Twenty-Three: Hell?
Drayk’s POV
It’s cold.
Not the forest cold.
The other kind.
The kind that eats.
I wake up on stone.
Black. Wet.
Above me, no sky. Just red.
“...drayk?”
My voice sounds wrong. Hollow.
I sit up.
The dagger is gone.
The wound is gone.
But I can still feel it. Right under my ribs.
`Welcome home,` Draygon says.
But he’s not inside me.
He’s standing.
In front of me.
Me.
But taller. Horns. Claws. Eyes like mine but worse.
The hunger made flesh.
“what,” I say. “what is this.”
“Hell,” he says. My voice, but layered. “You died. She did it.”
The words hit harder than the dagger.
She did it.
Dionne did it.
I look down.
I’m not bleeding.
But there’s ash on my hands.
And chains around my wrists. Light. Like they’re not really there.
`
