Moonshadow (Book 1 of the Torrent Skies Saga)

Chapter Thirty-Four: To Save A Soul

Byron sat across from Katerin smiling widely, as she acclimated herself to her surroundings as quickly as possible. She did not want him to know how terrifying these dreams truly were.

"Hello, again," he said casually. As if speaking to an old friend.

She sat back in her chair and watched him, waiting for him to get to the point. He liked the theatrics, it seemed. Found them amusing or entertaining in some part of his mind.

He laid his hands on the wooden table, tapping his thumb on the wood. "Bring him to me. Surrender him at my feet," he commanded. His tone was serious, no kindness or theatrics to it.

He stared at her as if challenging her to defy him.

Katerin blanched. He had never been so straightforward before. When she jerked in her chair, she realized manacles were heavy and cold around her wrists. Her heart thudded, and a chill ran up her spine—she was sure they could not truly affect each other here. If they could, he should have already killed her or tortured her, but the manacles bothered her, evoking a very primitive fear.

She sat back again, ignoring the chains, gritting her teeth. "No," she said, meeting his eyes and answering his look. "I will not surrender anyone at your feet." She spit the last word as if it were poison.

Byron laughed, and leaned forward, grabbing her hand. "Katerin," he spoke like a disapproving father. "If you don't do this the easy way, you are only going to hurt the people you are trying to protect. His life is the only one I need." His tone was sickly sweet, but it held something deeper. A calm edge of anger. "You are only going to make this worse on him...on everyone you care about. If you bring him peacefully, I won't torture him." He looked right at her and his eyes sparkled with malice.

Her stomach flipped and she swallowed. "You won't have a chance."

Byron laughed and scooted his chair back and to the side. On the wall behind him was Fykes, held up by his wrists, with metal peeking out of his skin and barbed wire stretched across him. Blood poured out of him, and wounds covered him.

Katerin tried to jerk away from the table, but the bindings on her wrists stopped her, and in her horror, she did not hear the sound of pain that tore from her throat.

Byron leaned in. "I can do so much worse." He stood and walked behind her chair as another form appeared on the wall, in worse condition.

Her mother.

Byron's hands gripped her shoulders as she tried to look away, to tell herself that it was nothing more than an illusion, but she stared in horror as the images changed before her, becoming far more gruesome. Blood pooled on the floor. The reality that they were only images was lost on her. There was an ache in her chest that threatened her sanity, and her cheeks overflowed with tears.

"You don't want it to be worse, do you?" Byron asked, laying his hands over her shoulders and digging his fingers in.

"Stop," she choked. "Stop."

He laughed again, and his grip tightened on her shoulders as the images kept changing. Fykes screamed, and the sound was exactly as he would sound. Her mother cried out and Katerin closed her eyes sobbed. She had no strength to wrench herself away.

Finally, Katerin snapped away from her fit of terror. She jerked her hands free of the illusion of restraints and sent the chair flying out behind her as she stood and spun to face him, knotting a fist in his shirt. It felt like silk, but she knew that it, just like the images on the wall, was nothing more than magical lies. "I will kill you before you can hurt them like that, you son of a bitch." She did not yell—there was too much anger blocking up her throat. Instead, her tone was a cold promise, and for the first time since she had met him, her eyes locked on his without fear.