Page 21 of Darkness and Deceit (Obsidian Academy #2)

Eighteen

KAI

That whistle, that fucking whistle drowns out everything.

Sound, thought… all of it gone. It drills into my skull, sharp and high and wrong, until there’s nothing left but a hollow thrum of pain, the kind that scrapes your bones raw.

I’ve heard this sound before. Too many times. And every time it cuts through the air, something inside me cracks.

But this time is worse.

Because he’s here.

My captor. My tormentor. My nightmare.

Vaskyr.

They called him that because no one survived long enough to learn what it meant. Some said it was a title. Others a name. He once told me it meant “King” in the old tongue, but he laughed when he said it, like it was a joke he wasn’t letting me in on.

But in the pit?

He ruled.

And when they wanted something done—something brutal, something permanent—they sent him.

He was the one who broke me first.

And the worst.

The moment I locked eyes with him, something inside me snapped—like a wire gone taut finally giving in to pressure.

“Still breathing, Stray ?”

The word hit like a boot to the ribs.

I thought I’d buried it with everything else—his voice, his laugh, the stink of the pit. But here it is. Crawling back up my spine like rot.

Stray.

That was what he called me. Not Kai. Not even a number. Just… a thing.

And it stuck.

I should’ve moved faster. Should’ve fought harder. But my body remembered what my mind tried to forget—and now I’m paying for it.

He drags me like a ragdoll, fist clamped around my shoulder like a vice, blood smearing the dirt behind us. My katana’s gone. My snake won’t answer. My magic is fractured—burning from the inside out.

I’m not Kai.

I’m not a weapon.

I’m nothing but a whisper of what I was.

Stray.

Then—

Vaughn crashes through the trees like a beast unchained. His wolf is right beside him, fangs bared, eyes blazing. Twin whips of crackling blue magic lash from his fists, searing through the smoke with every stride.

He doesn’t shout. He roars.

A raw, feral sound that tears through the battlefield like a warning.

I try to shout to tell him to turn back. To save himself from the hell I know is waiting for me. But my throat’s wrecked, my voice lost in the ruin of my body.

Vaskyr drops me, turns and grins at Vaughn like he’s bored.

Savina arrives a beat later, her panther weaving through the smoke. She doesn’t speak. She lunges.

Vaskyr just laughs.

He always laughs before the worst parts.

Blue fire erupts from his palms—serpents of living flame that twist and snap through the air. One misses Savina’s panther by a breath and Vaughn barely dodges the second blast.

They fight in tandem like the deadly fuckers they are—but I know the truth.

He’s toying with them.

And he wants me to watch.

Fuck. That.

With every ounce of strength I have left, I force myself upright, screaming through clenched teeth. My body threatens to buckle. My vision blurs. Every nerve in my body screams in protest. I stagger. Almost fall. But I don’t.

Because I won’t go back.

I call my snake.

It takes longer than it ever has before—its body flickering like a dying flame—but it answers. Corrupted. Fading. But still mine.

Vaskyr turns, teeth flashing in a fucked up grin. “Didn’t expect anything less from you, Stray,” he murmurs, voice slick as oil.

I don’t give him time to say anything else.

My snake lunges, coiling around him, just long enough for me to slam into him and drive us both to the ground. I straddle his chest, fists already flying. My knees dig into his ribs. He just laughs.

And I break.

The world narrows to nothing more than his face. His scarred, twisted, all-too-human face. And I hate that it looks human.

My hands find his throat.

And I squeeze .

“You don’t have the strength,” he chokes, blood bubbling up his throat. “You’re still mine.”

I scream—a raw, feral sound as I slam his skull into the dirt. Once. Twice. Again. Until the ground is red and bone begins to give.

“You took everything,” I snarl. “My name. My mind. My fucking soul.”

Blood runs from his mouth. He grins through it.

“You’re too late. The end’s already started.”

“Then you won’t live to see it.”

His grin doesn’t fade. “She’ll be the one who burns it all down.”

I freeze.

Lilith.

I don’t need to ask who he means.

I already know.

But whatever prophecy he thinks he’s delivering—whatever poison he’s trying to plant—it dies with him.

He struggles beneath me, flames licking up his wrists. My snake tightens. I force every scrap of shadow energy I have into my hands and squeeze. Skin splits. Blood spurts. His breath rattles.

Still not enough.

I twist his neck.

Snap.

Silence.

His eyes go glassy. His body stills.

And then there’s… nothing.

His lips hang open in a final breath he didn’t get to finish.

And I slump back on my knees, breath ragged, my hands still shaking. The world contracts—too tight, too quiet. My chest heaves like it’s trying to outrun itself. I think I’m screaming again, but the sound is lost, swallowed by the smoke and blood and silence pressing in from all sides.

I should feel something.

Relief. Triumph.

Justice.

But there’s nothing.

Just a silence that screams.

I wait.

For vengeance to settle like dust.

For the tremor in my hands to fade.

For the weight in my chest to lift.

I wait for peace.

But it doesn’t come.

What comes instead is a crack. Not of bone or magic. But of something deeper—something beneath my skin. A yank in the bond between me and Lilith.

It hits me like a blade to the ribs.

And then she’s there.

Not her voice. Not her face.

But her .

The tether between us pulls taut like a live wire jerking through my spine.

Her fear barrels into me like a breath I can’t take.

Her panic chokes the air from my lungs.

Her heartbeat stutters through mine, out of rhythm and all wrong.

She knows.

She felt it.

Whatever just happened here… she felt it.

And that’s what shatters me.

Not the fire still crawling beneath my ribs.

Not the blood drying on my skin.

Not even the body cooling beneath my hands.

It’s her.

It’s the thought of her face, contorted in fear.

Of her calling my name and hearing nothing.

Of her waiting for someone who might never come back.

Vaughn’s voice tears through the haze, ragged and desperate. “Shit. Shit. Shit. We need to get him back—he’s not gonna last!”

He’s right.

I can feel it too.

The unraveling. The slipping. The end.

I close my eyes for a second.

Not to give up.

Not yet.

But… to remember.

The way her laughter pierces through the darkness.

The comforting touch of her hand on my cheek.

The gentle way she utters my name, as if it's something precious.

The way her lips meet mine, brimming with hope and desire simultaneously.

If this is the end, let that be what stays.

Not the monster.

Not the pit.

Not the pain.

Her.

Let her be the last thing I feel.

Let her be the last thing I am .