Dread

Malik

We had failed.

Now, I was standing on Audra's doorstep again, my stomach twisting into knots. The cold air nipped at my skin, but it wasn't the chill that made my breath come out shaky—it was the weight of failure pressing down on me. I had promised to bring her back, and I had failed. Her mother was going to hate me for this. I gulped, clenching and unclenching my fists at my sides. Over the past few months, I had spent more time here than I ever thought I would. Her parents had gone from wary and hostile to begrudgingly accepting me, and eventually, they had even started to like me. They warmed up to the idea that I was Audra's mate, and though there was always tension, we had built something fragile. Now, all of that was about to shatter. I took a deep breath, forced my shoulders back, and knocked. Soft footsteps shuffled toward the door, and then it swung open to reveal Cordelia. I froze for a moment, startled by how much she had changed. Ever since our blood had mingled, she had been recovering. The once sickly pallor of her skin had faded, replaced by a healthier glow. Her hair, which had fallen out in brittle patches, had begun to grow back, framing her face in soft wisps. She no longer looked like a woman at death's door. "Come on in," she said, stepping aside with a nod. I followed her into the living room, the familiar scent of cinnamon and old books filling the air. The house was quiet, save for the distant ticking of a clock, but the silence wasn't comforting—it was expectant, heavy with unspoken words. She sat down across from me, her gaze piercing as she studied my face. "So?" she asked, her voice measured but firm. I exhaled sharply, unable to meet her eyes. "I failed." Her brows furrowed. "You're not injured badly, but you lost?" I nodded stiffly, clenching my jaw. "I had the upper hand," I admitted, frustration lacing my words. "I knocked him down—I nearly killed him. But we were outnumbered. His brother, Sylvin, pierced me in the back while I was distracted. Acheron escaped through a gate before I could reach her. By the time I got there, it was too late." Cordelia was silent for a long moment. Then, instead of lashing out or breaking down, she leaned forward, her expression unreadable. "Well, we just need another plan," she said matter-of-factly. I blinked, caught off guard. Her husband, who had been quietly listening, leaned forward, a sharp determination in his eyes. "One that's foolproof this time," he added. "What about…" As he started laying out the details of a new strategy, I listened, my pulse quickening. The more he spoke, the clearer the plan became, and a wicked smile curled on my lips. "Yes," I murmured, my grip tightening on the armrest. "Yes. That will do."

Acheron

During the Battle

Blood filled my lungs. The taste of iron coated my tongue, thick and suffocating. My vision blurred as Malik's massive form pinned me down, his strength overwhelming mine in ways I hadn't anticipated. I had been sure—so sure—that I could outmatch him. But I had underestimated his fury. Ribs cracked under his weight, sharp pain spearing through my chest. Each breath became a desperate, shallow struggle, and I realized with a sickening certainty that one of my lungs had been punctured. Malik didn't stop. His teeth tore into my flesh, ripping chunks of me away as if he were a starving beast. Pain flared through every nerve, but I had felt pain before. My childhood had taught me agony in ways no one else could understand. But this—this was different. For the first time in years, real fear crept into my bones. Then, suddenly, a sharp whistle sliced through the air. An ice arrow struck Malik's side. He let out a savage howl, his assault faltering. The moment his grip loosened, one of my men tackled him off me, and I gasped for air, my body screaming in protest as I was hauled to my feet. Sylvin stepped through the gate, his expression unreadable, but I saw it—the flicker of triumph in his eyes. Malik's gaze snapped to mine, desperation and fury battling for dominance. For the briefest moment, I saw something else in his expression—fear. And then, I smiled. We had won. Arthur steadied me, his grip firm as I stumbled toward the gate. Every step sent fresh agony rippling through my body, but I forced myself to move. As soon as we crossed to the other side, I let out a sharp, shuddering breath, my entire body screaming for relief. "You need to get to Luna," Arthur muttered. I nodded, too exhausted to argue. I opened another gate, this time leading straight to the lab. The moment we arrived, Luna turned to us, her face paling at the sight of me. "Acheron!" she gasped, rushing toward me. "Did you lose?"

I scoffed, though the sound came out weak. "No, we got her back. But Malik had me pinned—ripping me to shreds. If Sylvin hadn't stepped in, I'd be in far worse shape."

Luna's sharp eyes scanned me, assessing the damage. "He's a good brother to you," she said absentmindedly. Then, her expression hardened. "But we don't have time for pleasantries—I need to fix this lung now." She guided me to the table, and I didn't resist. The second I was on my back, my vision swam, my body teetering between exhaustion and pain. Darkness crept in as she inserted a tube, draining the blood from my lung while the healers worked on the torn flesh. My body fought against the invasion, every nerve screaming, but soon, I felt nothing at all.

When I woke hours later, my chest ached, a dull but persistent reminder of how close I had come to losing everything. Luna stood beside me, arms crossed. "It could've been worse," she said the moment my eyes opened. I forced myself to sit up, though my body protested. "How so?" She exhaled, rubbing her temples. "You almost lost your lung completely. The way your ribs fractured caused multiple punctures—if you had waited any longer, you'd only have one lung left." I nodded, absorbing her words. I had been careless. Consumed in the battle and beating Malik. She sent me to my room for bed rest, but I had no intention of sleeping. Instead, I made my way down the hall, stopping in front of her cell. I peered inside, and my stomach twisted. Audra lay curled on the cot, her frame thinner than before, her skin pale and sickly despite the sun-kissed tan she had acquired. She looked… fragile. For a brief moment, she reminded me of her mother when she was dying.

I turned away.

The hospital air felt suffocating, so I left, retreating to my office to drown myself in work. But no matter how many reports I read, no matter how many numbers I crunched, I couldn't erase the image of her from my mind. That night, I fell into a restless, haunted sleep.