, to snap, before letting go only to do it again. My body heals, only to be shattered over and over, an endless cycle of agony that never gives me long enough to use it.
A gift that never gets unwrapped. My lips curl. Clever fucking bastard.
A slow drip echoes from somewhere in the darkness, the only sound in this damned place. The air is damp, thick with the metallic tang of blood mine, mostly, but not entirely. There were others here before me. I can smell them in the stone, in the floor, in the walls that do not forget.
Severin built this place for a reason: to break us and to unmake the things that refuse to die. I grin, my lips splitting from the movement, the dried blood on my mouth cracking. He's going to have to try harder.
Luna is coming for me. I feel her like a storm on the horizon, the bond stretching taut, pulling at something deep in my chest. A sharp tug at first, a flicker of presence, and then a surge, a pulse of raw, untamed power that doesn’t belong to me, that shouldn’t be here.
Fuck. She’s close. Too close. A growl rattles low in my throat, my wrists straining against the cuffs, the ancient runes burning deeper into my skin as if they can sense the shift. My body stills, instinct sharpening, mind roaring at me to do something, to warn her away.
Severin has been playing with his food. Drawing this out. But if he gets his hands on her?
It won’t be a game anymore. I clench my jaw, shoving the thought down before it can take root. Lucien wouldn’t have brought her here if he had a choice.
He knows the risks. Knows what Severin is. So if she’s here, it’s because they don’t have a better option. I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders, ignoring the sharp bite of chains.
Fine.
But she’s not ready for this. She doesn’t know how to shield herself yet, how to pull the bond back, how to mute the pain before it drowns her in it. Right now, every lash of agony through my body is hitting hers, too, dragging her under, forcing her to feel every strike, every snap of bone, every raw, brutal reminder that I am not winning this fight.
And if she doesn’t learn how to block it soon, she’s going to be useless by the time they get here. Which means I have two problems. One, I have to stay alive long enough for them to get here. Two, I have to figure out how to shove her out of my goddamn pain before it wrecks her. I breathe in, slow and steady, letting the agony settle in my bones, letting it be what it is.
And then, through the bond, I reach for her. Not to pull her closer. To push her away. The pain doesn't stop. It never does. It cycles through me like a living thing, dragging claws down my spine, burrowing into my ribs, coiling behind my eyes like it owns me. But I don't fight it. I don’t beg. I don’t scream.
I wait.
Because pain isn't the worst thing Severin could do to me. Because she is searching. Reaching. And it makes something dark slither through my gut, something closer to panic than I want to admit.
I grit my teeth, pressing my head back against the stone behind me. Silas. That thought is easier to focus on. Where thefuck is he? Severin is playing with us. Separating us. Waiting to see who folds first. But I don’t fold. I never fucking break.
The door creaks open, the sound deep and unsettling, as if the fortress itself is recoiling. Then he steps through. Severin moves as if the world belongs to him, as if the very air should yield to his presence. His aura fills the room, a slow, creeping sensation that seeps into the cracks of the stone and into the marrow of my bones.
He was always a beautiful bastard, sharp-cut features, high cheekbones, a mouth that never learned kindness. But it’s his eyes that ruin him. Silver, like Elias’s, but without the mirth, without the humor. Just cold calculation. And right now, they’re focused entirely on me.
A sneer tugs at his lips. “Still breathing.”
I grin, slow and sharp. Blood drips from the corner of my mouth, but I lick it away, tilting my head. “Disappointed?”
He exhales through his nose, stepping further inside. The shadows in the room shift with him, moving like they want to crawl closer.