“Manx said something to me before I was brought to this room.” I face Caz, and he’s rubbing his throat, trying to get the black marks off, but they’re not going anywhere. It’s sinister, seeing the fingerprints around his neck, but what was even more sinister was seeing Mournwrath in my dreams.
I was in the forest again, but this forest looked different—not like the one I landed in when I first came to this world. This forest had trees as tall as skyscrapers, the branches and pine needles frozen, and despite the wind blowing, the trees didn’t move. It was so quiet I could only hear myself breathing.
I tried finding a way out of the forest, but something came after me, swift and strong. Its fingers wrapped around my neck from behind, and I couldn’t see it at first, not until it lifted me into the sky. I floated there as the grip was released from my throat, but my body turned, spinning in a 180, and there it was. Mournwrath, floating in the air with me, those red crescents boring into my eyes. It started to lower the hood of its black cape, and black talons slipped from beneath it, wrapping around my throat again. The talons were cold and tight, and for a moment I couldn’t breathe. Then I woke up, and Caz was on the floor, holding his throat.
“What did Manx say?” Caz asks, bringing me back to the present.
“He said to come to him if you develop black veins on your body or something like that.”
Caz frowns a moment, then lifts his arm. He’s wearing a long-sleeved black shirt, so I can’t see any of the skin on his arms. The only thing revealed are his pale hands.
His blue eyes flicker up to mine before he takes a step back and grips the hem of his shirt. Without a word, he pulls the shirt over his head, and I blink rapidly, taking a step back, my eyes growing wider. Black veins run up both his forearms and even the center of his chest, but that’s not what catches my attention most. It’s the scars on his body and old wounds that catch me off guard. Some of them look like bullet wounds, while others like marks from a whip, as if he was beaten repeatedly. A tattoo is on the heart of his chest, the name Azira in a bold, script-like font. I’m curious who that is.
Beneath the scratches and whip marks, his pecs are lean and smooth like marble, as well as his biceps. His belly has more markings the shape of healed bullet wounds. One is wedged between his ribcage and one of his six abdominal muscles.
Caz steps around me to investigate his reflection. The veins on his arms aren’t extreme, but the ones on the center of his chest are prominent, and they’re spreading outward, as if they’ll eventually leak to the rest of his body.
“What the hell is this?” he rasps.
“I think it’s part of the Tether,” I whisper.
Caz looks through the mirror at me, then he turns and slips back into his shirt. He marches to the bedroom, and I follow him as he picks up his jacket and gloves.
“We need to get Manx.” He slides his fingers into the leather gloves. Once his boots are on, he’s heading toward the door.
I slip into the white shoes Alexi brought up for me with the change of clothes and follow Caz out the door.
