Page 2 of Lethal King

The gaze I’d felt lingering on me slowly dissolves, and I know that the mysterious dark figure has slipped away—if it was ever really there.

The next flash of lightning confirms that hunch. No dark silhouette glares up at me. Whatever I thought I saw, it’s gone, consumed by the stormy night.

Still, a chill remains on my skin—that is, until I feel a familiar warmth brush up against my bare shoulder.

“Willow…”

Wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead, I look over at the black cat. The last living ghost of my past life. A friend who’s followed me to the edge of the world, and down into hell.

“Silly kitten,” I mumble under my breath. “You should stay hidden.”

But Willow doesn’t heed my warning. No. All Willow ever hears is her own name. And when she hears her name, she does the only trick I’ve ever been able to teach her.

She comes to me.

Even through all of my gut-churning fear, I manage to find some comfort in her presence.

“I’m just like you now,” I sigh, picking her up. But holding her in my arms is becoming more of a struggle every day. She keeps growing, and I’m practically wasting away. “An orphan. Only at least you’re not a prisoner too.”

Stroking her beneath the ear, I take one last look out into the stormy night. There’s no trace of the heart-stopping monster. His presence has been swallowed up by the darkness, along with the little pinprick of hope he inspired in me.

There is no escaping this nightmare. Not if I want any chance at a future.

Willow purrs against my chest as I step away from the window and plop down on the edge of my allotted mattress, a stained white cushion that stinks of smoke and blood—or maybe it doesn’t stink at all, and the scent of smoke and blood is the only thing I can smell anymore.

“I know it’s cold outside,” I whisper, using my free hand to wipe another bead of sweat from my temple. “But being cold is better than being trapped, right? My mom used to say—"

Before I can finish the thought, my withering heart twists in a painful convulsion, brutalized by the reminder of what happened to my parents.

It shrivels up even more at the thought of my dad... and what he did to cause it all.

Without warning, a flurry of brutal memories slash through my overheating mind.

Strangers. A truce. Broken promises. My village in flames. My family in ashes. My life in ruins.

My chest sinks inward—the pressure is enough to knock me out. It’s not the first time this has happened, and when my eyelids flutter open again, I’m not even surprised, just drained.

I’m exhausted. But that doesn’t mean I don’t panic when I realize Willow is gone.

My hollow chest pounds.

Willow is all I have left. I can’t lose her. I won’t.

Snapping upwards, I fight through a pummeling headache and frantically try to find my cat.

“Willow!” I croak. My throat is so dry it hurts.

For a moment, nothing stirs. And then, just when I think all is lost, I see the curtain by the window stir.

Willow’s black head pops out from behind the edge of the scarlet drape. A fuzzy black circle with two sharp ears and even sharper yellow eyes.

The sound of her name is too enticing to resist. She comes to me, and I gather her up in my arms and begin to cry.

“Don’t ever leave me,” I quietly plead.

Cold tears trickle down my hot cheeks. They mix in with the sweat that dampens my skin.

This place is becoming a furnace. Somewhere, someone has started a fire. I don’t dare think about what they might be using as kindle.