Page 1 of Reforging Onyx

Chapter 1

Onyx

Images crashed through his mind, one after another, each ricocheting into the next.

He was seven years old, and it was his birthday; he was blowing out the candles on a cake, his parents were taking pictures nearby⁠—

He was barely eleven and able to summon fire, which had been unfortunate when he’d nearly set a classmate on fire on accident; he was pulled quickly out of school after that until his control could get better⁠—

Except his control had never had time to be taught, because then there was the Takeover and⁠—

There was so much screaming, so much crying, and he didn’t know where to go or what to do⁠—

Rough voices welcomed him into their fold, except not really, because they didn’t trust him⁠—

He woke up with hard dirt and rocks beneath his back after another uneasy night, unable to get comfortable no matter how hard he’d tried⁠—

He was taking his first punch to the face⁠—

There was fighting, so much fighting, one event melding into the next⁠—

Years and years passed of more of the same⁠—

He was roasting those fuckers alive, the stench of burning flesh on the air, and he was lashing out with his fists, until everything…

Went…

Black.

Onyx came awake all at once, gasping for breath. He went to sit up, only to find that he couldn’t move because… because…

Strong arms held him, arms he didn’t want to recognize but somehow did from all the times he’d smelled that soap, and Onyx froze. What were the options? Fight or flight?

Except he could do neither because how could he fight Dominic Bancroft when he was caged in his arms?

He tried to hunch in on himself, his shoulders drawing inward. He went to wrap his arms around himself, but he couldn’t move his hands. They were bound together strangely, palms pressed against each other. He tried to part them, but the bonds wouldn’t yield, and his breathing instantly quickened as fear slammed into him.

Because he’d survived.

Onyx had wanted to die.

He hadn’t.

And now he was here, and he couldn’t make sense of it at all. Why wasn’t he tied at the foot of Dominic’s bed or trapped in the crate? Why was he bound so simply; why was he being held? He didn’t understand it, and he didn’t know that he wanted to.

Even though Dominic would know he’d woken, Onyx remained still, barely daring to breathe for fear of drawing attention to himself.

His brain worked furiously, trying to make heads or tails of the situation. He tasted blood on his tongue, and given that he wasn’t in any pain, he had to assume he’d been dosed with vampire blood again.

Fuck. That reset the clock on when he could try again.

Dominic’s arm tightened around him. “You’ve tested me enough for a twenty-four hour period. You might reconsider if you’re thinking of doing it again,” he murmured against Onyx’s hair.

Onyx shook his head, not sure whether he was trying to indicate that he wasn’t going to test Dominic again or that he didn’t want to talk to him or some other thing entirely. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be there.

He didn’t want to be alive.

He wasn’t relieved that his attempt had failed; he wasn’t happy to wake again. No, he knew there would be consequences for what he’d tried to do, both for him and potentially Shane.