Page 24 of Storm of Blood and Shadow (Merciless Dragons #3)

For weeks, I’ve been avoiding the other dragons, especially my brother. He knows me best, and if I’m near him too often, he’ll perceive that something is wrong with me.

I’m fortunate that he’s been so busy. He’s been creating new rooms in his cave, customizing it for Serylla and his hatchlings, fetching more human items for his mate’s comfort, flying back and forth to improve diplomatic relations between Ouroskelle and the new democracy in Elekstan. Not to mention his visits to our new hunting grounds and his continued supervision of the clan and their mates, as well as his occasional flights to the distant isle we call the Ashmount, to check on our permanent prisoner, Rahzien, the former king of Vohrain.

When I found out that Kyreagan hadn’t killed Rahzien, I was angry at first. The last thing we need is another enemy within our borders, an unknown risk that, despite our best efforts to contain it, might break free and cause destruction.

Another monster like me.

But I understand why Kyreagan had to keep Rahzien alive. The former king’s life is inextricably and magically bound to Serylla’s.

The gloom that settled over me back on East Fang has continued to grow. I’ve learned that when the darkness and the sense of doom grow too great, I must release some of the pressure by venting void magic and lightning into the air or the sea. Yet each time I do so, I feel the Mordvorren growing louder, stronger, overtaking me bit by bit.

When I release a burst of magic, I experience temporary relief, and I use that time to appear among the clan, helping with the reconstruction efforts, the renovation of caves, and the building of new homes. Some of the clan are working on purging the fenwolves from Ouroskelle, while others are learning to fight, to garden, and to use human tools. I participate when I can, but I’m jealous of those who have the mental and emotional capacity to invest more in the process of learning how to be human.

Whenever I have those brief periods of peace and clarity, I try to spend a little time with Kyreagan’s hatchlings, Callim and Violet. It delights me that I have a niece and nephew, like Jessiva does.

Her absence grieves me daily, hourly, minute by minute. Yet I understand her better now. If, by some terrible turn of fate, Kyreagan and Serylla became unfit parents, I would do anything to ensure the safety, care, and happiness of their offspring. Now that I comprehend the emotions Jessiva was trying to express to me, I feel twice as guilty about keeping her from her family.

She’s been with them for about a month. I’ve received brief messages from her, but I haven’t replied. I would not know what to say. I swore to her once that I would not lie to her, and to tell her that I’m doing well would be an egregious falsehood. I want to beg her to return to me, but I won’t be selfish in that way again.

Instead of returning to the Twin Fangs, I’ve been going to the Ashmount when I need space to be alone and time to think. With Kyreagan back from the mainland, and Ashvelon taking a greater leadership role, I have fewer responsibilities on Ouroskelle than most of the other dragons, who are building new lives with their mates and hatchlings. I am alone, so I volunteer often for guard duty at the Ashmount. Rahzien is protected by a spell that Thelise devised, so I don’t have to worry about my magic harming him—and by supervising his prison, I can contribute to the clan and allow other dragons the time they need with their families.

When I’m guarding the former king, there’s not much to do besides fly in lazy circles above the once-volcanic island, or lie on its lava beds among the ash-roses and brood while shadows fill my mind.

Rahzien spends his days wandering through the abandoned fortress that serves as his prison. He can’t descend to the lava plains, but on sunny days he comes out onto the lower parapet to soak in the rays.

Today I’m wallowing in my own sadness over Jessiva’s departure, feeling the intense pressure of the void and the storm building inside me. At last I can’t bear it anymore, and I tear upward into the cloudy sky, vomiting bursts of void magic and forked streaks of crimson, white, and purple lightning.

This time, there is no relief afterward, only pain and a growing sense of panic. My body is glowing from the inside, fire and magic swelling at the seams of my scales.

I crash onto the broad lower parapet of the fortress, breathing hard. With a screaming roar, I vomit another orb, which streaks across the devastated landscape of the island and implodes harmlessly in the air.

“You’re fucked up, aren’t you?” drawls a voice.

I whip my head around with a snarl. Rahzien is leaning in an archway, watching me.

“You never used to act like this, or look like that. ” He jerks his chin toward my glowing scales. “What happened?”

“None of your goddamn business,” I growl. It’s a human swear, one I rather like.

“As you may know, I’ve messed around with magic—or rather, I’ve had others do it for me. Didn’t work out so well.”

“Obviously.” I should leave without speaking to him any further. Kyreagan and Serylla have warned me how manipulative he can be, how he likes to play with people’s minds. In that way, he is much like the Mordvorren.

I can feel it whispering around the corners of my mind, pressing more firmly into my brain. Over the past week, I’ve lost the ability to shift at will. I can only change when I’m forced to, when my time in each form runs out.

Rahzien crosses his arms, his biceps bulging. He’s manacled, and the chains clink when he moves. “Tell me what happened to you. Maybe I can help.”

I laugh bitterly. “You, help me ? You bribed my clan to serve you in war, resulting in the deaths of our females. You poisoned the prey on the islands you gave us, intending to kill off our entire race. You tortured my brother and planned to execute him. And you tormented and humiliated Serylla, who is like a sister to me.”

“Serylla,” Rahzien says softly. His tongue swipes over his lower lip, and his eyes grow distant. “I’d like to see her again.”

“You never will.”

“That’s probably true.” He sighs. “I don’t suppose you could have them send some wine with my next allotment of food?”

“We’re keeping you alive, not comfortable.”

“Oh, I’m not comfortable. Have no fear.” An exasperated sigh breaks from him. “I’m fucking miserable. You’re the first living soul I’ve spoken with in days. At least you’re talking to me. As I recall, you were always the more reasonable one of the two princes of Ouroskelle.” He smirks.

“Reasonable?” The word hisses between my fangs, and Rahzien draws back a step, a twinge of fear in his gaze even though he knows I can’t kill him. “By reasonable , do you mean gullible? Pliant and pathetic? Soft? Easily persuaded? I’ll have you know I am none of those things. I am poison. I am destruction.” My voice deepens, changes, shifting into a tone that isn’t mine, but I can’t stop the flow of the words. “I am the doom they cannot prevent, the death they see coming and cannot stop. I cloak the lands and oceans in darkness. Rain like arrows, thunder like an earthquake, lightning like spears in the hand of a god.”

“What the fuck?” Rahzien is pale beneath his red-gold beard. “You’re not the only one inside that scaly head, are you, prince of dragons?”

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the Mordvorren, struggling to reclaim my throat, my tongue, my voice. With a violent effort, I manage to force its consciousness to the back of my mind. The glow beneath my scales fades, and I’m in control once more.

Rahzien observes me in silence for a moment before speaking again. “A word of advice, Prince. If there’s a force you aren’t strong enough to defy, join with it. Use it. Don’t fight it head-on, or it will conquer you. You need to come alongside it and twist it to your own ends. Pretend that your goals are aligned, and then, when the moment is right, choke the life from it.”

“As if I would ever take advice from a piece of shit like you.” I leap into the air and rise, leaving him far below.

This was the first time the Mordvorren gained enough control to speak through me. It’s a new threshold of danger and risk for everyone around me, and I cannot continue any longer without telling Kyreagan what I’ve done. He and Serylla are attending a ball on the mainland tonight, but they should be returning tomorrow morning. Before then, another dragon will be coming to take over the guard duty of the Ashmount. Once my replacement arrives, I’ll head for Ouroskelle and tell my brother the truth.

By the time I reach Ouroskelle the next morning, I’ve lost my resolve, and I’m half-determined not to tell Kyreagan my secret after all. Perhaps instead I’ll hide in my cave for a while, then head back to the Twin Fangs for a few days to see if I can get myself under better control. But as I head toward my cave, a hideous, cramping pressure builds inside me, a warning of imminent detonation, and I’m forced to head upward and try to expel it by releasing a void orb.

Except, when I attempt to use my void magic, I can’t. Nothing comes out of my throat—no black bubble of the void, no lightning.

The pressure increases, spiking to a sharp pain in my head. The entity inside me wants me to give in. It whispers that relief will come if I yield and hand my mind over to its will.

Instead, I streak higher into the sky, up and up, pushing the limits of my own body. As I gain enough altitude, I feel the Mordvorren’s grip on me relax, and I’m finally able to launch a void orb. A tremor rolls through my body, and I feel the volatile power glowing through my scales again. For one terrifying moment, I’m certain that the clash of the storm and the void inside me is too much, and that I’m about to explode.

A familiar roar from below catches my attention. When I look down, I spot Kyreagan gliding not far away, with Serylla on his back.

So much for slipping away and avoiding this conversation. It looks as if I don’t have a choice now.

Slowly I descend and perch near Kyreagan on top of his mountain.

“You saw that,” I mutter.

“Yes, what the fuck?” he exclaims.

“What he means to say is that he cares about you very much,” Serylla puts in. “We both do. And we’re worried. If you’re in some kind of trouble, you need to tell us. Please.”

“Your concern is appreciated, brother—and little sister.” I dip my head to her. “As much as I hate to admit it, I think you’re right. I can’t handle this on my own any longer.”

“Handle what?” Serylla asks.

“Speak your mind,” Kyreagan urges. “Did the poison affect you differently? Are you ill?”

“Nothing like that. As you know… I have void magic.”

“We’re all familiar with it,” he says dryly.

“I once told Vylar that it felt as if there was a great void inside me, and that I had to keep tight control of it if I didn’t want it to swallow me whole. If it becomes too much for me, I can squeeze pieces off the void—encapsulate bubbles of it—”

“Your void orbs, yes. What are you saying?”

Dread and reluctance flood my soul, so intense that I can barely form words. I’m not sure if it’s me not wanting to disappoint him, or the Mordvorren commanding me to keep quiet.

“You’re going to yell at me when I tell you,” I say.

“Maybe,” replies Kyreagan flatly. “I’ll yell louder if you make me wait for the answer.”

“Very well. You know the Mordvorren lasted a long time.”

“I was there.”

“Right. For some of us, the food supply dwindled painfully low. Jessiva and I ran out of food two days before the end. And I’d seen the amount the others had stocked in their caves. I knew we were all going to starve if the storm didn’t stop. By the time it quit on its own, we might be too weak to hunt or forage.”

I’m not telling him the whole truth. I don’t want him to know how I nearly ravaged Jessiva’s human body—how close I came to raping her as a dragon and then eating her flesh. Admitting that wretched truth is more than I can bear.

“I was desperate to save us,” I continue. “And I had an idea—a stupid fucking idea, more stupid than I realized at the time, and now I don’t know what’s going to happen to me…”

“Varex,” says Kyreagan, much too calmly. “What did you do?”

I take a deep breath and meet his gaze. “I swallowed the Mordvorren.”

Kyreagan takes the news much as I thought he would. He’s shocked and concerned, and he shows it by pummeling me with questions in his angriest tones. I answer as many of them as I can, but since there are so many unknowns, my replies seem to make him more frustrated. As his temper rises, so does mine.

“Enough!” I exclaim at last. “All I know is that this thing, this entity, is taking over me. If Thelise understood it better, if there were any records of what it is or where it came from, perhaps I could combat it more effectively. But we don’t know any of that. So I have to go away, alone, and try to learn how to cope with it. And if I can’t do that… then you may have to kill me.”

“Out of the question!” bellows Kyreagan, so thunderously that I recoil.

“We’re not doing that,” Serylla confirms. “Besides, killing you might just set the Mordvorren loose again, which would be disastrous for everyone.”

She has a point. “So there’s nothing left for me but a lifelong struggle against this evil, far from anyone it could hurt,” I say morosely.

“What about Jessiva?” Serylla asks. “Are you two still in contact? Does she have thoughts or ideas about this?”

“She’s with her family in the capital, where she is safe. Where I can’t hurt her.”

Kyreagan rumbles deep in his throat. “Isn’t she the one who hurt you? That scar on your throat—”

“I did that to myself.” The confession bursts out of me, raw and dark. “I wanted to die.”

My brother draws back, his yellow eyes filled with pain. “Varex…”

“There’s more to what happened in my cave,” I grit out. “Things I can’t tell you. Don’t ask me to speak them aloud. Jessiva was more gracious and generous than any woman should have been, considering what I put her through. She deserves to be rid of me.”

Kyreagan advances so suddenly that I tense, thinking he’s about to attack. But instead, he touches his muzzle to the side of my neck, a sign of affection and respect. I tremble, wanting to flee from his comfort and from the sympathy in Serylla’s eyes.

“What can we do?” she asks. “What do you need from us? Anything we can do for you, we will.”

As I hesitate, unsure how to answer, Kyreagan lifts his head and looks into my eyes, like he’s reading me.

There’s only one thing I want—the one person I cannot have. I don’t want my brother to see how much I crave her, so I avert my gaze from his.

“All I need is to be left alone,” I say tightly. “I’m going to the Twin Fangs for a few days, and if I cannot resolve this or get it under control, I will head farther south, to the deserts of the Southern Kingdoms.”

“But there are dragon hunters there,” Kyreagan objects.

“If they kill me, and the Mordvorren escapes, it will be released above an ocean of sand where it can do some good, not here where it will destroy us all.”

My brother arches his neck, every spike bristling. “I’m not letting you do this.”

“It’s not your decision to make,” I tell him quietly. “I will not say goodbye to the hatchlings, for their safety, but please give them my love.”

“We will.” Serylla’s blue eyes are filled with tears.

“I must go now, while I can think clearly.” I bow to my brother.

“I’ll visit you.” The words tear out of him, as if by leaving I’m ripping away a piece of his heart.

“I look forward to it.” With a beat of my wings, I rise and soar over the mountains, heading south.

Was it my idea to return to the Twin Fangs? I’m not sure anymore. I think perhaps it was the will of the Mordvorren.

I’ve been worse since I landed here, and yet I can’t bring myself to leave. I have the sense that the Mordvorren is stronger on this island for some reason—something to do with the strange odor I smelled when Jessiva and I first arrived. Something lives here, or died here, or festers beneath this place… I don’t know what it is, because it smells like many things I’ve smelled before, and yet nothing quite matches it.

All I know is that the evil beneath this island communes with the entity inside me. They strengthen each other, and I am caught between them, crushed like a soft body between two boulders.

I feel the darkness and pressure even when I’m in human form now. I can’t remember when I last ate. Sometimes I can’t see any part of my surroundings. I sit still for hours, blinded by the dazzle of lightning across my eyeballs. Its brightness is worse than the dark.

Did Kyreagan ever come to see me? I can’t recall, nor can I be certain how long I’ve been on East Fang.

I have no control over my shape or my magic anymore; I have to look down at myself to remember which form I’m in. It’s all blurring together as I am slowly unmade, gnawed apart and devoured from within. I have no solid ground, no guiding star, no current of wind to bear me steadily aloft, nothing to tether myself to reality.

Thunder echoes inside me, shaking my bones.

No, it’s not inside me—it’s below me. Above me? I can’t be sure.

I blink, trying to clear the flickers of lightning from my vision.

“Varex.” The gentle feminine voice teases at my memory.

“Don’t get too close to him,” warns a deep male voice.

“Kyreagan?” I whisper.

“I am here.” His response gives me hope and a moment of precious clarity. With a monstrous mental effort, I manage to bring my true self closer to the surface, and my vision clears slowly.

Sunshine. A grassy bank sloping upward to the cliff’s edge. Outlined against the blue sky, I can see my brother’s dragon form—his long neck, horned head, and huge black wings. On the ground lie a couple of bundles—supplies of some kind—and at his side stands a human female with long red hair.

Jessiva.

Hope blazes in my heart, instantly replaced by dread.

“No,” I groan. “No, why did you bring her here? I will kill her, Kyreagan. Take her away, please.”

“No,” says Jessiva firmly. She walks toward me, and I realize I’m in human form, standing in the center of a huge hollow I must have carved into the ground while I was a dragon. She slides down the earthen slope into the hollow and approaches me. “I’m not leaving you again, Varex. Never, do you understand?”

“You hated me,” I say hoarsely. “You couldn’t bear to touch me or be near me.”

“That was the Mordvorren,” she says. “A bit of it infested me temporarily. It wanted to keep me away from you. But I’m back now, and the part of me that it used for a foothold is gone, healed, resolved. It can’t possess me again. That’s the key, Varex. You have to destroy whatever it’s using to control you.”

I can barely hear her through the roaring of the storm inside my head. It’s screaming, raging at her return. When we were confined on Ouroskelle, it used her as leverage to drive me mad so I wouldn’t realize my own power, the threat I posed to its autonomy. Now she is the threat, the one who might be able to prevent it from fully overtaking me, and it’s furious that it failed to drive her away for good.

It takes me a while to work this out in my head, but Jessiva waits patiently while I formulate thoughts and words.

“I can’t focus,” I say through clenched teeth.

“You look too fucking thin,” she says matter-of-factly. “And you’re naked and dirty. I’m going to fix you some dinner, and Kyreagan is going to take you for a wash. I brought you some clothes.”

My gaze moves past her, first to Kyreagan and then to the place on the slope where she and I built ourselves a shelter with sticks and mud. It’s a pile of debris now. I must have smashed it when I wasn’t in control of myself.

“Our house is gone,” I say vaguely.

“We’ll build another one,” she says. “A better one.”

Kyreagan extends his wings and sails off the edge of the cliff, then circles back around, picks me up in his front claws, and snatches one of the smaller bundles from the ground.

“Come, brother,” he says. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You stink of shit.”

He carries me down to the beach, where he transforms into his human self—light brown skin, long black hair, and a pair of horns. I look down at my body, realizing that he’s right. I’m caked in my own filth.

Shame overwhelms me at the thought of Jessiva seeing me in this state.

“I don’t understand what’s been happening since I got here,” I whisper.

“I’m not sure this place is healthy for you,” he replies. “It smells unwholesome.”

“Are you sure you’re not just smelling me?” I make a faint attempt at a smile.

Kyreagan grins. “You stink, but it’s more than that.”

“I’ve smelled it too,” I admit. “But I can’t identify the source. It smells like death, but it’s not dead. It smells like… like my nightmares.”

Kyreagan quirks a brow, but doesn’t comment. He steers me into the water and helps me scrub thoroughly with the soap he brought. His presence is strong, authoritative, determined, and the Mordvorren inside me lurks warily, assessing him. I sense the precise moment it decides he is too much of a threat.

“You shouldn’t stay long,” I tell Kyreagan as we leave the water and traverse the sand to a strip of grass. “Once I revert to dragon form, the Mordvorren will force me to kill you. You need to leave, and take Jessiva with you.”

“She won’t go,” he says.

“You can force her to go.”

He shakes his head. “You and I have already imposed our will upon women more often than we should have. I won’t do it again. Live or die, she wants to stay with you.”

“At least you must leave.” My voice trembles. “Please, Kyreagan. Your family, the clan—they need you. And I need to know that you’re alive—that you will live on after me.”

He throws me a towel, his face tense. “Dry off. Get dressed.”

I wipe the water from my body and pull on the clothes he hands me—a pair of black pants and a white shirt.

“I will let the two of you have this night,” Kyreagan says. “Jessiva has things she wishes to say to you, alone. And… things she wants to do with you. I’m going to let her try it her way.”

“If I kill her, it will be your fault,” I tell him gloomily.

“It will be the Mordvorren’s fault. Jessiva is aware of the danger. Let your love for her be a further incentive to fight the evil within you, brother. You’ve always been stronger than I am. I know you can do it.”

He shifts into dragon form before I can reply. I’m so stunned I barely think to pick up the towel and the soap before he seizes me in his claws and takes off, flying toward the grassy meadow on the side of the mountain.

You’ve always been stronger than I am. I know you can do it.

It’s the opposite of what I’ve always believed about myself. Is this how he has viewed me all along?

Perhaps I have only been valuing one or two types of strength. Perhaps there are more different kinds than I realized.

We land on the slope near the ruins of the house. Jessiva has made a fire, and there’s a pot slung over it, hanging from a stick propped on two forked branches. The lid of the pot bobs, letting a savory scent unfurl from beneath it.

Jessiva is standing near the cliff’s edge, staring out at the violent beauty of the sunset, a torment of lavender, pink, and gold. She’s not wearing the dress she arrived in, but a gauzy pink dance costume that leaves most of her beautiful body exposed. The fabric twinkles in the sunlight, glittering like diamonds. The sparkle appeals to my dragon side, to my love of beauty and treasure.

Kyreagan glances from Jessiva to me. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Be strong for her, for yourself—and for me. I’ll return tomorrow evening.”

With thunderous wingbeats he rises into the air. I watch him soar higher and shrink into the distance.

The moment he’s out of sight, the Mordvorren seizes control.

I feel it rushing through my veins, lighting up my nerves, glowing in my brain. It moves me, walks me up the hill toward Jessiva in stoic silence while I scream inside my own skull, imprisoned and voiceless.

As Jessiva turns toward me, the Mordvorren stretches both of my hands. It cannot access my void magic, but somehow with a fierce effort, it manages to draw from its own well of power.

Lightning blasts from my palms, piercing the ground near Jessiva’s feet, sinking in deep.

It missed her. My screams and my resistance had an effect—kept the lightning from striking her in the heart—

But as the ground cracks and crumbles along the cliff’s edge, I realize that the Mordvorren wasn’t aiming for her at all.

The earth disintegrates beneath Jessiva’s feet, and she drops out of sight.

The Mordvorren fades a little in my mind, weakened by using my body for such strenuous magic—and as it slackens, I launch myself from the edge of the cliff.

Jessiva is right below me, plummeting toward the ocean, her eyes and mouth wide with terror, though she doesn’t scream.

At this height, it doesn’t matter that there’s water below—the impact will kill us both instantly.

I haven’t been able to shift intentionally for weeks. But if I’m going to save her, I must do it now.

Kyreagan’s voice reverberates in my head, drowning out the voice of the Mordvorren. I know you can do it. Be strong for her—for me .

I was born a dragon. My bones carry the strength of a thousand generations before me. I am the son of the Bone-King, but more than that—I am the son of the Bone-Queen, Zemua, the Winged Midnight. I will make her proud, and I will save my life-mate in her name.

With a roar, I call upon my dragon self, my beast of void and lightning. Much as I love my human form, this is my true nature. This is the side of me that Jessiva needs right now.

Lightning and magic burst from my body, and I scream at the scorching heat of it, at the agonizing torture of the change I’m trying to force upon myself, despite the resistance of the Mordvorren. My muscles swell against my skin, ripping my clothes as my body attempts to change—but I revert to human shape again with a cry of despair.

Fuck the storm and the evil that drives it. I’m not done fighting. The Mordvorren will rue the day it decided to settle over Ouroskelle.

Jessiva’s hair is a cloud of scarlet blood in the air as she falls, and I am the shadow and the lightning streaking after her, arrow-straight with desperation. I’m reaching for her—her fingers are nearly in my grasp—

And then I touch them. I have them.

I pull her to me, drag her against my chest, and we’re still falling, but she’s against my heart and it beats stronger now. Her skin, her scent, the red cloud of her hair—it’s everything I need, and I make one final, ferocious effort.

With a crack of bones and lightning, my wings appear. I can feel them on my back, see them out of the corner of my eye. They’re not as large as they usually are—I haven’t fully managed to change—but they’re all I need.

I extend the wings, and they crash against the wind of our speed, battling our descent. We’re halted, caught up, diverted from the freefall. We skim over the surface of the ocean and then I bank upward, heading back to our camp.

Jessiva clings to me with the frenzied strength of terror. She’s still silent, but when we land, she grips my shoulders, staring into my eyes.

“You’re back,” she says raggedly, and kisses me. Her kisses are hungry, frantic, bruising, claiming. “Mine,” she whispers fiercely between them. “Mine, mine, mine.”

I sink my hands into her wind-tossed hair and kiss her with ruthless joy, with a relief so deep it’s rapturous. Her mouth is bliss, warmth, safety. Her body is home, and her skin is salvation. She heals me, makes me whole like nothing else can.

Finally she pulls back a little, breathless. “You beat the Mordvorren, didn’t you?”

“Not entirely,” I confess. “But I dislodged it, at least partly.”

“Do you remember what you were thinking of when it happened?”

I hesitate. “I invoked my mother’s name, and for once I felt no guilt when I thought of her, only strength and love. I did something she would be proud of. I saved you.”

“That’s what it’s using,” Jessiva says. “You’ve known it since the beginning, Varex. Its grip on you has to do with her death. There’s something you’re holding back, something you haven’t resolved.”

“Unless I slay the creature that killed her, I’m not sure it will ever be resolved,” I admit. “But I can’t be apart from you, nor can I keep risking your life by my very presence while this thing lives inside me. No matter what it costs me, I must do this. I will tell you what occurred that night.”

“Not on an empty stomach. The food should be ready now.” She looks at the wings folded against my back. “Are those going to stay?”

“Later I’ll see if I can make them vanish, but it’s probably best to keep them for now, in case you decide to tumble off a cliff again.” My tone is light, but I realize that I’m holding her waist, grasping it so tightly that it’s probably uncomfortable for her. When I let go, my fingers are trembling.

“You’re in control, Varex,” she says reassuringly. “And we’re going to keep you in control. Come on.”

She takes my hand, and I follow her toward the fire.