I blink rapidly, trying to make sense of my surroundings, but there’s nothing to see. The darkness is absolute, a thick, inky blackness that seems to swallow me whole. Ember’s grip on my arm has vanished, along with the heat of her body. Fear claws at my throat as the reality of my situation sinks in – I’ve been kidnapped, dragged through that shimmering portal to heavens knows where.
A scream rips from my lungs as something unseen yanks my feet out from under me. I brace for impact, expecting to crash to the ground in a tangle of limbs, but instead, I land heavily in a wooden chair that seems to materialize out of thin air. My head whips around, searching frantically for the source of this sorcery, but there’s nothing, no one. Just the endless dark and the frantic pounding of my own heart.
Cold metal bites into the tender skin of my wrists as restraints snake around them, binding me to the chair with brutal efficiency. The work of an Earth witch, I realize with a sinking dread. They’re notorious for their ability to manipulate metal, to bend it to their will as easily as breathing.
A puff of icy breath ghosts across the nape of my neck, raising goosebumps on my sweat-slicked skin. I go rigid, every muscle locking up as pure, undiluted terror floods my veins. The torture is about to begin. I can feel it in the marrow of my bones, a certainty as cold and unyielding as the metal encircling my wrists.
“Hello, Princess,” a voice purrs, the words dripping with malice. It’s familiar, achingly so, but in my panic, I can’t place it. I turn my head to the right, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of my captor, but he’s gone, melting back into the shadows as if he were never there at all.
A gust of frigid air washes over me, so cold it feels like needles piercing my skin. I shiver violently, the chair creaking as I thrash against my bonds. There’s something in the wind, something dark and hungry, and I can feel it slithering through my veins like poison. I suck in a shuddering breath, forcing the air past the knot of fear in my throat. I have to stay calm, to keep my wits about me if I’m going to find a way out of this nightmare.
“Whatever you’re planning to do to me, I strongly advise against it,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t betray the terror coursing through my veins. I unmask my scent, and a hiss escapes my lips, causing me to look down at the bonds. They laced them with oak tree venom. They are more prepared for me than I thought.
“Why? Because Nickolas will burn the world to find me if I harm you?” my captor mocks, his voice dripping with disdain as he throws Nickolas’s promise back in my face.
“Yes,” I snap, seizing on the idea like a lifeline. “He will. So I advise you to heed my warning and return me to him before he razes everything you hold dear to the ground.”
I try to infuse my words with as much conviction as I can muster, hoping to use Nickolas’s reputation as a weapon to strike fear into the heart of whoever is working with Ember. But even as I speak, I can feel the icy tendrils of dread curling in my gut, the sinister presence in the room growing stronger by the second.
“I’m afraid I won’t be doing that, Princess,” he says, his tone almost apologetic, as if he regrets disappointing me. Then he’s here, materializing out of the gloom like a wraith. His hand closes around my throat, the icy flesh searing my skin as he squeezes, cutting off my air with ruthless efficiency.
“Lord Easterlin,” I choke out, my eyes widening in horrified recognition. I knew I recognized that voice, but the reality of my situation crashes over me like a tidal wave, drowning me in despair. If Ember’s father has me, then there’s no telling what fresh hells await me.
“They say your blood is the sweetest thing ever,” he muses, his grip tightening until spots dance before my eyes. I thrash wildly, clawing at his arm on the chair as I fight for breath, but it’s like trying to move a mountain. Immovable. Implacable.
“Stop,” I gasp as the pressure builds in my skull, my lungs screaming for air.
“I wonder what it would taste like,” he continues as if I hadn’t spoken at all.
“Stay the hell away from me,” I scream, my voice barely more than a broken rasp, the authority in my words belied by the tremor in my voice.
“Why don’t I have a taste?” he purrs, releasing my throat only to drag his claws across the tender flesh of my wrist, slitting it open.
I shut my eyes against the sting of the cut as blood pours from the wounds, soaking my dress. Easterlin swipes a finger through the crimson rivulets, bringing it to his mouth to suck it clean with an obscene moan of pleasure.
“I knew you’d taste divine,” he growls, his eyes flashing red, teeth glinting in the darkness.
I scream, thrashing against my bonds with a strength born of sheer, mind-numbing terror as his teeth sink deep into my wrist. The pain is excruciating, a white-hot agony that sears through every nerve ending as he begins to drink, pulling the very life from my veins in great, greedy gulps.
I tug at the restraints binding my hands, a desperate struggle to break free and wrench him away from me as I feel the life being drained from my body with each passing moment. The urgency of survival surges through me, overriding any semblance of fear or pain as I fight against the suffocating grip of death looming ever closer.
I feel myself weakening, my struggles growing feeble as the world begins to fade at the edges. My hands fall limp at my sides, my head lolling back against the chair as a leaden heaviness seep into my bones. He’s killing me, draining me dry.
Just as I’m certain he’s about to end me, Easterlin pulls back with a wet, satisfied smack of his lips. “Aha!” he crows, grinning down at me with a mouth-stained crimson, my blood dripping from his chin. “Exquisite. I feel stronger already.”
I slump in the chair, my chest rising and falling in shallow, labored breaths as I fight to cling to consciousness. It takes every ounce of my remaining strength to force my eyes open, to meet his gloating stare with defiance.
“You’ll never get what you want,” I rasp, the words like broken glass in my throat.
“And why is that, my dear?” he asks, cocking his head in mock curiosity. “I have you, don’t I?”
“You may have me,” I whisper, the darkness creeping in at the edges of my vision, “but you’ll never be king.”
And with that, I let the void take me, slipping into the blessed embrace of unconsciousness, Easterlin’s roar of fury chasing me down into the abyss.