Page 31 of Malicent (Seven Devils #1)

Even in the dark, I will shine, I will not be lost; I hum her song under my breath—soft, fragile—an anchor as I finally take the next steps.

The water climbs up my shins. My knees. Then my thighs.

It’s cold, each inch a new punishment. When it reaches my shoulders, I shudder violently.

My teeth chatter and my breath forms broken clouds before me.

I stop. Centered—alone—in the moon’s reflection. Silver above. Silver below. Then, something enters, and there’s a shift in the air.

The lake ripples as something massive slips into the water from across the chamber. A distant splash, and a wave rolls outward, pushing water to my chin. I sway off-balance, bracing as the lake divides.

Something is swimming toward me. It’s enormous. Its silhouette, a black shadow, moves with fluid grace. It is too smooth. Too purposeful. My night vision sharpens, but the creature remains veiled in the shifting darkness.

Too far to see. Yet far too close.

“You are rare, Millicent,” Nora calls from the shore. “Your vessel can hold such power—but more than that…you are a lamb.”

Terror rips through me. My chest tightens. My fingers curl beneath the surface forming fists that break the mirrored moonlight.

“A lamb who will turn into a wolf. That does not happen in nature. You will be the first.”

I hear footsteps behind me. Nora is leaving. Her steps fade. She does not stay.

She never meant to.

When she walks away from me, my voice fractures as I whisper, “Nora…”

She doesn’t respond.

The door groans closed, and the iron seals with a final, echoing clang .

And I am alone.

The mass slides into the moonlight, its form shifting like smoke in a storm of shadows. My eyes widen. It’s closer than it should be, but it vanishes before it can get too close.

My breath hitches. Panic claws at my lungs. I start breathing too fast—shallow breaths—too sharp and useless.

I can’t breathe.

No. That’s not true. I am breathing.

My head snaps left and right, searching. The surface has gone eerily still, undisturbed like nothing was ever there.

Then…bubbles. I see a few at first and then more.

My mouth goes dry. My heartbeat pounds in my ears.

The bubbles stop.

Silence.

What game is this thing playing?

It strikes.

Within seconds of thought, long pale limbs explode from the depths behind me. The hands are inhuman—elongated and skeletal—with fingers tipped in jagged, hook-like claws. When they slap down onto my shoulders, one wraps around my neck, and the other clamps over my mouth.

I scream into its palm, but the sound is swallowed by water.

The thing yanks me backward with terrifying force. It drags me down deeper and deeper beneath the surface.

Water closes over my head.

Claws pierce into my skin. I scream, thrash, kick, and punch, and my lungs heave against its crushing strength.

Water seeps between its fingers, pouring into my mouth. I choke, and my breath vanishes. Fire ignites in my chest; it’s burning and screaming for air. My limbs grow heavy, and blackness creeps into the edges of my vision.

My flails are wild and desperate.

I cannot die here.

I jolt upright, lungs heaving. The darkness in my vision is replaced by moonlight trickling into my room. I clutch at my throat, relieved from the air filling my lungs, and my skin glistens with sweat so that the sheets cling to me.

My head whips around my room as I scramble back, pressing myself against the headboard, as it feels safest there.

I clutch my knees to my chest, trying to ground myself as I scan the space.

I’m in my room.

Was it a dream?

I rake trembling fingers through my hair, rocking slightly.

No. I’m losing it. The visions. The voice. They’re getting worse.

The rocking stops when I see the deep, sickly bruises blooming across my shoulders. In the center of each one is a clotted gash.

My hand flies to my throat and then my cheek. There are more wounds there.

This wasn’t a dream.

How did I get back here?

The thought shatters.

The slow creak of my door slices through the silence—a high-pitch whine that scrapes down my spine.

“Arcadia?” I whisper. “Nora?”

No answer.

The sconces that normally line the hallway outside are dead.

Only a void remains.

I try to steady my shaking hands, clasping them together but failing. My fingers turn to the ring on my thumb, spinning it over and over like a lifeline.

Focus.

I call on my magic, reaching inward. My eyes ignite in a faint, flickering blue. A soft glow spills into the room, enough to see but not enough to feel strong.

The familiar swell of power is gone. In its place, there is only a sputter. A fizzle.

Panic claws up my throat. I reach desperately for Ollie.

Nothing.

I tug harder on the bond but still find nothing. I’ve never failed to summon him—not once since I was five.

I’ve blocked him before, yes, to spare him my emotions when things got dark. But I haven’t blocked him now, and he’s not coming.

“Don’t worry,” it whispers. “I’ll take good care of your skin…until it tears.”

The voice isn’t in my head anymore. It’s here at the foot of my bed.

The sound—no longer singular—shifts between four voices, layered and broken. Male and female. Young and old. All speaking as one.

Terror coils in my stomach as I press myself tighter against the headboard. My hands shake uncontrollably.

I open my mouth to scream, but there’s no time.

A figure launches from the foot of my bed. It’s a woman, if she can be called that. Her black hair hangs to her waist, veiling her face entirely. Below her chest, there’s nothing but bone; her ribs protrude outward, skinless and slick.

She crawls like a spider, and she’s fast. Too fast.

In the time it takes me to blink, she’s on top of me.

Four arms—the same ones that dragged me under the lake—grip my ankles and wrists. She slams me flat against the bed with overwhelming strength.

I thrash, desperate to break free, but it’s useless. My limbs barely twitch beneath her crushing grip, and my muscles scream…burn. Still, I am too weak.

Her exposed spine stretches beyond where her ribs end, lengthening unnaturally into a sharp, pointed tail.

It twitches.

“Little lamb, offered up.”

She laughs—a fractured, maniacal sound that rattles through the air.

Then she darts forward. Her hair-draped face presses against my ear, her breath hot and sour.

“Long have we lingered,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “Since the day you were born, you have belonged to me. A vessel waiting to be filled. Let me complete you.”

Pain erupts violently across my stomach as she slams her ribcage into me. Bone pierces flesh.

I scream, but no sound escapes.

We are joined, bound by the grotesque merging of body and will.

Her face jerks, twitching unnaturally before her mouth finds mine.

She kisses me, but not with affection—with ownership. Her crusted, slime-coated lips seal over mine. A thick, putrid sludge floods down my throat.

The pressure is unbearable. My throat stretches too far—skin pulled taut around my neck as it bulges.

I convulse.

My eyes roll back and my knee twists sideways, breaking the joint under her force. Then my shoulder gives out, bones tearing from sockets.

And then…

Darkness.

Not sleep.

Not death.

Absence…like someone has blown out the flame that fed my soul.