Page 49 of Of Rime and Ruin (Sirens of Adria #2)

Chapter forty-six

Aethan

I am a worthless cloud of whaleshit.

I remember everything. My mental fog is gone. The Beast’s memories play on repeat like a guppy’s carousel for the past three days—Nahla’s face, Nahla’s body, books falling, the bliss, then the urge. The fucking animalistic urge . It’s all I can think about.

The bodies are piling up. Two more dead in the past three days. I’m losing control, and my subjects are dying. Because of me.

And the Beast has a selective memory, it seems. I remember Nahla’s face clearly. But the others? My mind is blank. It’s like he only wants to remember her . He’s lording it over me—she wanted him, not me, and he’s goddessdamn cocky about it.

I take the stairs to the basement, my rapid steps echoing deep into the recesses of my castle.

Nahla was right, I’m a fucking monster. She said it when she first arrived, and I should have listened to her then. So I’m listening to her now.

I will never touch her again.

Not until I get rid of this curse. And I know just the siren to help me.

Weeks ago, Lucas started his research, and at the beginning of the hunt, he mentioned he was onto something. Something about grimoires from the old library…

Memory flashes. Nahla perched on an icy bookshelf. Her mouth popped open in ecstasy. Bubbles escaping with every moan. Her hands clutching my hips. Nails, digging. Begging for more. Harder. Harder.

I drag my hand down my face as my stomach churns, clearing the memory before her blood spills. For years, I’ve wanted access to the Beast’s memories. And now all I want is to forget them.

I clench my fist and pound on the healer’s door. “Time’s up, Lucas.”

He opens the door, creaking the old metal hinges, and peers into my face. Lucas searches my gaze for a moment and seems to find what he’s looking for. “I wondered,” he says. “Come on in.”

I grunt and step inside, surveying the familiar room. The same fireplace, the same stuffed frostcat hanging on the mantel, the same empty chair he saves for my sorry ass. I settle into it and grip the armrests.

Lucas takes his sweet time approaching me. He stops to adjust a few trinkets on his desk and wipes a bit of dust from the table, rubbing it between his fingers. I steady my breathing, pulling deep breaths to counteract the furious racing of my heart. “How can I help you today, Sire?”

“You said you found a cure.”

“A hunch, Sire. Nothing is solid. This is all pure speculation, you see.”

“Do it. I want him gone.”

Lucas cocks his eyebrow. “Gone?” He opens a drawer, retrieving several strips of leather.

“Gone,” I growl. The chair cracks under the pressure of my grip. “Now.”

“Excellent,” he says, teeth glinting in the firelight. He threads a leather strip beneath each armrest, securing my wrists one by one. Then he stoops low, tying my ankles.

Sweat beads at my hairline as I watch his hands make quick work of the task. “What’s that for?” I demand, fighting to keep the anxiety out of my tone.

“Safety precautions, of course. We don’t want to repeat the past.” He stands back to survey his work, makes a small adjustment to the strap on my left arm, then nods curtly. “This might hurt.”

After squaring his posture, the healer closes his eyes. His Voice rasps and groans, he lifts his hands, and golden tendrils slip out from his fingertips. When he opens his eyes, they glow with gilded flame.

The magic rushes into my body, crawling beneath my skin and lighting my organs as it passes. It slithers into my chest, where it swirls and builds into a large ball before sliding up my throat. I toss my head and gnash my teeth as it reaches my brain.

Fuck.

Like a thousand searing needles, his magic weaves through my skull.

My body clenches, and I flex against the restraints. Crusty leather digs into my skin. Sweat coats every inch of me. I pant, drawing labored breaths.

Lucas strengthens his song.

“Fuck!” I bark.

In the tune of his spell, Lucas answers me, “It’s the only way, Your Majesty. You must push through the pain.”

Time drags. I squeeze my eyes shut, and the light bursts against my eyelids. The pain is unending. Twisting, gnawing agony, tugging at every chord in my brain.

“Gotcha!” His voice reaches me as if through a tunnel.

And then his magic pulls. Hard.

From the recesses of my mind, the Beast awakens. Ice bursts in my stomach as my magic flares in response. For a moment, I lose control of my body.

My mouth moves, and words form, without my command: “Leave, witch-doctor. Before I rip out your throat.”

My teeth snap shut, and I land inside myself. Fear crawls over me, lifting my scales. What just happened?

“Begone, dark spirit!” Lucas bellows. “I expel your darkness from this mortal husk! You are not welcome here!”

The twisting sensation intensifies, and he yanks. Like ripping a fingernail from its socket.

I scream.

The ice drains from my stomach, following the path of Lucas’s glowing light. Out of my body. My magic weakens by a fraction, lost to the aether.

“What are you doing to me?” I shout. My teeth knock together with force.

“The curse is connected to your magic, Sire! This is the cure. I will pull the magic from your body like a bloodfish from your side, and the Beast will come out with it.”

I grip the chair, and the wood cracks. Take my magic away? Is he fucking mad?

“No,” I growl.

Lucas sings louder. His magic grips the Beast, pulling harder. The Beast rattles in my head and clambers for purchase. His icy claws scrape the inside of my skull.

The Beast takes control. My mouth moves again—“I won’t go!” My hands pull against the leather straps, and the left one snaps free. My arm flails through the air, grasping at nothing. The chair tilts, then slams back into place.

“Excellent, Sire! Draw him out of his shell!”

I wrestle for control, crowding him toward the back of my mind, but he will not let go. The Beast is in charge now.

My eyes fly open. Magic unfurls. Jaw drops. My Voice reverberates through the room, and ice explodes across the floor. Steep, jagged shards, straight toward the healer.

Satisfaction. Gleeful hatred. Let it split him in two.

But Lucas sidesteps the Beast’s attack without breaking his spell.

“You will pay for the countless innocent lives, Beast. Begone!”

Confusion. Hurt. Innocence.

Feigned innocence. The Beast is a killer.

Anger, hot and consuming.

The scales spread rapidly, like a tidal wave over my limbs. My skin ripples with the speed of my transformation. I watch in terror as my fingernails darken, lengthen, and curve into wicked claws. My body stretches, muscles burning as I grow. The chair splinters apart.

I rise to my full height as my skin itches, dry and thirsty.

I need water. Ice-cold water.

I need to dive into it. To complete the transformation. Escape. Swim into the Rime and never emerge again.

Yes. That would be best for everyone.

Leave Sunfish alone.

Suddenly I can’t breathe. A fissure forms in my chest, and I break around a Nahla-sized hole.

Grief. Agony. Pain.

“ENOUGH!” I boom.

Lucas cuts his spell, and the tendrils of magic suck out of my body. I stagger, tripping on a broken piece of chair, and catch myself on his desk. My claws dig deep, puncturing the wood.

“That’s enough,” I pant. “We’re done here.” My head spins. My heart pounds out an angry beat, threatening to break my ribs. I inhale. Count to ten. Count to twenty. Count again. Picture her face. Her bright, warm face.

Lucas watches me from a distance. I peer sideways at him, loathing the way he folds his hands neatly in front of him. Like a goddessdamn saint. His mouth drops in a disappointed scowl.

“We will try again tomorrow,” he says. “If you want him gone, Your Majesty, you’ll have to let him go.”