The storm cleared, and with it, her chance at finding the portal.
Entire villages had been torn apart by winds that were described as hands dropping from the sky, scraping away everything in their path.
Wicked, twisted creatures had been spotted again, attacking villagers in the most rural areas of Nightshade, too far from the tunnels to use them for shelter. Their bodies were never found. The only remnants of them were the puddles of blood staining their floorboards.
Without the healing elixir, the injured died.
This was just the beginning; she could feel it. Azul was right. A storm was coming, unlike any this world had ever seen. They needed to find the portal, and close it, before the next one.
If only she hadn’t lost the ring.
Wraith was still recovering. She visited him once she could leave her bed. He purred weakly. Lynx sat with him in the stables, watching over him.
If the dragon wasn’t injured, she could retrace their flight path, try to find the stone . . . but she knew it was little use trying. It could be anywhere.
Grim was busy helping the people of the villages that had been destroyed, though she couldn’t help feeling like he was avoiding her.
He had to suspect she had been with Oro. Would he think she had been going back and forth this entire time?
Would he think her a traitor, just as his court had warned?
At night, she didn’t sleep. Stress made her toss and turn in her bed. She needed an outlet for it.
She portaled back to the rooftop.
Sairsha was already there, waiting. She looked up at her. “Wondered if you were coming tonight,” she said. She had an entire bottle of wine with her.
Isla sat beside it. She didn’t say a word for several minutes, lost in her own thoughts, until Sairsha tipped her head back, taking a long swing of the drink.
“Something wrong?” Isla asked, her eyes trained on the street. At first the woman’s presence had been annoying. Now, it was a comfort.
Sairsha drank deeply. “The storm destroyed my house.”
Isla whipped to face her. “Really?” She shouldn’t have been shocked.
Dozens of homes had been decimated.
She nodded. “Not the one I live in currently. The one I grew up in.” She shrugged. “Haven’t been there in a while, just strange to see it all gone.”
There was a faint clinking as she put the bottle down. “Family’s all dead.
Some were taken by the curses. Others by the storms, over the years. Others just by time. The house is all that was left, and now that’s gone too.” She shrugged. “The place I live now is fine. The bar is fine. It just makes me wonder if the only home I’ll ever have is lost.”
Isla knew what it was like to feel like home had been ripped away. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I hope you find another home. A better one.”
At that, Sairsha smiled. “I hope so too.” Soon after, she left her alone.
The next night, she returned. She met Sairsha at the bar. A group of women were chatting excitedly about the upcoming wedding. They were talking about the dresses they had sewn specially for the occasion.
“I heard the marriage is fake,” someone said. “I heard they can’t even tolerate each other.”
Another person grunted. “I suppose we’ll see soon.”
Isla was grateful for the scarf as she grimaced, trying not to think about the fact that Grim hadn’t so much as spoken to her in the last few days.
She had assumed the ceremony would be cancelled due to the storm, but now it seemed more important than ever. Morale was low, but talk of the tempest had been replaced by excitement for the wedding.
Days passed without storms, and Isla spent the mornings looking for the ring and the evenings on her rooftop.
That night, she was tracking a man who had killed his wife and was
now on the run. She had been watching him for days, waiting for the perfect
moment, for he was rumored to be a powerful wielder. She couldn’t use her abilities, so she would need to surprise him.
She was waiting in the alley he had stashed his belongings in, when he entered it. Before he could summon his shadows, she was there, taking
advantage of his surprise. The Nightshade was against the wall before he could blink, her blade was through his windpipe before he could summon a scream. Blood ran hot down her hand, seeping into the black fabrics she would throw away by the end of the night.
With his last remaining energy, his hand produced a shadow sharp as a sword, and she sighed. He was still too strong, even with a knife sticking out of his throat. She had been changing up her killing techniques, not wanting her reputation as heartripper to spread, but now she didn’t have much choice. Heart it was.
She forced her blade out of his neck and through his chest.
The man lurched against the wall, and she frowned. Still not dead. She pushed the blade deeper. He was stronger than she was used to.
“A little harder, heart,” a voice said close to her ear. “Need to get through the ribs.”
Isla startled, and the man she had pinned beneath her blade lunged, but a strong hand curled over hers, keeping her steady. With his added strength,
she went right through his heart. The man slumped down the wall.
Isla turned slowly to face Grim, who was looming over her. She swallowed. Excuses filled her mind. She opened her mouth to voice one of them, but Grim tilted his head at her, daring her to try to explain her way out of it.
He seemed amused by the shock on her face. “You didn’t really think I didn’t know what you were up to, did you?” She froze. How much did he know? He raised a brow. “Beautiful woman wearing snakes and killing wretched men with blades through their hearts? The heartripper.” He stepped toward her. “That could only be my wife.”
She just blinked at him. “You—you don’t . . . care?” He wasn’t upset. He wasn’t disgusted. There was something about him seeing the worst of her—and not flinching.
He shrugged a shoulder. “Kill anyone you want, heart, especially these bastards. Kill me, if it will make you feel better.”
A stone sunk in her stomach, knowing the prophecy.
A moment later, she had him against the wall, dagger to his throat.
Grim didn’t so much as look at the blade. He only looked at her. Eyes never leaving hers, he reached up and slowly dragged her dagger down his chest, cutting through fabric and skin, until it reached his heart. Then, he patted her hand and said, “Go ahead. It’s yours anyway.”
Her chest was heaving. Her every nerve was aflame. For one gleaming moment, it was just them, the way it had been before. They were just inches apart, only her blade between them, but she wanted—needed—to be closer. She went on her toes just as he leaned forward. Their lips just nearly touched, and she gasped.
The dagger slipped from her fingers, made slick from all the blood, but he caught it on its way down, and gently—ever so gently—slid it back into the pocket against her thigh, the metal curving slightly around it. He didn’t drop his hand. His bloody fingertips slowly trailed up her leg, and she was suddenly burning. He gripped her hips, and she ached for him.
Then, in a flash, he swung her around, so she was the one with her back pressed against the wall. He raked his fingers up the sides of her stomach, pulling her shirt up in the process, until his thumbs curled around the bottom of her chest.
They were both covered in blood, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t think straight.
His lips slipped down her jaw, her neck. He dragged his teeth across her pulse and made a deep sound of approval. His voice rumbled against her throat as he said, “I love it when I make your heart race.”
Her sensitive chest tightened. She was desperate for more.
This was wrong, it was so wrong, but she also didn’t want him to stop. “Hearteater. As far as I’m concerned, you killed me the day you met me.
I’ve never been the same.” His lips trailed back up, across the corner of her
mouth, all the way to her ear before he whispered, “I’ll see you at the alter tomorrow.”
Then he disappeared, leaving her pressed against the wall.
