Page 112 of Wolf of Ashes
The keeper will bury Anarchy.
And then, his vow to me will bring him back to me.
But by then, I’ll be face to face with my father’s murderer.
Jonah reaches down to me, his forefinger glowing.
I consider his hand warily, since I assumed he’d try to punch the lights out of me.
“What are you—?”
I scream as he presses his burning finger to my temple and a fire bursts to life within my mind.
Recoiling from him, I try to leap backward, but his other arm has scooped around me, trapping me, hauling me up against his chest even as I thrash against him, my screams splitting my hearing.
Then the fire goes out and takes me with it.
Into blessed darkness.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN
Idream of a beautiful home.
It has inky-blue walls decorated with swirling, silver filigree. The sunlight is muted through gauzy, black curtains, a forest visible between the folds of material that lift in the cool breeze. The trees surrounding my home have broad branches and cold shadows beneath them, but no matter what I do, I can’t seem to leave this house.
My mother’s silhouette passes across the edge of my vision, and I can’t reach her. I hear her humming in the kitchen as she cleaves meat. Her footfalls through the halls and the soft scraping of the tips of her claws against the walls. The plucking of black roses as she appears bent over a garden bed outside my window.
She’s always out of reach.
The dream fades as I regain consciousness.
I return to a dull pain, a throbbing in my head and in my left hand.
I’m also upside down.
Hanging in the dark.
There’s a soft, slow, dripping sound nearby.
My arms fall beside my face, my hands aren’t tied, but the pressure around my ankles tells me my feet are bound together. As soon as I can bring myself to tense my stomach muscles, I’ll try to see my bindings and whatever contraption is keeping me in this spot.
My shirt isn’t covering my face. It’s gone altogether, although I can feel that I’m still wearing a bra, and my long, black pants seem to be in place. My hair is tied back. I’m not sure how, but it isn’t falling into my face.
It means I have a clear view all around me.
What strikes me first is the little metal device attached to the forefinger of my left hand.
My finger is cut, the smallest wound, and the metal contraption is keeping the wound open.
My blood is dripping to the ground below me, forming a black puddle.
My tattoo is all but gone. Maybe the lightest smudge of it remains, but I have no doubt my true features are fully visible.
So is most of the dark room around me.
It’s not unlike the room I dreamed of.
The walls are inky blue with glistening spots like stars across them. Possibly a very high ceiling. Shadows lurk there, so it’s hard to tell how far up it goes.
