But it was his silver eyes that made Adair freeze. Those eyes, holding every promise, every secret. Those mysteries that pulled him forward, whispering, “Gortach, I hope the years have treated you well.”
The starving man smiled, revealing rotting teeth as he rumbled, “You, Adair Stratton, haven’t changed much since your last visit.”
Lowering himself onto his knees, he shrugged. “I have and haven’t. But you would know that already.”
Gortach’s grin spread wider. The ancient shapeshifter dwelled in the depths of Kiero. Adair had learned that sacrificing blood to the creature caused it to see into the future, answering one question brought forth to it.
With a slight tremor, Adair held out his forearm, the dried blood caking his skin. Those silver eyes flicked down to the wound, ravenous. Slithering fear uncoiled throughout Adair, but he could barely process it as Gortach lowered his cracked lips to Adair’s skin. The wound reopened, and the world tilted as his blood flowed.
Gortach rippled, the appearance of his decaying body fading, replaced by a haunted youth. Adair balked as he saw the familiar appearance. Gortach had a dark sense of humor and took on the form of whoever came to pay its price.
That ancient voice shook through him, his mind, his core. “Now what is it you seek? Your heart, Adair, is consumed by your desires.”
Swallowing hard, he whispered, “What is Roque Fae hiding in the Academy?”
The creature paused, tilting his head. When he replied, it was as sharp as a sword’s edge, “Are you sure that is the secret you wish to hear? You know the rules.”
“Yes, my blood will grant me one answer. I am certain. What are they hiding?”
Gortach crawled toward him, his nails scraping against the dirt. “The time for Kiero’s reign in prosperity is over. Darkness tinges the future, submerging it in death and destruction. Be prepared, Adair Stratton. We will all be unmade. Roque Fae has in his possession an ancient, binding magic. One that was never his to keep. The secrets of ultimate power in the form of the Book of Old.”
Something clicked within Adair.
Gortach was face-to-face with him, his breath putrid as he whispered, “Find this, and you will be free.”
Sweat started to collect at the base of Adair’s neck. “Free from the unmaking of our world? What do you mean? What is the Book of Old?”
He paused, and when Gortach spoke again, his voice was gravelly, “Are you requesting another answer?”
Adair froze, practically trying to hold his breath, then exhaled, “No.”
The image of youth drained from Gortach, showing his true form. Baring his teeth, he spat, “That’s not what it sounded like to me.” Lunging forward unnaturally fast, his now sharpened nails slashed at Adair.
Stumbling back, Adair cursed, running back to the wall of the room. Gortach stood to his full height, chuckling darkly. The crevices caught shadows across his features and body, making him look distorted.
Then, the only light source in the room went out.
Pushing his back flush to the cool, earthy wall, Adair’s heartbeat thundered within him. Images flashed through his mind, and panic flooded him. Giggles sounded in the darkness as the shadows moved. Their sickly movements, those pitiless eyes. The pinned back grins, their sharpened teeth.
And the world, ripped to its core, bleeding.
Adair didn’t know if he was hallucinating, but as the Gortach stalked him in the darkness, his image flicked back and forth.
Gortach.
Those pale faces.
Gortach.
Their sharpened grins.
Gortach.
Their empty sockets pinned him, as a dim green light pulsed again in the darkness. The room was empty, Gortach gone.
Four of them circled him, reaching for him. Long black stringy hair, skin as white as snow, their bones practically poking out from underneath their flesh. Their hands stroked his skin and his wound as they cooed to him, “Adair, don’t let our watcher scare you. Don’t allow us to scare you. You must go. Find the Book of Old. Help us.”
The creature to his right tugged his hair, exposing his throat as she whispered in his ear, “We will watch as the world burns. Together.”
Their giggles encircled him, the darkness washing over him once more. Hot tears spilled down Adair’s face, and as he blinked, Gortach roared back into his deadly reality. Mounds of dirt exploded around Adair, and he threw his body weight forward, rolling.
Gortach said, “I will have all of you, Adair. Your dark desires, your soul. It’s mine.”
Adair heard the scuffling as Gortach loped behind him. He was blindly running full tilt, his blood, his tears, his sweat, burning his skin. Stumbling, dirt filled his mouth, his muscles screaming.
Move, move, move!
He wasn’t about to die in the throes of dark magic. He rolled onto his back just as he saw the skeletal body fly forward, pinning him to the ground. Gortach used his forearm to press down hard on his esophagus, cutting off his oxygen. Adair used all his remaining energy, kicking hard, clawing at his back.
Gortach grinned down at him. “You are just a man. I am made of magic. You cannot win.”
The smell of rotting flesh filled Adair’s senses, and frantically, he spiraled in those silver eyes that churned with knowing, with victory.
Spots filled his visions, and he couldn’t let go. He wouldn’t stop...trying...
“You best get off my mate there.” Marquis’s voice sounded behind them just as the light flared, chasing away the darkness.
Gortach snapped his attention to the young prince, roaring.
Marquis’s lips pulled upward as he looked annoyingly calm. Emerald eyes flashing, he snapped his fingers together. The earth underneath them churned, droplets of water oozing from the dirt, floating up, spinning around Gortach. The droplets suspended and grew until a hissing ball of water consumed the shapeshifter. With widened eyes, he clawed and snapped, his anger lost in the water as the sphere ripped him away from Adair.
Choking, Adair rolled onto his side, gulping for air, blissfully taking
