Iscream in frustration as the memories start over again for what has to be the three-hundredth time. During that first time, it was a whole bunch of different memories. But now, the bastard who is keeping me prisoner has narrowed it down to three memories. And he keeps forcing me to relive them over and over and over again.

“You know the cost of failure,” says the male dragon shifter with silver wings in the memory. “Don’t you, Draven?”

Draven, the other male dragon shifter on the mountainside, walks a short distance away and turns his back on him before spreading his massive black wings wide.

Draven. The name feels… familiar. But why?

I suck in a sharp breath between my teeth as the cruel shifter begins whipping Draven’s wings. Even though I have seen it happen several hundred times now, my body somehow still recoils every time.

Yanking futilely against my restrains, I dig my fingers into the armrests of the chair that I’m still shackled to. I haven’t seen that beautiful fae man since that short break when he told me that he hoped this would be painful for me, but I’m sure he is enjoying this. Why is he even doing this to me?

Answers drift at the edges of my mind, but as always, they disappear before I can find them.

In the memory, Draven’s wings get worse and worse as the whip tears through the thin membrane. Torn strips of it hang from the bones, and blood drips down on the ground. I try to look away, but the version of me in the memory is still watching, so I am forced to do the same.

I grit my teeth as Draven at last collapses after those other two shifters have left. His eyes are glassy with pain, and his entire body is trembling.

A small noise comes from the back of my throat. Why is this affecting me so much? Why do I care so much about this Draven person?

The memory ends and, as always, the next one starts immediately. I drag in a strained breath as I’m back in that ballroom with the two people who get their throats slit. In the memory, they’re supposed to be my parents, which I know because the version of me in the memory blurts that out. But they’re not my real parents. My parents are…

Yet again, answers dance at the corners of my mind. Just out of reach.

In the real world, a panicked whimper escapes my mouth as I watch the ice shard appear against their throats. Out of all three memories, this is the worst one. I don’t know why, but I just hate this memory.

I yank hard against my shackles as the dragon shifter slits the throats of those two fae. Blood gushes out of the deep cuts, and their bodies hit the floor with sickening thuds. Pools of blood spread out around them, turning the fae woman’s silver hair red. In the memory, a raw and utterly animalistic scream tears from my throat. The sound is so awful that it makes ice crawl down my spine in the real world. I grip the armrests hard as I watch them die for the three-hundredth time.

Then the next memory immediately starts. Draven is about to be crushed by a boulder, I shoot some kind of magic at him, and then throw myself through a portal. When we all appear inside an arena and he turns to look at me, pure hatred flares up in his eyes.

I squirm uncomfortably in my chair. I’m not even sure who Draven is, but for some reason, I really don’t like the way he looks at me in that memory.

Then it starts all over again.

Draven gets his wings whipped to shreds.

Those two fae get their throats slit and die in pools of their own blood.

I shoot some kind of magic at Draven and then he looks at me with undiluted hatred.

And then it begins anew.

Those three memories.

Over and over and over again.

In the beginning, I felt nothing as I watched those memories. But the more I relive them, the more uncomfortable they get. I squirm and wiggle in the chair and yank against the metal bands that keep me trapped as emotions start tugging at my chest. I don’t understand the emotions, but I know that I don’t want to feel them.

The memory of those two fae begins once more. Resentment burns in their eyes as they look at me. Then it transforms into shock and fear when their throats are slit. The cuts are so deep that the ice shards almost decapitate them. They crash down on the ground. Blood spills across the floor and the light dies in their eyes.

A jab of pain hits my chest in the real world. I struggle harder against my shackles.

The memories speed up, changing faster and faster.

Draven almost dies and I slam magic into him and then he looks at me with deep hatred in his eyes.

Pain twists inside my chest again, and I pull furiously against the chair I’m locked to.

Those two fae get their throats slit again.

A panicked whimper escapes my lips as I throw my head from side to side, trying to look at anything other than the terror and shock on their faces as they hit the floor and die, but the memory remains firmly before my eyes.

Draven’s wings are whipped to shreds.

I dig my fingers into the armchair to block out another burst of pain in my chest.

Why is it so painful to watch all of this? I don’t even know these people.

Draven looks at me with hatred.

The two fae die in pools of blood.

Draven’s wings are whipped.

Again and again and again.

Agony starts clawing at my chest. Panicked cries rip from my lungs as I fight desperately against the metal that is keeping me trapped to the chair. I squeeze my eyes shut and throw my head from side to side, but the memories continue mercilessly flashing across my vision.

My chest tightens with a grief and regret so brutal that my lungs cease working when I once again watch those two fae die. Utter desolation hits me like a blow to the gut when Draven looks at me with hatred in his eyes. And deep agony strangles my heart as I watch his wings be whipped to shreds.

The emotions are so raw that I can’t stop a cry of panic from escaping my throat.

And they get worse and worse every time I watch those memories.

The chair trembles underneath me, but it has been bolted to the floor, so it remains firmly in place as I thrash helplessly while those soul-shattering emotions claw through my chest like vicious beasts.

My mind is screaming at me. How can I possibly feel this way? This grief and regret and agony is too deep, too raw, not to be real. But where is it coming from?

Answers float just out of reach. I desperately try to catch them before they float away, but they disappear like smoke.

Draven looks at me with hatred.

The two fae die in pools of blood.

Draven’s wings are whipped.

In the real world, I scream and fight futilely as the emotions inside me reach brutal levels. It feels as if demons are tearing my chest apart with their claws.

But no matter what I do, the memories won’t stop coming.

I gasp in strangled breaths as tidal waves of grief and regret crash over me while burning talons try to claw my heart out.

Draven turns around and looks at me with hatred again.

A cry rips from my lips.

The ice shards slit the throats of those two fae.

Tears stream down my face.

The two fae hit the ground with a thud. Terror and shock still line their faces as they stare at me while blood spreads across the floor, turning silver hair red.

If I could move my arms, I would try to grip my chest. I feel like my heart is going to give out.

The light dies in the eyes of those two fae. Eyes that used to look at me with only resentment.

Why did they look at me with only resentment?

Something about broken glasses.

Something—

Draven’s wings are whipped to shreds.

I scream again. No one is allowed to hurt him like that! No one.

Why can no one hurt him? Who is he to me?

Draven looks at me with hatred.

Why did he suddenly start to hate me? Why do I care that he hates me?

The two fae look at me with resentment from across the empty ballroom as they are forced to their knees. Ice appears at their throats.

I thrash wildly in my chair while my mind screams at me. No, no, no, no! I can’t watch this again. I’m going to die. I can’t bear it. I can’t⁠—

Their throats are slit.

A scream of raw agony tears from my throat, my real throat, and echoes the scream from the memory. Those claws of emotion rip my chest open and crush my torn heart.

And my mind shatters.

It feels as if there were glass walls around my mind, circling it and keeping everything outside those barriers, which suddenly explode.

Memories crash into me like violent blows.

My parents.

My mate.

Me.

Grief and regret and agony and despair flood my every nerve in a vicious onslaught as I finally remember who all the people in these memories are and what they mean to me. And who I am.

But the memories don’t stop.

Jessina slits my parents’ throats.

Emperor Bane whips Draven’s wings.

I force a wildfire of hatred into Draven’s chest to save his life.

Over and over again, those memories continue flashing before my eyes.

“Orion!” I scream.

Blind panic crackles through my entire body. I can’t take one more second of this. I’m going to die. Oh Goddess, I am going to die.

“Stop!” Desperate sobs rip from my lips as I choke out the word. “I remember. Orion, please. I remember.”

Those horrible memories at last stop flashing before my eyes.

I gasp in a breath but nothing makes it past my throat. It feels as if there is a boulder crushing my chest. Blinking desperately, I try to get my eyes to focus on the real world around me.

A prison cell becomes visible, and now that all my memories are back, I recognize it as the dungeon underneath Orion’s castle. The same one that we locked Bane inside when we managed to kidnap him briefly. Before we had to trade him back for Draven, and Jessina killed my⁠—

Agony stabs into me, as if someone had shoved a burning spear right through my chest. I once more try to drag in a breath, but I can’t make my lungs work.

Orion suddenly appears before me. Tears still cling to my eyelashes, so his face is blurry before mine when he bends down and efficiently unlocks the metal bonds that are keeping me trapped to the chair.

The moment they’re gone, I shove myself out of the chair so that I can straighten and hopefully breathe better. But my knees immediately buckle.

I crash down on the hard stone ground with a thud, but I can’t feel the pain. In fact, I can barely even feel my body at all.

Gasping desperately, I try to drag air back into my lungs while grief strangles my throat and regret crushes my chest. It doesn’t work. Panicked whimpers spill from my lips as I curl up on the floor while tears continue streaming down my cheeks.

Orion just walks out the door without a word.

Broken sobs rip from my throat. Gripping the leather across my chest, I clench my fist in an effort to stop the agony in my heart. My entire chest aches so badly that I wish someone would kill me just so that I can escape this feeling. The grief and regret from my parents’ death alone is crushing me. It’s so heavy that I don’t think I will ever be able to pick myself up from this floor.

The memory of Jessina slitting their throats, which I have now watched hundreds of times in vivid detail, continues flashing before my eyes even when I squeeze them shut.

I can’t feel the stone floor. I can’t even feel my own body. All I can feel is pain.

Panicked, I suddenly realize that Draven must be able to feel this through our mate bond as well. And that is the last thing I want.

After our bond was shattered and then reforged, I realized that I can choose when I want him to feel what I feel. And right now, I really don’t. I don’t want him to hurt the way I do. I never want him to feel pain ever again. So I stop the flow of emotions through our mate bond completely while agony continues tearing at my chest like wolves.

A thud sounds from right next to me. As if something heavy just hit the floor.

Forcing my eyes open, I stare at the person who is now lying on the floor a few steps from me. It’s a fae man. He’s shackled and gagged, and he is struggling furiously while glaring up at someone.

“This guy raped and murdered his neighbor yesterday,” Orion Nightbane says from above us while pointing at the shackled man.

I don’t even ask permission.

Reaching for my magic, I summon a bone white flame of fear and slam it right into the guy’s chest.

Pleasure immediately floods my entire body.

At long last, I gasp in a full breath as my lungs stop constricting. A sob escapes my lips.

Pouring my magic into the guy, I breathe in that intoxicating feeling that I get whenever I create an emotion out of nothing. It’s like being wrapped in a warm, comforting hug or floating on a perfectly soft cloud. It makes me feel as if everything is going to be okay. As if I am going to be okay.

I keep increasing the guy’s fear in order to prolong that sense of sparkling pleasure inside me. But when it reaches such high levels that his mind is about to shatter, I’m forced to release my magic.

Crushing regret and searing agony immediately crash over me again.

Panicked, I summon a black flame of despair and slam it into the guy’s chest.

Pleasure once more floods my system. I suck in a shuddering breath of relief.

Still lying on the floor, I keep pouring my magic into that black flame of despair until I feel better again. Then I release my magic.

And then immediately summon another emotion.

I slam emotion after emotion into the guy’s chest until he is shaking and thrashing on the floor. But I don’t care. I need this. I need to feel this comforting pleasure. Without it, I won’t survive.

Calling up yet another emotion, I shove it into his chest.

His heart gives out.

My magic abruptly disconnects as he dies. I panic, whipping my gaze around for someone else to use it on.

Orion is leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches me with an impassive expression on his face.

I’m half a second away from slamming my magic into him when I finally manage to rein myself in. I can’t. It’s Orion. If I create an emotion in his chest, I won’t be able to remove it.

But you need it, my mind whispers.

Gritting my teeth, I try to block out that treacherous voice and the terrible craving inside me that insists I just need to feel that pleasure one more time. Then I’m done. Then I’ll be fine.

With great effort, I manage to resist that overwhelming urge.

Dragging in a breath, I push myself up to my knees. My head spins, and I have to brace my palms on the floor and press my forehead against the cool stone ground for a few seconds to compose myself. Grief and regret still pulse inside me like a second heart, mingling with the awful craving that now thrums there as well.

“I knew you’d be grateful, but prostrating yourself like this before me?” Orion says, and I can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “My, my, Selena. Keep this up and I might actually start to like you a little.”

I snap my head up.

Orion is still leaning nonchalantly against the wall, his black and silver eyes glinting in the dim light as he watches me.

Cold dread washes over me. Orion. Oh Goddess, he saw. He saw me use my magic on this man over and over again like a fucking addict. What if he tells the others? Then they’ll start to see me as a liability. I don’t want them to think that I’m the weak link. I refuse to be the weak link.

“We probably shouldn’t tell the others about this,” I blurt out.

Orion tilts his head to the side for a few seconds, as if considering. Then he says, “I agree. If Draven finds out what I subjected you to, or at least the true extent of it, he’s going to try to kill me. And I would hate to have to kill him now that Haldia has finally finished healing him.”

A jolt shoots through me. Healing him? From what?

Goddess above, the battle! The Icehearts tricked us into breaking the wards on the Green Clan’s archives and then sent both Diana and Kander to take us out. I shoved Isera out of the way, but Kander’s attack hit me instead and wiped my memories. And Draven…

Ice spreads through my veins. Draven, Galen, and Lyra were fighting an entire host of silver dragons while Diana and her Purple Clan were hesitating on the ground.

“What happened?” I press out, my frantic eyes on Orion.

“Diana and her people finally decided to help,” he replies. “But they were still outnumbered, and all of them were wounded quite badly while they bought time for Grey to open the portal.”

“Are they…” I swallow. “Are they okay?”

“Yes. They’re sleeping right now, and have been since we got here.”

Here. The Unseelie Court. Worry snakes through my chest as I remember something else that was revealed in that forest outside Frostfell. That Isera has been lying all this time and is in fact not a descendant of the Seelie Queen. Which means that her bargain with Orion is based on a lie, and he therefore doesn’t have to help us anymore.

I lick my lips nervously but don’t dare to bring that up. Instead, I finally struggle to my feet.

Orion watches me with eyes I can’t read as I at last straighten on the floor.

“It’s a good thing that it was you who was hit by Kander von Graf’s attack,” he says.

Hurt flickers through me, but in my already aching chest, I can barely feel it. “Because I’m the least important one?”

“No, because you have the most traumatic memories that involve people you care about.”

I blink in surprise.

“Painful memories alone would never have worked,” he explains. “It’s only because your incredibly traumatic and graphic memories involve people you truly love that I could make the pain so overwhelming that your mind was forced to remember who those people are, which in turn made you remember who you are.”

“Oh.”

He shrugs and then flicks a glance down at the now dead criminal on the ground. “And we’re also lucky that it was you because you are the only one of us who would be able to snap out of the pain and desolation that my magic plunges you into when it’s used to this brutal extent. Creating emotions from nothing floods your body with euphoric pleasure.”

My heart jerks.

“Oh don’t look so shocked.” He gives me a pointed stare. “Jocasta might be your emotion magic teacher, but she is my subject. Remember? And she is the leader of the Black Faction. I’ve had dealings with her a number of times over the decades.” He flicks another look at the dead rapist. “Why do you think I brought him for you to use?”

I clear my throat. “I, uhm…”

“My point is that out of all of us, you are the only one who can use your magic as a lifeline to claw your way out of despair and return to normal. That’s why it’s a good thing that it was you.”

Return to normal. Right.

My chest feels like it has caved in from the grief and regret that is still crushing me. When I look down at myself, I half expect to find my chest torn open and bloody flesh hanging down around the hole where my heart should be. And that terrible hunger to use my magic again is burning inside me, craving that addictive pleasure that will drown out all those awful emotions that now thrum inside my aching chest.

But sure. I’ve returned to normal.

That is what I will let him believe, at least. That is what I will let them all believe. At least until I can make it true. Until I have actually returned to normal.

Because I refuse to be the weak link.

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