Page 95 of The Serpent Prince

Imani’s eyes squinted open, everything blurred together. She lolled her head to the side and saw they were on a grassy knoll. Something glimmered at the tree line, but she couldn’t quite make it out. She might be going crazy, but it looked like Ara, standing amongst the shadows, watching over her.

“Wake up, Imani.” Ara’s voice sounded so real inside her head. “Wake up before he gets here, and for gods’ sake, find your strength. I didn’t spend a decade training you to fucking die like this.”

Oh yes, that was definitely Ara—or Imani’s best imaginary impression of her.

She pulled herself away from the apparition—or hallucination—and struggled to clear her vision.

When Imani could see again, it was no longer as dark as it had been in the slip. Instead, a sky made of a shimmering golden dark color blanketed out above her. A color she’d never seen before.

Imani stared up at the twinkling stars, wondering how there could be so many. They winked into existence as the Fabric’s lights danced and whirled in a beautiful whirling dance. Also … one wholly unfamiliar to her.

Fear lodged within her chest, spreading wide like some black, winged creature. Imani gripped her wand tight in one hand and flexed her fist with the other.

It was oddly quiet in her head now.

Lips quivering, her body still trembled uncontrollably. She tried to look around but could only see the strange golden darkness above.

Someone’s fingers twined around hers, and Imani squeezed, wanting to get the feeling back in her limbs. Or some semblance of control.

Soft, golden light filtered through their clasped fingers as a magical signature combined with her own. Imani’s body tingled as life trickled into it slowly, surely, little more than a steady drip. Imani found the strength to shove that dark power deeper, ignoring the low hum inside her as she held her wand tighter. The tension in her ribs eased, and she gasped, filling her lungs with air. The skin around her chest warmed, and the bruises that covered her body—or were they shadows?—began to fade away.

She shuddered one last time, shaking her head to clear it.

Towering trees came into view. A bed of pine needles lay underneath her.

Disgust curdled in her belly as Imani realized how close she had been to losing herself to her own power. At how she had to be saved. Healed.

A face appeared above hers, blocking out the strange night sky.

“Can you hear me, Imani?” Kiran asked then placed a kiss on the back of her hand. He was worried—for her or for his sacrifice, she didn’t know.

Sitting up slowly, Imani turned and took him in. His eyes looked tired, and his hair was a mess, as if he’d been tearing his hands through it for days without brushing it. Dark circles surrounded his eyes as he scanned over her carefully, studying her.

“Where are we?” she rasped. At least Imani could think clearly again.

His hold on her hand tightened. Imani tried to pull away, but the prince was far stronger than her and held her in place.

“You’re going to listen to me first,” he all but growled at her and held firm.

A noose around her neck tightened the longer she struggled in his grip. Her eyes bulged as she remembered the binding, and her lip curled in anger.

“You must look at me, and you must listen to me here.”

Nostrils flaring, Imani tried to ignore it, but she couldn’t. The pull forced her to peer up into his stupidly handsome face. Everything he said was true, and Imani hated it. Hated what the binding required of her, hated that she couldn’t let Kiran in, hated that she wanted to trust him, but that he knew she was so alone in this life and had taken advantage of it, repeatedly. She hated this moment—this agreement. It was a reminder of her failure.

Hated, hated, hated. If he kept pushing her like this, without the Drasil, she would certainly die.

She needed to find the wand more than ever. And she would, at whatever cost.

The prince looked upon Imani with savage regard, giving her a smile like she was fucking prey. And it did something to her.

A spark of herself burst back to life, and she found the power to rip her hand away. “Where. Are. We?”

How she was able to fight the binding for even just a moment, she didn’t know. But Kiran didn’t seem bothered.

He let himself smile again, a triumphant, malicious look.

A loose tendril of hair fell across her forehead, and he tucked it behind her ear. His hand was splattered with blackness, like blood.