15. Danica

Danica

15

I stand frozen, horror strangling my voice useless. Before my disbelieving eyes, shadows wrap Rhyland in grasping tendrils until only the ice-blue sparkle of his gaze shows through the writhing darkness...

Then, those beloved eyes sink midnight black entirely. His frantic thoughts scream through our tattered bond—chaos, hunger, madness—like razors shredding my mind as darkness utterly consumes the man who is my world.

Rhyland's last shreds of light gutter out just as cruel laughter splits the gloom.

Azrael.

The sound pounds my skull like spikes. Behind Rhyland's unmoving form, a towering specter looms—fathomless hunger given monstrous shape. It, too, awaits my vampire Viking's inevitable surrender, inevitable fall to chaos...

Rhyland turns slowly to meet my terror-filled eyes, and only soulless void stares back. No recognition lights that alien gaze. Wicked desire claimed him fully at long last. Azrael's amused whisper slices my heart to ribbons...

"Now he belongs to me and mine—eternal. Such wondrous darkness, never again to walk in light..."

I scream soundlessly for my lost heart as Moretemis' smoking claw reaches to claim his shattered prize...

"No!"

I jolt upright with the choking plea, heart hammering wildly. Cold sweat plasters hair against my neck as panic slowly loosens its stranglehold. I sag back atop fur blankets, orienting to quiet canvas walls and the low burbling fire pit nearby.

It was just another nightmare, the third one this week. But Seraphina's ominous warnings echoed through my mind, stealing fragile peace. "True darkness dwells not in Rhyland's spirit. But still…he is tempted to darkness and can easily be swayed."

How long can Rhyland resist the darkness without me to reignite his inner flame?

Our broken bond proves too weak for me to reach through, to know what horrors he now endures alone...

Is his noble spirit still strong against that vile queen's assaults? Or has my dream been shown to be true? Has Rhyland already slipped to Stygian depths without my guiding light to cleave to?

Frigid dread pumps through my veins. I have to reach Rhyland somehow before nightmares become a reality. We're running out of time...

After over a week of Erik and Faedryn's kickass crash course, which has turned me black and blue, I slowly roll out of bed.

The silence from the Shadow Court is deafening—there have been no whispers from the Shadow Snatch yet.

To bid my time and keep my mind busy, warrior training is no joke for us out-of-shape mortal types! I groan like gutshot prey, longing desperately for a hot bath and an even hotter masseuse to get upright again.

But oh man, catching Erik off guard with a sweet leg sweep yesterday—two hundred plus pounds of cocky vampire suddenly eating dirt! Sure, he repaid the favor ten times later, but watching Sir Broods-a-Lot's shocked face kissing soil once was priceless!

Even my extraordinary spidey sense warns no quick heal exists against Erik's special brand of cheerful sadism—"Builds grit and reflexes!" my muscular ass!

Erik, bless his undead warrior heart, whipped up some badass daggers for me. With Faedryn's book smarts thrown into the mix, they've forged a pair of dazzling fae daggers—think gleaming fae silver with runes that would make Elektra jealous.

He tosses me a compliment with a twinkle in his eye: "They're petite, lethal, and agile—just like you, Little Huntress."

There's some hocus-pocus on them that makes them mine, all mine. Anyone tries to use them—Poof, right back to me. Talk about a party trick for the ages.

Those same runes have another nifty feature—they let me play teleport tag with my new pointy friends. I've been getting my reps in all week, and much like my new zippy vibe, my weaponry's gotten an epic level-up. I'm all about slicing and dicing with finesse, twirling those bad boys around like I was born doing it.

Erik's efforts haven't gone unnoticed. His dedication to occupying my thoughts and keeping me from spiraling into despair is as steadfast as his warrior's resolve. Despite the constant distraction and the busyness he orchestrates, the absence of Rhyland carves a deeper hollow with each passing day. The pain of separation, it seems, has its own cruel agenda, growing more acute as time ticks by, a relentless tide eroding the shores of my will.

I've been sobbing myself to sleep, a constant nausea turning in my gut. It feels like I'm stuck on replay, reliving those dreadful days when the Shadow Brotherhood had him in their grasp. And through this ceaseless torment, Erik has been my rock—fortifying me, standing unwavering by my side, and never throwing in the towel once.

I'm acutely aware of my own mood shifts, too. It's like I'm stuck in a perpetual storm of PMS, my temper teetering on a knife's edge, sharp and ready to snap. Each little annoyance is magnified, and my patience wears as thin as morning frost under the rising sun—my fuse shortening with every moment Rhyland isn't by my side. It's a struggle balancing the aching void with the fiery temperament that seeks to consume me.

Wincing with effort, I gain my feet, lurching stiffly toward my boots. So intensely focused on my screaming body, I nearly bash straight into Erik's solid chest, suddenly filling the tent flap.

"Good morn, Little Huntress..." His thundercloud eyes crease gently, taking in my messy, barely standing state. "I take it rest did not come easily?"

I make a sound halfway between an exhausted laugh and a whimper. "Respect the grind—just another thrilling installment of 'Dani's Epic Quest Bootcamp from Hell'..." Strong coffee, I need you now!

Erik guides me toward fireside cushions, and a steaming mug of magic awaits. Mystical caffeine—bless this steadfast vampire!

"How. Where…? Thank you!" I chant, making an immediate beeline for the steaming pot nestled in the glowing embers. "Where in the seven realms did you find this?" The bitter scent teases my nose—blessed caffeine!

I practically choked, gulping that first scalding mouthful before I remembered to breathe.

"Faderyn brought it to me. A supply wagon dropped off goods this morning." Erik tells me.

Sweet mercy, it's been days since blessed bean juice graced my un-caffeinated system! I hug the battered tin mug tightly, not caring that my tongue now feels blistered.

Erik indulgently passes the honey pot without comment to tame the hot brew.

I sigh blissfully after a second; a more cautious sip cuts bitterness with honey's mellow sweetness. "Heaven..." I mumble into rising steam, not caring about straight-up mainlining liquid energy despite disrupted sleep.

I spill my troubling dreams of beshadowed Rhyland into the weighted stillness between us. Erik's thoughtful silence proves more unnerving than any words as ominous tendrils of my dream threaten to make real nightmares of us all...

Erik toys with an arrowhead from the nearby table, giving me long, quiet moments with my coffee and jangled thoughts before speaking gingerly."These worries hounding your dreams bode unwell, Little Huntress," he begins awkwardly.

Hardly Mr. Sensitive with emotions at the best of times...now he visibly fights discomfort over last night's shared visions.

Me either, big guy.

I wave aside mention of blurry dream images, still crowding too near for comfort. There is no sense of rehashing what I saw far too vividly—those inescapable chains of shadow and horror twisting Rhyland away from himself.

Erik clears his throat, pressing onward despite the stricken look flashing across my face. "If Rhyland remains severed from your light—you— much longer, his inner corruption shall rise unchecked and consume him."

His grave words spark new panic. With a shaking hand, I set down my half-finished coffee, my stomach rebelling. "How long?" My cracked voice pleads hoarsely. "How long does he have before...before—" I cannot speak the haunting dread aloud.

Erik's broad shoulders slump under some unseen weight. He rubs the back of his neck almost sheepishly. "Truthfully, no one fully comprehends the intricacies of bonded pairs, even amongst my kindred. Each pair is different." He takes a bracing swig from a leather flask, silver gaze turned inward. "The union runs deeper than mere blood or convenience. When two souls entwine so profoundly across the centuries...well..." Erik shrugs. "Let's just say prophecy and gods themselves likely played matchmakers between you and my eccentric brother, Little One." Wry humor briefly touches his mouth before fading.

My tolerance for all this mystical mumbo-jumbo is stretching like bubblegum on a hot sidewalk—pretty much non-existent. Rhyland scratches an itch that's real talk; no need for poetic frills and frothy words.

I huff, jabbing a spoon into the honey pot more forcefully than necessary, the sticky sweetness plopping into my almost empty cup of coffee. "Cut the soulmate baloney," I mutter with a frown. "You said the clock's ticking on him, so give it to me straight—what's the countdown beforeRhylandpulls a 'dark side' conversion?"

Erik blinks at the obscure reference but gleans the gist: " It's impossible to predict precisely. It depends on the pair's unique fortitude and bond strength."

I grit my teeth, reigning in a fury and that spark of power that's itching to jump out. "Great, thank you, Prince of Vagueville—just what I need while Rhyland's over there on a ticking time bomb. Give me something I can actually work with," I snap, my impatience boiling over. "Spell it out for me. What the hell does 'bond strength' even mean? Our psychic hotline's been nothing but static and crossed wires recently, and trust me, it's anything but amusing."

Erik runs a hand through his silver hair pensively. "Communicating is but one manifestation of the partnership. I speak rather of your souls' alignment—the depth you anchor one another's essential spirits." His intense stare bores into mine. "Tell me true, Little Huntress—even now, does some central piece of yourself yet cling to my brother across whatever divide?"

My breath catches in my throat as the realization hits, a clear note in the cacophony of panic and anger. There's a connection, a lifeline to Rhyland that's been steadfast amidst the chaos... but I can sense it, worn and stretched thin, edges fraying from the relentless stress and decay. The earnest depth in Erik's question echoes the persistent fear in the back of my mind.

Could it be true? Might our connection—this vital link—snap completely if we don't counter the forces tearing at it?

My fingers tighten reflexively around the cold tin mug, grasping for a tangible anchor. Words come out rough and raw, carving their weight into the heavy air around us."It's like... when all the noise falls away, this thread still pulls me to him. But lately, it's felt more like a raw nerve than a robust tether, you know?" My voice is a coarse whisper, a shadow of itself.

Tears, those traitorous indicators of the turmoil within, well up uninvited. I lash out at them with a fierce swipe of my hand, anger aimed at the vulnerability they expose. "It's as if something crucial is being eaten away, bit by bit, as we stay apart. It's agony—worse than anything I've ever known..."

My breath catches on, building grief and renewed helplessness. Sensing danger, Erik lays a cautious hand on my shoulder. "Correctly said. You are feeling what Rhyland is feeling, and that fundamental recognition, unseverable before death itself, sees mated duos through harrowing adversity."

I force air deeply into my struggling lungs. But then his earnest tone turns grim again. "Yet such an alignment cannot withstand neglect indefinitely either. Starved alone in the dark too long, the most stalwart of mates risks their sanity crumbling away."

The tension knots up in my stomach, a fierce swirl of anxiety for Rhyland that flares up, incinerating any faux sense of java-induced composure. My hands ball into fists, knuckles pressing against my eyes, which betray me again with their sting. This fierce urge to know—to grasp any and all means to claw him back from the brink before his light dies out completely—consumes me.

My voice is ragged, edged with desperation as I confront Erik. "What amped-up cosmic glue is gonna hold this thing together—huh?" I bark out. "How do I patch up a bond hanging by a thread when he's out of my reach? There's got to be some magical fix, right? Relationship wizardry? Anything?"

Erik sighs, clearly chewing over helpful knowledge gained the hard way throughout his isolated immortal existence. He is no stranger to solitude or the dangers bred within. "You need to be together physically and soon. Your bond strengthens over time and when with each other. But for you, right now, continuing to battle darkness in any form fortifies the purpose that united you as one spirit. The mate bond knows itself by deeds and heart loyalty, too."

"Why aren't you the one who's adrift?" I inquire, locking eyes with Erik. His brow crinkles, a silent testament to his puzzlement. "I mean, Rhyland has our bond that tethers him, and yet he's closer to the edge, teetering toward oblivion, more so than any of you who wander solo, unanchored by such ties."

With a measured gaze, Erik considers the question carefully before answering, "We possess a certain... resilience. A vampire unbound remains steadfast and disciplined in solitude until a mate is discovered. It acts as a stabilizing force. However, if the mate isn't found over time, the constant battle against the beckoning shadows may wear on a vampire. They are drawn deeper into darkness; eventually, without that anchor, they lose themselves completely."

He turns a sharper eye toward me: "Rhyland's struggle is different; your bond pulls at him, a constant tug-of-war that, if left unresolved, risks devouring him from the inside out. It's a perilous edge to walk, caught between two forces. On the other hand, those of us 'flying solo,' as you say, aren't faced with such immediate and profound conflicts. We endure, we fight on, embracing solitude until either bond or darkness takes its hold."

Before I can further interrogate Erik, Faderyn ducks through the tent flap, carrying a bundle of cloth, clothes, and toiletries; despite gloom still clinging like cobwebs, I perk up at the prospect of hot food and bathing to scrub off the latest layer of funk and night sweats.

"I thought you would care for a bath and some hot food. After you finish that….Lady Axilya will grant you a private audience later today if it pleases you."

I rocket to my feet, fresh hope blazing through my veins to scorch away oppressive dread. It's about damn time. I've asked to speak with her days ago. "Axilya's got solid progress getting Rhyland??"

Faderyn smiles gently, hefting the bundle of scented toiletries and clean garb he brought. "The Lady sends merely her assurance she will discuss matters concerning your quest's progress so far. But optimism never goes amiss."