I clutched his hand, my grip fierce.“You can’t stop me.Regain your strength.”
His eyelids fluttered, those dark, haunted eyes regaining their fight.
“I can’t regain my strength.”
His words were sluggish, edged with something raw.“I haven’t killed...”
The sentence trailed into a grimace, the truth too bitter to fully voice.
A chill slithered down my spine.
“What do you need?”My voice was urgent, willing him to ask for anything but that.
His jaw clenched, his fingers tightening around mine.
“I need to kill.”
A grate, hollow and irrevocable.
“I must inhale the souls of the dead.”
His admission was a death knell, spoken with the resignation of a man who knew his nature too well.
A cold shiver coiled through me—but I didn’t flinch.
Didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t question.
I locked away the moral quandary for another time, burying it beneath the urgency of what needed to be done.
I met his gaze without flinching.“I’ll bring them,” I said, my voice unshakable, born from something deeper than mere conviction.
Worthless men would be a small price for his recovery.
As I exited the dungeon, the flicker of my torch sent twisting shadows slithering along the stone walls, mirroring the darkness unfurling inside me.
This was the path I had chosen.
No turning back now.
* * *
The next day, as I lingered outside Father’s study, the muffled voices within sent a different kind of chill.
Lord Winston.His voice, as grating as ever, dripped with arrogance.
But the other—a voice laced with the authority of command, steeped in cruelty—made my breath still in my chest.
Mathias.
“We can just gut Hassan,” my father’s voice came, casual, careless, as if he were discussing the pruning of an overgrown hedge rather than the brutal execution of the man I loved.
A cold hand gripped my heart.
“Out of the question,” Mathias countered, his tone one of absolute control.“We want a public execution.”
My stomach twisted.
