Stalling, Brokk looked behind him, the soldiers disappeared, and he was alone.
“Brokk Foster.”
A cold sweat coated his body, as Brokk slowly turned. Adair stood in front of him, his black clothes soaked in blood, his mother’s longsword, the Curse, grasped in his hand. A blood red cape was clasped around his throat, his eyes pitch black as Adair said, “You have failed. Do you know I relished in your friends dying screams? That each life I took, you couldn’t do anything to stop it. And now, I have come for you.”
He couldn’t move, fear rooted him in place. Adair stalked toward him, the snow falling heavier. Coming face-to-face with him, Adair breathed, “Goodbye, Foster.”
Brokk felt the steel slice into his gut, cutting through muscle, blood spilling. Dropping to his knees, he tried to stem the flow of hot blood staining the peerless snow, but his vision dipped, and the last thing he heard was Adair’s laughter as he died.
***
Awakening from the nightmare, Brokk’s scream was lodged in his throat. His room came into focus, the ice-covered forest fading away, Adair with it. Voices of the past whispered to him, bloody swords cutting through his memories.
The nightmares had always been bad. He was too full of secrets and war for them not to be. Every morning, he said his silent mantra, I will get through another day, and like every other day since Adair proclaimed himself king, he made himself get up.
Sliding out of bed, the morning light spilled into his room through a tiny window which he was lucky enough to have. With the previous day’s events fresh in his mind, he made himself presentable. He could feel the dry blood cracking on his swollen face, and staggering to the washroom, he washed it away, the clear water running pink in the sink.
Glancing at his reflection, short golden hair stuck up at odd angles, his buzzcut growing in inhumanly fast. Toned muscles roped down his arms, two scars along his abdomen where a dabarne had torn into his flesh years prior—an injury that even his ability couldn’t heal. All boyish features had longed disappeared, leaving no softness behind.
It was finally time to reclaim their land. Adair had taken too much for far too long. Whistling, he put on some worn black pants and a grey t-shirt, slid his boots on, and made his way into the hallway. It was a quiet morning, the distaste of their current visitor obvious. The few rebels Brokk saw on his way to Memphis’s suite kept their eyes glued in front of them, ignoring him blatantly. He had a lot of mending to do.
Sighing, he limped toward Memphis’s office, which thankfully was only a couple of doors down from his own.
Approaching the similar grey washed doors, he hovered, waiting a moment. He could hear soft voices from within, whispering back and forth fervently. Rapping his knuckles against the door twice, Memphis opened the door, looking like he hadn’t slept at all. Pale blond hair was slicked back into his usual ponytail, sporting the same black leather he wore yesterday. A shadow crossed his face, and stepping back, he let Brokk in.
“How is she? Is she awake?” Brokk asked.
Nyx stood in the corner of the room. “She’s coming to all right.”
“Nyx, please.” Memphis glanced at Brokk, he spoke to him privately, “She has regained consciousness much sooner than I ever thought possible. Nyx has been the only one with her so far, and you can guess how that is going. I say we go in together and see how much has come through. I am guessing a lot of the memories will still be unclear to her yet, so let’s go easy on her okay? As far as she knows, we have just abducted her from her home.”
He had the urge to roll his eyes. He knew that. Nodding anyways, he followed Memphis down the hall, his heart slamming against his ribcage. Maps and an assortment of books littered the floor, and Brokk was mindful to step around them. Memphis had never been clean, but Brokk kept the thought to himself.
Stopping at a black oak door, Memphis turned the doorknob. The door swung open, and they walked in, Memphis leading. Emory sat in the middle of the bed. Her green shirt and black pants were disheveled, her long hair was over her shoulder as she slowly took Memphis in. Anger lit up her green eyes as she demanded, “Where am I?”
For once, Memphis was at a loss for words; mouth hanging open, he scrambled. Brokk stepped into view, Nyx following. Brokk was about to begin to assist him in trying to explain this. But in a second, Emory’s face darkened, her reaction instantaneous.
Charging at Brokk, Emory screamed, “You!”
Dumbstruck, her scream cut into his core as he easily sidestepped her attack.
Memphis screamed, “Brokk, leave now!”
His body followed the order, his mind reeling. Walking out of the room, the door slammed shut behind him. Rooted in place, he listened for the after effect. Silence greeted him coldly. Frozen in place, he tried to calm his shaking hands.
Why would she want to hurt me? What just happened?
Closing his eyes, he counted to ten, steadying his emotions. It killed him to do so, but he backed away from the closed door and left the suite in hopes to find Alby. To try to make his friends understand his actions were the first step and to put back together the foundation they worked so hard to make.
Chapter Thirty-One
Memphis
The scream tore through his mind, and Memphis watched Brokk stalk out of the room, his hurt plain across his face. Glancing at the now panting Emory, her anger dissipated to confusion once more. Her movements were impatient when she perched on the edge of the bunker, cradling her
