Page 82 of Heir of Broken Souls

Dark magic lord.

It’s not working, the soothing touches and whispered words from Knox. I cannot get his face out of my mind. The image of him killing Knox, the sound of Hazel’s deranged cackle as she held the sword dripping with his blood.

Leaping from the bed, I hold my head in my hands and squeeze slightly, as if I can press the gods-awful dream from my mind. But my chest keeps rising and falling, faster and faster.

This is karma,my mind taunts. This is what you get for telling him not to be overprotective. This is a taste, a fraction of what Knox feels when he replays the memory of your dead body in his arms.

“No, please,” I say gutturally, ripping my gaze away from Knox’s.

I can’t look at him, not with the image of his decapitated head in the forefront of my mind.

“Please, I-I just need?—”

He splays his hand across his chest. “Listen to my heartbeat. Look at my color and the vibrancy of my skin. Look at my eyes and the life shining within them.” He slowly steps off the bed, moving toward me ever so slowly, like how you would corner a crazed animal. “I amalive.”

I do as he says, his voice washing over my body like a ray of sunshine as I listen to the steady—if slightly erratic—pounding of his heart. The way his skin glows with warmth and life, those gorgeous dazzling eyes staring at me with a level of caution.

And then I’m seeing my hands covered in his sticky blood while his head hangs lifelessly in my lap, with his eyes?—

“No!” I scream. My throat burns as the shrill cry tears from my throat.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but I’m horrified as the image only becomes clearer in my mind’s eye, forcing me to snap open my eyelids to see Knox standing in the middle of the room, for once helpless in what to do.

My mind won’t stop torturing me.

Silver glistens within my gaze, finally giving me a reprieve as they blur my vision. Yet the liquid pooling doesn’t fall; it very rarely does. My tears are as stubborn as my will to shove away my grief.

“I-I just need some air,” I stutter out.

“Okay, we can?—”

“No!” I cry again. Shaking my head, I lower my eyes so I don’t have to see the pain flicker across his features. “Please, just let me see Aurora and get some air. I can’t look at you with it in my mind.”

He already knows this. Because this has been the dream that’s plagued me for weeks.

No matter what I do, my terrified screams wake me every night. And then I come face-to-face with Knox, my mind not able to tell the difference between reality and my nightmare.

Tonight is no different.

I know it makes him feel helpless. I can feel the anguish pouring down our bond, the utter pain radiating through his heart that he can’t help me—that he can’t soothe his mate.

It’s torture for him.

But not as torturous when all I see when I look at him is death.

“I won’t be long,” I whisper, avoiding his gaze as I race from the room.

* * *

The moment my bare feet hit the deck I feel like I can breathe again.

The tightness in my chest loosens, and the grip my nightmare had on my mind retreats as the ocean breeze greets me. The salty air soothes the ache in my throat of the shrill cries from earlier.

I don’t bother closing the lower hatch to the stairs.

There’s no point when he follows me.

He thinks he’s stealthy, watching from afar. But anyone who knows him knows he would never truly leave me, not when I’m in distress.