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“I’ll do whatever you want!”
“I don’t want youbroken, Zenya.” I go as far as I dare. I let her feel the edges of the key, dangling it just out of her reach. All she needs is to seize it. “I wantyoutobreak! Break now!”
The bone mask cracks.
“Ahh, fuck!” I growl, the force of her weaving nearly driving me to my knees.FUCK, YES!
The mental visage begins to crumble. Yes! She thrusts the needles out until they all tumble to the floor like thousands of clanging notes. Her twisted, needling symphony.
She is peeling back the chrysalis and trading ashes for beauty. I’ve never tasted anything so profound. Like a goddamn prophecy.
Tilting my head, I stare through that mask, find the windows of her fractured soul, and I peer in to greet Zenya Alice Myre. “Ahh, there she is! What a beautiful, little monster you are.”
Chapter 6
How many times must I fall?
ZENYA
“Fall For Me” by Sleep Token
“The Offering” by Sleep Token
Exquisite torture can be the only word for what he’s put me through.
“I’ll do whatever you want!” I scream in desperation, defeat, surrender. What will happen if I can’t do this? They say you can die in your dreams. Is that an urban myth or is it real? Am I on the precipice of death?
“I don’t want youbroken, Zenya.” He breathes against me with the femur bone rearranging my insides. “I want you tobreak! Break now!”
My soul is ready to burst, to soar with the force of an orgasm that could only be described as cataclysmic.
Break!I scream in my mind, imagining a crack splintering right through the bone mask.
It obeys. Oh, god—it cracks! Is that all it takes? Judging by the wide-eyed approval coming from those black diamonds inhis sockets, I’ll take it as a good sign. For god’s sake, he could have just clued me in to the implication of the power of the possessive verb.Mypossession.
Hey, Zenya, active vs passive! Verb vs noun!
Goddamn dandybone. Contempt churns in me.
With what power I can’t fathom and by whatever strength and energy I possess here, I thrust the needles out, screaming and screeching until they clatter to the floor.
He watches me the whole time. Gazing in wonder. Black tears flow from his eyes. His emotion is so raw, I practically feed on it.
I’ve never felt so alive. I’m breaking free!
For the first time in my life, I don’t simply survive. I don’t escape. I don’t bury the torment, the pain. Through blood and fire, I break free, clawing and ripping flesh from those goddamn bones and spilling my own blood like liquid rubies.
In this nightmarish realm he controls, the pain is like an echo, something crawling on the edge of my consciousness. If this was the real world, I’d have been dead long ago.
He tilts his head, staring through the cracked mask as I howl in my mind when I shatter that mask. This God of Nightmares doesn’t flinch—not even when the smithereens of bone dust stab into his eye sockets. Nyxion keeps his gleaming eyes on me the whole time and opens his jawbone to proclaim, “Ahh, there she is! What a beautiful, little monster you are.”
Fucking asshole. Highness of Horrors. I’d stake my life on him having a PhD in excessive angst.
Degrees of shame gnaw on me, along with my long-lost triumph.
The spinal cord is next. Sucking in deep breaths, I imagine the backbone splitting down its center before crushing the vertebrae, one bone at a time. It feels like there are a thousand needle holes in me.
He’s shook me down to my soul. His dark, masculine musk overwhelms me. My insides throb, starving with need.
