Frozen Fear Book. 2

❅Chapter 9❅

The sounds of my retching echoed off the stone walls, and I hugged the cool, slick sides of the toilet as my stomach quivered and jolted.

There were no windows deep inside the mountain, so the only light came from a small hand-held candle that I barely had time to light before my vomiting induced. The shaft of the candle had been a few inches tall when I started, but now it was merely centimeters.

Nobody had been there when I jolted awake. And when I couldn't tell the slick sweat coating my body from the blood of Foster, the gash in his chest spewing blue, I ran for the bathing chamber.

I shivered, leaning my forehead against the chilled porcelain.

I'd never experienced a nightmare quite like that. Of course, the most sleep I'd received in the past few days was light or drug induced. Every other twisted dream I'd had were distorted memories: wolves with hundreds of heads tearing me to shreds, me slipping and sliding in inches of blood as fea and witches slaughtered each other right before my eyes. Or, worst of all, me having to choose between Foster or Sebastian's life.

It was always the same. I'm standing in the Bairfell Palace, moonlight streaming through the windows of the Throne Room, creating puddles of luminances dancing across the floor in beautiful and fluent motions. I'm standing on the Order of the Seven's crest, the seven thrones looming above me in the darkness like fearsome giants.

And then the screaming starts.

It's me, I realize. I'm screaming because before me stands Bash, his golden eyes wide and knowing. He remembers me. But there's a shadow looming behind him and he doesn't see it. The shadow looks familiar, and the face of it shifts, as if trying to show me its true identity hiding beneath the whirling darkness. He reaches for me, my name falling off of his lips... But then the shadow reaches out and snatches him. He struggles, the veins in his arms and neck bulging.

"Neva!" comes a shout from behind.

I whirl, my heart clenching as I recognize the voice. Foster struggles against his own menacing shadow, his eyes still bruised a deep purple, but seeing. A single strip of azure blood dribbles from his mouth, falling to the marble floor. I reach for him, but the strangled gasp of Bash struggling to suck in air stops me. Surely Foster can handle a few moments by himself. He's High Fae.

I turn towards Bash.

The shadow holding him has a clawed fist around his throat, another raised high above his chest, ready to rip him open like a sack of flour. His searing gaze meets mine, and I see the plea there. Help me.

My body tenses, ready to lunge for him, but there's a strange and wet ripping sound from behind me, and the marble beneath me has suddenly become slippery.

I angle myself towards Foster, my Foster, and I scream.

He's on his knees, mouth gasping for air like a stranded fish, his slender fingers reaching for me. His chest has been completely torn open, the shadow behind him waving a bloodied claw-tipped hand. I can see his heart, pumping behind his torn flesh and ribs. Slowing...

It stops.

He crumples to the floor, his unseeing eyes wide and clear from the bruising, unlike before. They're a radiant silver, dimmed in death.

Cool fingers of anguish squeeze my insides, constricting me from the inside out. I'm freezing. I'm burning. My familiar face.

The struggling behind me continues.

I shake myself as Foster's blood pools around me, sticking between my bare toes and making me gag. Bash needs me now.

I slip and slide towards him, desperate for him to keep fighting the monster that is so determined to end him. His face has turned a dark purple, his back hair clinging to his face and neck.