Page 17

I fucked up.

It wouldn’t have sent Imen crashing into the shelf but…Imen is quite a lot bigger than her. Not to mention Imen probably would’ve blocked me. If she wasn’t afraid of me before she most definitely is now. No, she was always afraid, just trying to cover it up with a brave facade. And that’s what I wanted, wasn’t it? I want her to be afraid. To shake some fear—some sense into her so she’ll listen to me, heed my warnings.

But not like that.

Funny how life has a way of twisting us into the very thing we sought to destroy. Except it’s not really funny at all. It makes my stomach curl and after everything I’ve done, I’m surprised it still can. The ichor doesn’t help. Guilt scours me inside out, almost as agony-filled as it was right after… everything happened.

She’s just a nought. Why so much remorse over a fucking nought? But she’s also small, naive, completely defenseless.

I consider going back out there and apologizing, finding a way to make her understand I’m trying to protect here here, aren’t I? Why would she believe me? She doesn’t trust me. Hours have passed by this point. She’s likely asleep, and startling her awake is the last thing I want to do.

Tomorrow.

A loud thump carries from the other room, followed by the sound of shattering glass. I’m on my feet in seconds, tugging the door open. There’s no sight of her. Investigating the front door to find it still safely sealed, I trek out the balcony door. Gods…did she jump? I scour the ground. There are no signs of her.

How the fuck did she get out?

Did someone… abduct her?

How? And why? She hasn’t been here long...yet it’s been long enough now that word has likely spread. The pure hatred Magi hold toward the noughts…I can’t dismiss the possibility. I draw the transmogrin from the shelf. There’s not much left, and I curse again. I’ve been meaning to retrieve more but I’m barely keeping my head above water as is. If I use it, collecting more will be literal hell. It’s my best shot at locating her.

I shuffle out to the balcony and tear off my boots before stripping out of my clothes. Cool night air sprouts goosebumps across my bare skin. I shove my things into the bag and grip it tightly in my hand as I draw the vial to my lips, bracing myself as the bitter liquid hits the back of my tongue and sears its way down my throat.

My heart pumps faster, harder as the potion sinks in. To say it’s painful would be an understatement. It’s agony. Like my skin is going up in flames as it tightens and stretches, and my bones splinter, split, lengthen, morph, and settle into their appropriate places. A groan tears out of me. I quickly cut it off as it turns to a low rumble.

There aren’t many Magi still willing to dabble in altering. Morin did, of course. Not that she would ever do such a thing to herself, only to the poor, unfortunate souls that find themselves in her cross-hairs.

It’s not the pain that keeps them away, though. It’s the way it changes you. Not in body but in mind. A risk most deem too great. Stories of Magi, years past, famously King Beldric, fond of altering into a wolf, leaving one day to never be seen again. Never made it back to his natural form, presumably forgetting he used to be something else entirely.

Instincts ignite in me, the instinct to burn, kill, and eat as I leap, claws spearing the rail. I’m practiced enough to keep my mind intact—for the most part. Can’t say I haven’t used those same instincts to my advantage when taking lives is too heavy a burden.

Despite the instincts pressing on me, I don’t find it difficult to follow her scent once I’ve caught it. I feel compelled to follow it. She smells familiar, like a strange nostalgia, longing for memories I’ve never experienced.

There are no other scents here, only the older scents of Div and my own. She’s left of her own accord? How ? Find first, investigate later.

I trace her scent through the kingdom, keeping just close enough to the ground I can still sniff it out. My apprehension heightens as I draw closer to the Blood Wood. Not the Blood Wood of all places. She’s likely already dead.

I hover close to the spindly limbs. Picking up pace when the scent of her blood crests my nostrils. I pick up another scent, too, one I haven’t crossed paths with. It reeks of rot and decay. A scream pierces the air.

She’s still alive. I sweep down between the branches, limbs flicking against my wings as I angle my body through the twists and turns of the trees. A Bonewalker. I slam into it, armed with claws and teeth and she’s effectively knocked loose from its grasp. Thankfully, the Bonewalker isn’t a match for me. I put him down without much trouble, casting flames over his deteriorated corpse for good measure until he’s but a burnt husk. By the time I finish, the nought’s already split again. Her scent calls to me and I start to fly after her, when I remember I’m still in dragon form.

If I remain in this form, getting us back safely will be much easier and faster and… it’ll scare the absolute shit out of her. Smoke curls as I blow out a singed breath.

I’ve done enough of that tonight.

I locate my bag I dropped to deal with the Bonewalker. It takes some serious finagling to dig the vial out with my currently clawed hands. Not nearly as dexterous as a human hand. I uncork the bottle with a canine. I have to bite the vial between my teeth and roll onto my back to empty it in my mouth.

This time, it’s like being pulverized as my bones and skin decompress, and I alter back into my natural form. I lie on my back, panting, completely naked…in the fucking Blood Wood. That thought has me scrambling off the ground in a flurry.

Among the leaves is the Bonewalker’s clawed arm, blood dripping from the stump. A gleam catches my eye, and I lean over. Three dirty yet definitely fine jeweled rings decorate bony fingers. A Scion? No time to spare thought to it, I dig my pants out of the bag and tug them on, saying fuck it to all the rest as I sprint after her. The fuck does she even think she’s doing?