Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 120029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
He sits by a pile of rags, there’s an empty bowl next to the pallet, and one of his arms is locked inside a metal contraption that keeps an open wound bleeding straight into the water.
When his gaze finds mine, emotion chokes me so violently I can’t bring myself to utter a sound, but as I step toward him, he shakes his head and sobs. “No… not again,” he rasps and twists his head in an attempt to look away. I can count every rib on him, but the bruises staining every bit of skin within sight? There’s too many. “Why do you always give me hope just to rip it away? What did I do?”
“Nate, sweetheart, I’ve got you. I’m here,” I whisper, because finding my voice is a struggle when I’m trying to comprehend the extent of the horror before me.
Big fat leeches swarm in the water, feeding on his blood, and I see red. Hugs and comfort can wait until we’re out of this den of suffering.
I pull out my sword and slam it down onto the chain attaching him to the wall. Sparks fly, but my weapon’s sharper than leviathan teeth, and the metal breaks after only three strikes.
“You have no idea what you’ve stepped into!” Gloombane roars from the door, hand pressed to his bleeding nose. “It’s your fault. You made me bond with him, and I’m just working with the hand I’ve been dealt.”
At my feet, Nate flinches at the sharp tone in Gloombane’s voice, like an animal punished until it’s learned to obey. He’s been here for two months.
Two months.
While I whined to Sabine about not getting enough letters or an invitation.
I’m going to be sick.
I left him here, at Gloombane’s mercy, foolishly believing the captain would prove himself honorable.
I reassured him. I made promises, and now here he is—shaking from the cold on a pile of rags.
No words exist to describe the hate burning in my heart.
Gloombane doesn’t deserve my answer. I burn with the need to deliver justice. He could be the Lord of the Nocturne Court himself, and it wouldn’t have saved him from my wrath.
Chapter 16
Nate
It’s happened before.
Illusions wearing Tristan’s face making promise after promise, only to disintegrate right in front of my eyes. Gloombane wants to break my spirit, and maybe he’s succeeded, because hope blooms in my heart when this version of Tristan cuts my chain, coming close enough for me to smell the leather and smoky herbs.
I remember that very scent cocooning me in a sense of safety as we dozed off back at that warm, cozy tavern, my face tucked into his firm chest, his arms wrapped loosely around me.
Back then, I was perfectly safe. A different person, who believed in the innate goodness of others and was ready to give them the benefit of the doubt. What is left of that person now, after Gloombane has beaten me, starved me, bled me?
“Tristan?” I whisper as the knight retreats, leaving me with the scent of long-missed safety. The chain lies on the damp floor next to the thin layer of straw and rags making up my bed, and while I’ve been fooled by illusions so many times, I still pick it up, confirming that it is in fact broken.
Am I… free?
Tristan doesn’t answer, his back turned to me as he walks straight for Gloombane, who backs out through the doorframe. Black spikes erupt all over Tristan’s form as if he’s bristling, his shoulders squared, sword firmly in his grasp.
“Don’t you dare,” Gloombane says in a nasal tone. “You will regret this.”
“No. You will regret the day you were born.”
The walls around me shake. I hear a thud, the clatter of metal on the floor, but it’s Gloombane’s hissing that wakes me up to the possibility of Tristan being here in the flesh.
I might have grown to resent him and cursed his name endless times, but deep down I never lost hope that he’d be back for me. For once, my tormentor is the one fearing for his life.
I attempt to crawl away, like a bug sensing the danger in an encroaching shadow, only to be stopped by the contraption on my arm. Its teeth dig into my flesh, turning my blood into leech food for no reason other than my suffering, but without the chain in place I’m able to crawl forward and grab the knife Gloombane used to cut my arm open. I’m weak, and every move sends the world into a spiral, but once the tool is in my hand, I find the strength to pry open the cruel device.
The initial relief is soon dwarfed by a rush of pain, and I squirm, frantically massaging my arm. It’s been cut and healed too many times for me to count, so what’s one more? I will not die from this wound, nor my twisted ankle.