Page 16 of The Edge of Darkness

I tried to wake up, tried to bring myself back to reality and out of this nightmare, but I was trapped.

A gritty voice slithered into my head, sounding both male and female, haunting in its cadence. It could never really be used for good, could it?

A second whisper skittered past like a fleeting soul, hissing, Could it?!

It begs to be let out, the voice said. Let it out, Dark One.

Stop it! I shouted in my mind.

Let it OUT!

I tried to shield my mind, to make the visions stop, to silence the voice, but I failed. It struck at my very essence like a viper. I felt the bite of its bitterness as my mind warred with itself over who I was, what I had done, and what I was truly scared of.

All those years of training, suppressing, fighting back the urge that crawled within my veins, it all felt like it was going to suddenly snap free.

The mud began moving beneath me, and I began sinking. Then, standing before me, was Syros, The Adorner. He raised his hands above his head to bestow my shroud. His face was lined with pity and regret as bloody tears streaked from his eyes. When he opened his mouth to speak the ritual words, all I heard were the bellowing howls of the dying along with their spluttering last breaths as his lips moved.

The shroud fell heavy on my shoulders, like a lead-weighted pauldron. What was supposed to be a gift felt like a burden, and the weight of it only made me sink faster, until I was clawing at the thick mud that threatened to swallow me whole.

With one final breath, I cried out for someone—anyone—to help me, but the mud washed over my eyes, and I sank into a cold, dark abyss.

The tug on the bond grew stronger as we turned another corner.

Thankfully, the catacomb tunnel’s ceiling had been gradually rising, finally allowing us to fully stand upright. I took note of the walls as the tension eased from my back. They were no longer made of roughly-carved earth, but were lined with small, rectangular bricks. The floors had leveled out as well and were now paved with an assortment of stones, worn smooth from continuous use. Small, domed alcoves jutted off from the main tunnel every so often. Some were flickering with candlelight. Others remained dark.

Lit candles . . .

My stomach lurched. Someone else had been here.

Maeson lowered her hand, closing her fist to snuff out the fire since it was no longer needed.

I walked a bit closer to Remic.

“Feel anything yet?” he said under his breath as we came to another corner and slowed to a stop.

I eyed the other tunnels that led in different directions before closing my eyes and feeling for Niall.

Where are you? I called out to him in my mind. He didn’t reply, but a cool rush of air brushed against my face, nudging me to the right.

“That way,” I said, peering down the nearest tunnel.

We moved quietly, keeping close to the walls, following them as they wound around another curve until Remic held an arm up to stop us. “There are others here,” he murmured, tilting his head to listen.

I suddenly gripped the leathers at his waist as a jolt of pain shot through my head. Pressure built behind my eyes, and my knees buckled. As I wobbled, Remic threw his arm around me, pulling me into his side and holding me up.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” His eyes darted frantically over my face.

I tried to keep my groan quiet, but my head pulsed with agony. “My head . . . it feels like . . .” The pain felt distant, yet close enough to overwhelm my senses. Like it was echoing from somewhere nearby.

I smelled mud next. My chest felt like it was going to cave in. I clawed at Remic as I began gasping for breath. Then, my legs gave out completely.

Remic’s eyes flared in panic. “Auren!”

Maeson fell to her knees beside me. “She’s having a panic attack,” she said as quietly as she could, tearing through her satchel.

Tears lined my eyes as dread set in. I was having a panic attack, but it wasn’t my own. I was feeling someone else’s anguish, someone else’s dread . . .

My mate’s.