Page 166 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

It’s worse than the first time.

So much worse.

The darkness doesn’t recoil in surprise. It doesn’t flinch.

It expected me.

It anticipated my light—planned for it.

The curse has threaded itself deep into Darius’s body, embedded in bone and marrow, woven through his veins. Inky black stains every organ, every cell.

Sweat rolls down my spine, my breath turning shallow as I fight to burn the darkness away.

Each inch of progress is earned with pain. And it’s torturously slow.

I grit my teeth. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

The curse’s damage is extensive. How could Darius have endured this without complaint?

“There was no point,” he says.

I tighten my grip and glare at the Fae. “I didn’t take you for a quitter.”

Darius attempts to smile, but unlike the last time I healed him, he’s awake now. And the tight lines tugging at his eyes and mouth reveal that he feels the excruciating battle taking place within his body.

“There’s wisdom in knowing when to bow out.”

“No,” I growl and shove more light into his body.

The blackness recedes a little more.

“You matter, Darius. To your friends. To me. To Petra. I can heal you. I know I can.”

The curse thrashes against the brightness, but I am unrelenting.

Determined.

I don’t know why Darius has lost his fight. Maybe he never had it.

Maybe he’s been pretending since he woke up.

Maybe subduing his shadows was a blessing in his eyes. Maybe he wants the curse to ravage his body. Maybe he wants to give up.

There’s a time to meet one’s demise with dignity. But that’s not today. Not for Darius.

The curse screeches as another wave of light crashes into it. The darkness rears back, releasing its hold on Darius’s veins and bones.

Darius grunts. His complexion is ghostly white, but his lips lose their bluish hue.

“You’re stubborn,” he mumbles.

“So are you.” I squeeze my eyes shut and drive another wave of light into his body.

Minutes stretch.

Heat slicks my skin. Sweat soaks my hair, strands plastered to the back of my neck.

My gown clings to me like a second skin, heavy and suffocating, every breath an effort as my strength bleeds away.