He was in a small, clear space, the wet sand hard beneath him. Fresh bruises had already started to form from the fall, and wheezing, he stood. All around him, the crystals radiated, bathing him in light. The ground beneath him shuddered, and he turned. Behind him, on the opposite edge of the pool, stood a shadow of the magic, the shadow’s voice was laced with anticipation when it spoke.
“You and Adair, will be one.”
The air trembled as the ancient magic roared around him. Panicking, Adair stumbled back as he watched as the shadow before him yawned, stretching wide, turning opaque. Adair couldn’t move, his breath caught in his chest as he watched the gleaming crystals dim, turning black as night.
And then they exploded.
Flying back, his head and back cracked against the hard shards, nausea rocking through his body. Sticky warmth crept down the back of his neck. Cursing, he tried to sit up and was thrown back again by another shock wave, the shards of crystal turning to dust before his eyes, the particles clogging his throat, coating his skin.
“Adair.”
Gasping, he sat up; they were waiting for him. Those familiar pitiless eyes, the edges of shadows clawing toward his heart. Coughing, the iron taste of blood filled his mouth, oozing out of the corners of his lips. Pale hands grappled at his chest, his clothes, pushing him back and holding him still, their faces barely visible in the darkness. He watched in horror as that looming darkness stirred and shot forward, slamming into him. Inky dust particles bled and sank into his skin, in his mouth, into his soul.
And he was met with a pain he had never known before.
Screaming, he felt the tendons in his neck rip, his limbs flailing, fighting against the ancient force. Laughter rattled in his consciousness, and he was slammed back.
His body was flush to the wet sand, and he bared his teeth as the voice commanded, “Do not resist me.”
Whimpering, his core was ignited into fire, and everything he knew shattered and all he knew was this. He watched as the magic of the Book bled into him, grain by grain, shadow by shadow, wriggling under his nails, rippling under his skin. He felt each pump of his heart battling against the rushing heat in his veins, pumping faster and faster and faster.
The magic splintered through his chest, and he roared in agony, bowing against his invisible restraints. Coos and whispers circled around his mind, filtering through every thought and every memory with hesitation, and he felt the stain of blackness seep into every single one of them. The darkness swept through him as quick as flames, the magic binding and securing itself deep within Adair. The world started to spin on its axis as gravity gave way once more, and he was falling again.
His entire world had no rhyme or reason as the magic ravaged him, swelling and crashing repeatedly. The wind howled, and he was drowning in ash and malice that took over him. Centuries could have passed, or maybe it was just an illusion of the drawn-out seconds. His breath evened out from the wet rasps of his lungs to smooth fluid breaths. The heat within him dulled and cooled, leaving him hollow. His muscles, previously having been ripped, bruised, and bloodied were filled with newfound strength. His cracked skull and ribs knitted together and mended, the blood drying off his skin.
His eyes flew open, adjusting to the dull light around him instead of the midnight he had grown accustomed to. Lying on his back, the study was a newfound perspective, the bookcases and table coming into focus. And Roque, unconscious, was sprawled next to him.
“The Book, Adair.”
He stood, grabbing the worn leather from the floor, and a welcoming warmth spread through his fingers at the touch. Straightening his jacket, he caught his reflection on the mirror as he slid the book in his pocket. His skin was pale and drawn, but his eyes were pitch black, no definition, no dimension. Just empty. Crossing the room, he quietly stalked toward his reflection, every movement sharper to him.
The glass fogged with his breath as his gaze roamed, drinking in every ounce of him. Or them.
“Finally.”
Adair furrowed his brows at the strong voice settling within. Flexing his fingers, he brushed the glass, smearing the mist.
“Finally.”
Shaking his head, Adair pushed the magic back, wrenching his gaze away. He was in control. Crossing the room, he knelt by Roque’s side. “Now. What should I do with you?”
“Kill him.”
His pulse purred with the calling, his bloodlust rearing its ugly head. Swallowing, Adair quickly formed a plan.
“You promised us, Adair. Kill him.”
This time, it was the voices from his nightmares, their sharp, chilling words shivering down his spine. He leaned in closer, his hands starting to shake. Roque’s pulse was weak, his irregular heartbeats flickering against his jugular.
“Do it now.”
He breathed, “If I’m ending a kingdom, I want to do it smartly.”
Looking up, the trace of dawn bled into the sky, washes of pinks and golds smearing across it in bold strokes. He rubbed his jaw. “The funeral is in a couple of hours. I need some answers first, and there is only one way to do that.”
Looking down at Roque, Adair’s plan slowly started to piece together. The dark magic pulsed in his blood, as the voices drawled, “If you betray us....”
Clenching his jaw, he whispered to himself, “I know. Just trust me.”
“Until Roque and Nei Fae are dead, the power will remain dormant.”
Rolling his shoulders, he murmured, “That’s exactly what I am hoping for.”
Adair worked quickly and steadily, and by the time the sun crested the horizon, his plan was set in motion.
Chapter Sixteen
Memphis
The sun blazed over the horizon, illuminating the world into clear brilliance. Sunlight kissed the forest, sharpening their landscape. Blood oozed slowly and thickly from
