Page 2 of This Vicious Dream (Kingdom of Death #1)

Madinia

Three years later.

The tower creaks when it is windy.

I hear everything. The tree branches tapping against my tower. The howl of the wind sweeping past. The hoot of an owl in the distance.

But the loudest sounds are the incessant whispers from the thing I never let myself think about, calling me, urging me to find it.

I strain, attempting the mere flex of a finger, the twitch of an eye. But it’s useless. My body remains still, my eyes closed, trapped.

Panic flutters in my chest, but after so many years, I manage to ruthlessly clamp it down, channeling it into cold fury.

It’s not time.

Not yet. But almost.

Still, someone dares approach my tower. My prison.

Not the one I’m waiting for. But another.

Reaching out with my borrowed power, I let the tendrils of it sweep from my body, down, down, down through stone and steel, to the damp grass below.

I push the power out further, until the tendrils slide deep into the thicket of thorns surrounding my tower.

Once, the thorns were a garden of roses. But that was before so many saw me as prey .

Fury roars through me, and the power allows me to see the one who approaches in my mind’s eye. Human. He swings his axe, slashing through the first few branches, and if I could writhe in pain I would.

After so many years of connection to my thorns, it feels as if he is cutting through my own skin and bones.

I don’t need to guess his intentions. He’s no soldier—not one of Kyldare’s men. But the rope slung over his shoulder, the axe in his hand, and the wicked knife on his belt leave no doubt.

My reputation has spread far and wide. And men will always attempt to brutalize the women they cannot control.

For a long moment, I consider letting him go through with his dark plan.

At least then…at least then it would all be over.

But no. There are reasons I can’t. Reasons that escape me now. But they feel legitimate enough, and I cling to them.

The man doesn’t see the thorned vine that slithers toward him like a viper. He’s still slicing through my private garden.

With a slash of that vine, his throat yawns open.

He gapes, clawing at his skin, attempting to hold it closed. But my thorns are sharp as blades.

His blood feeds my creation, and the thorns grow stronger, the branches hauling his body high to join the others.

Sixty men and four women have tried their luck. I occasionally wonder at the smaller number of women. I like to think it’s because women are less likely to prey on one of their own, trapped and defenseless. But perhaps I’m merely romanticizing my situation.

The world twists, colors blurring and darkening, and I let my mind take me away. Away to another place, where I’m not trapped. Where I have a purpose. A life .

The faces have blurred now, and my mind attempts to provide context where there is none. I see a woman with an hourglass on a chain around her neck. Friend or foe? I have no idea. But she turns to look at me, and her eyes hold something like disappointment.

“You were supposed to protect it.”

I pull against my invisible bonds.

“I am , ” I want to tell her. I’ve submitted to years of torture for those nameless, occasionally faceless people in my past.

Some small, vulnerable part of me thought they would have searched. Thought they would have found me.

Strangely, it’s that thought that does the most damage. It sends me spiraling through darkness, until my mind clears once more—perhaps hours later, perhaps days.

I’m all alone.

Calysian

Humans are strange creatures.

I’m unsure if my fascination stems from the fact that I’ve seen so many of their actions over the past centuries, and so many of those were inexplicable.

Perhaps it’s because I’m not human. Although it seems to be a uniquely human trait to be fascinated with the other .

I ride through the town without truly seeing it. After several years of searching this kingdom, one human town looks much like another.

And it is this kingdom I need to search. I know that much, even as I know little else.

My horse plods along the dirt road, ignoring the deep ruts in the mud created from the wheels of thousands of carts.

The humans here wear clothes that are little more than rags, ripped and mended again and again. But their cheeks are rounded, arms strong and defined. Their health is likely due to their proximity to the forest just a few miles from this town and the animals they hunt within.

A child darts in front of my horse. Fox pauses, lowers his head, and blows air through his nostrils. The child’s father appears, scooping the child into his arms and muttering apologies, even as the boy giggles, kicking his legs.

I nudge Fox back into motion.

Never have I had a thought of my own childhood. No memories rise up and greet me, no dreams throw me back to younger days.

I woke centuries ago, naked and alone in a forest on a strange continent filled with people who wielded varying degrees of magic.

I should have been as blank as an un-molded piece of clay. Instead, I woke filled with a deep, vicious rage burning within me.

I may not have known much, but I knew something was missing. Something so important, a shock of grief battled with my rage. Someone had taken something from me. Something I desperately needed.

And whoever had cursed me this way was going to be very, very sorry.

Centuries later, I still search for that revenge.

I stop at a nameless inn, allowing the stablehands to take Fox. He snaps at one of them, his teeth coming within inches of the boy’s face.

With a sigh, I step between them, giving Fox a look. “Food and rest for both of us. Be good and don’t kill anyone.”

Both stablehands turn pale. Fox snorts, but finally allows their approach, plodding slowly toward the stable. One of the boys comes close to his backend, and Fox tenses, lifting one leg, his sharp hoof gleaming.

I clear my throat. Fox lowers the leg.

Shaking my head, I pay the innkeeper for a meal, my mood darkening as I force down lukewarm stew, the meat tough and chewy. I make my way up to the best room this town has to offer, taking in the dusty floors and threadbare sheets.

This should not be my life. The certainty buries deep within my gut. I should not be here. I’m—

The missing memories are like an itch in my brain. Like a word on the tip of my tongue that I can never find.

I use the facilities and lay on the bed, cursing the mattress, the sheets, my own useless mind…

“You’re truly choosing to sleep here , and not in the forest?”

I sigh, throwing one arm over my eyes. It doesn’t help. Eamonn has found me. Again.

“I must say, I thought you were better than this. If you knew what I could scent on those sheets…”

I angle my arm, opening one eye. Eamonn sits in his canine form—a favorite of his.

“If the innkeeper thinks I brought a dog up here—”

He lets out a tiny growl and jumps up on the bed, angling his head. “Scratch my ears. I have an itch.”

His damp fur fills the room with an unpleasant odor, and I ignore him, closing my eye once more. I can hear raucous laughter from the tavern below.

Eamonn shoves his furry head beneath my hand. With a sigh, I find the spot behind his ears and give him a scratch.

“I don’t like this place,” he mumbles.

I’ve gotten used to hearing his voice inexplicably float from whatever animal he has shifted into. I found him after the Eprothan war, when I returned to this continent. Or perhaps he found me. For whatever reason, he took an interest in my task, and has been following me ever since.

“Fox needed proper rest.”

He snorts. “That horse will likely outlive you .”

Despite his disdain for my accommodations, he falls asleep within moments. I toss and turn, forced to admit that perhaps Eamonn was right. Maybe I would have slept better in the forest. I doze until I can no longer ignore the urge to move.

When I shove my feet into my boots, Eamonn is gone. He’ll return at some point. Likely at the most inconvenient time possible.

For now, my heart pounds in my chest. My hands almost…tremble. And a strange feeling overtakes me. A strange knowledge.

I’m close. So close to my destiny. So close to revenge.

Madinia

I’m woken by my thorns screaming a warning.

I reach out with my borrowed power. The power I should never have touched.

The thought is snatched from me, and I shift my focus to the approaching men.

My heart pounds like a drum.

Finally.

Kyldare lounges on his horse, tugging carelessly on the reins as he holds up one hand, ordering the others to stop. His mouth tightens as he looks at the graveyard I’ve left for him.

Sixty-four bodies, wrapped in thorns, positioned at the entrance to my tower. A few blood-red roses peek out from amongst the bodies.

Sometimes, I think those thorns have a mind of their own. There can be no other reason for the occasionally whimsical arrangements of heads and limbs.

Welcome, Kyldare. I have a spot waiting for you.

“The bitch is using the grimoire’s power somehow,” the soldier next to Kyldare mutters. “Are you sure she doesn’t have it?”

Kyldare slowly turns his head, dragging his gaze away from the bodies. When that gaze finds the solider, the man visibly wilts.

“I had her stripped naked and searched. I then left her trapped here for three years. The first two years I visited monthly to interrogate her. And yet you believe she somehow hid it from me?”

I’m unsure what it is. All I know is it’s connected to the dark power I’m borrowing. The power I should never have touched.

But his words dig deep into my memories. Memories of being wrapped in the chains in this circular tower, pinned to the wall as his men leered at my body.

Perhaps I’ll leave you here for a while, until you’re finally ready to cooperate. Perhaps I’ll leave you paralyzed, aware as I fuck you. Perhaps I’ll breed you, watch as your body grows my baby and delivers it, all while you scream soundlessly.

I should be thankful to Kyldare. It was those words that broke something within me. Those words that allowed me to reach blindly for the connection to the dark power that had whispered to me for so long.

My sanity was a small sacrifice to pay for the power I’m sinking into my thorns.

Anticipation twists through me. I’ve waited patiently for this moment. My traps are ready.

My limbs strain against Kyldare’s witch’s power.

No. Not yet. Wait.

The waiting is the greatest torture. I’ve waited for Kyldare to return for a year. And from the hard glint in his eyes, his queen has commanded him to do whatever it takes to get the information he needs.

Come a little closer, Kyldare. Let’s chat.

The men dismount, leaving their horses tied to a tree at least a hundred footspans from my tower.

Slowly, they approach. Kyldare’s presence is like a slow-moving poison. It slithers through the cracks in the tower walls, heavy and suffocating as I fight to use my useless limbs.

I stifle the familiar panic. I’ve prepared for this moment for so long now, it feels like just another dream.

For now, my muscles won’t respond. For now, my body will remain useless, a prisoner within stone, just as I’m a prisoner in my own flesh.

And then I will strike.

But something else moves at the edge of my consciousness. Something dark. Something I’ve been feeding for months, lending my pain and sorrow, allowing it to grow like the thorns outside my tower.

Kyldare jerks his head, and the soldiers separate into two groups. One group moves around the back of the tower, attempting to approach unseen through the path to the servants’ entrance.

As if I can’t feel them stepping over my land, their boots sinking into the earth I’ve claimed. I know every inch of the twisted bramble below. Every stone in this tower is mine.

Carefully, gently, I let the smallest flicker of my borrowed power surge out.

I’m excruciatingly aware that this power is limited. Limited, because some part of me knows that if I took more, I would become a monster greater than anything this world has seen for centuries.

Perhaps these people would deserve that.

Faces appear in my mind’s eye. Familiar faces. Faces that I can’t place, but that I know once meant something to me. I reach for those faces, but my thorns shiver, already responding.

They move slowly at first, twisting in the undergrowth as the soldiers make their way closer. One of them laughs, arrogant, likely believing it’s just the wind stirring the leaves. The others look spooked. As they should.

The first vine curls upward, sharp and black as a dark shadow, wrapping itself around the first soldier’s ankle. He curses, stumbling in an attempt to shake it off.

A thorn spears through his thigh.

His scream is brief as he’s pulled deep into the mass of knotted, thorny vines.

The other soldiers pause. One of them is smart enough to take a few steps backward, shaking his head.

“Keep moving,” a gruff, older soldier barks. “Or what these thorns will do to you will seem merciful compared to Kyldare’s punishment.”

Idiots.

I leave the soldiers to the thorns. Distantly, I wonder if I should be concerned that my thorns have enough awareness to be hungry for blood. To strike at those who consider me to be prey.

But I return my attention to Kyldare. He stands, hands on hips, eyes hard.

Four soldiers surround him, all frozen in place.

They must have heard the screams.

“Cease this behavior, Madinia Farrow,” he calls. “You’re only making it worse for yourself.”

If I could smile, I would.

They begin walking once more. More screams cut through the night, but I pay them no attention. Kyldare’s mouth becomes a thin line, and he picks up his pace.

“Spread out,” he orders. “I don’t want any tricks.”

The soldiers are trembling. I might feel sorry for them, if several of them hadn’t held me down while Kyldare placed those chains around my wrists. He could have done such a thing while my body was still lifeless, but he enjoyed seeing me fight. Loved watching me realize there was no help coming.

I’m looking forward to seeing the same realization in his eyes.

My thorns slither toward the soldiers, and I pull my power tight. For this to work, I need Kyldare closer.

I cast my mind to the other side of the tower. Another solider is crying out as the thorns tighten, ripping him apart. This man once grabbed my breast and twisted, laughing as I screamed.

His blood feeds the thorns. Feeds the dark power. Feeds me .

For the first time, the bonds of paralysis begins to weaken, and I take a long, deep breath.

Triumph roars through me, and I open my eyes. My trap is ready. All I need is for Kyldare to step through the front door at the bottom of my tower, and he’ll be caught in the same spell his witch cast on me. It will be his turn to live through every moment of my torture.

The soldiers surrounding Kyldare are spooked. With a jerk of his head, he sends them toward my tower.

Coward.

One of them briefly closes his eyes, praying aloud to some goddess I’ve never heard of. This is his first time here. He has never personally done me harm. Perhaps I will be merciful.

The others forge forward, stomping toward the tower. I ignore my instincts to kill. They need to enter so Kyldare will follow.

Behind the tower, more blood sinks deep into the ground, and the invisible ties encircling my limbs disappear. For the first time in a year, I sit up.

My muscles should be wasted. But that wouldn’t have suited Kyldare’s purposes. I’m weak, woozy, and my limbs feel as if they’re attached to someone else’s body. But I can walk. I have to.

I swing one leg over the side of the bed. And then the other.

My first attempt to stand ends with me falling back onto the bed. I plan to burn this bed. But not yet.

Kyldare takes another step forward.

And I make it to my feet.

Stumbling to the chains in the corner of the room, I lift them, my knees weakening beneath their weight.

The soldiers begin their climb up the stairs. Kyldare rolls his shoulders and stalks toward the tower entrance.

My heart thuds faster, my spine straightening. Almost there.

My thorns scream a warning and I close my eyes, focusing on the ground far below me.

A dark presence approaches. A presence that is somehow familiar but entirely unwelcome.

The man ties his horse a few trees over from the soldiers’ horses, sparing them a single glance.

His horse snaps his teeth in their direction, and the man murmurs something too low for me to hear. He places his hands on his hips, and I can’t help but pay attention to the roll of muscles beneath his black shirt, the width of his shoulders.

My instincts roar at me. This man is dangerous.

When he glances at my collection of bodies, one dark eyebrow shoots up. I’m not sure if it’s appreciation or horror that makes his mouth twitch.

He turns his attention to Kyldare, and it’s as if the other man feels his gaze. Kyldare stops walking and glances over his shoulder.

No. No, no, no!

“Don’t come any closer,” Kyldare orders. “We’re here on the queen’s business.”

The other man smiles, revealing straight, white teeth, and a single dimple on the right side of his mouth. It’s a compelling smile. But no one who saw it would believe he’s pleased.

“I suppose it’s a good thing I don’t serve your queen.”

Kyldare turns, stalking toward him.

No!

He’s walking the wrong way.

My limbs begin to tremble. One of my thorns slices toward him, but it’s slow, sluggish.

What is happening to me?

It’s as if my control over the dark power has been dampened, until I can only access the smallest trickle. Each day, I have painstakingly collected this power. And suddenly, I’m almost defenseless once more.

Footsteps sound as Kyldare’s soldiers charge up the stairs toward me.

Acid boils in my gut and my entire body trembles with fresh rage. I will not be victimized again.

The rage helps, and I launch into action. One of the soldiers left his overcoat here last time they visited , and I use it as a make-shift satchel, hauling the chains into the dusty material and wrapping it around my shoulders. If I can’t give Kyldare a taste of his own medicine, I can at least make sure he’ll never use these chains on anyone again.

My door bursts open, wood slamming into stone. The first solider steps into my room, panting as he draws his sword.

The entire tower shudders. He glances around, eyes widening as he takes in the empty bed. With a roll of his shoulders, he advances on me, and I don’t hesitate.

I launch myself toward the window and into the air.

“She’s gone,” one of the soldier’s roars behind me.

My heart leaps into my throat. Fear punches into my gut as I fall.

My thorns catch me. I sense… despair as they slice into my skin, even as they try their best not to hurt me. I send gratitude and tenderness to them as they place me on the ground behind the tower next to one of the soldier’s bodies.

I lean over, almost losing my balance. But I manage to grab the soldier’s sword and sheath, along with his coin purse. This will at least help me get to the next town.

Thorns lash through the air, rearing up and slicing into my tower. Strangled screams ring out as the soldiers are yanked through the window, impaled on vines as thick as my arm. One gurgles on his own blood while the other convulses in his death throes.

My power has drained to little more than the barest trickle. I can no longer sense Kyldare and the stranger. My thorns open a path for me, and I creep through them, around the side of the tower. The full moon provides just enough light for me to watch as Kyldare stares up at the ruin of the tower and his dead soldiers. His mouth thins, and he sprints from the tower, out of the path of my thorns.

No.

The stranger watches Kyldare mount his horse. With a sigh, he turns, taking in the tower. From here, I can see his profile—brutal lines, a wide jaw, and the kind of sensual beauty that must have women begging for a night in his bed.

His gaze lingers once more on the bodies.

“I know you’re here,” he says, and I freeze.

“Interesting design choice.” He calls, waving his hands at a collection of skulls high in the thicket of thorns. His eyes linger on one of my roses, nestled next to a long femur. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

For some inexplicable reason, I feel my cheeks heat.

“Still hiding?” he muses. “For someone who has just been rescued, you’re not being very polite.”

My thorns part so swiftly, the man jolts back. Dark, unfathomable eyes meet mine, and something flickers across his face. Something that looks almost like…recognition.

“ Rescued?” I hiss. “You think you rescued me?”