Page 227 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“You really are something,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

All the while, voices kept whispering epithets in my ears. Just to make sure I never had to return, I popped the lid, revealing a glimmer of black stone and starlight. I snapped it shut and slid it into my bag.

A deafening animal roar yanked me upright.

Cyrus spun, torch raised.

Holy shit. The illusions were never shared.

Not good.

I straightened just as his light cast across the end of the hall. Two crablike creatures scuttled forward, flanking a man in a demon mask.

Please don’t be real. Not real. It’s not real.

“Not real,” Cyrus whispered—just before the knife hit him square in the chest.

He staggered. Eyes wide. Mouth open. His name tore out of me in a ragged scream a beat before the next blade took him to the ground.

Raw, inexplicably soul-deep fear wrapped icy talons around my chest and squeezed. I lunged for him, yelling, “Cyrus!”

His head cracked against the stone, the torch rolling away. His hands found the blades in his chest.

“No! Don’t!” I screeched, diving to his side as my own torch flickered feebly on the floor. My knees hit stone. The man in the mask was gone, but the crab-creatures were still click-clacking toward me.

I looked back—blood coated Cyrus’s lips. His hazel eyes locked on mine. “I’m…scared…little wraith.”

I lunged to stop him from pulling the blades free. My hands hit his chest—and he dissolved.

Dissolved into spiders that skittered up my arms, toward my throat. I screamed, frantically batting them off. Their bodies hit the ground with sickening thuds as I scrambled backward.

“No,” I breathed aloud as the truth hit me.

Cyrus—the real one, judging by the heat of him and the way his knees cracked as he dropped beside me—slid across the floor. His hands cupped my face, forcing my gaze to his citrine irises where they caught the flickering torchlight.

“Not real!” he barked, his fierce stare capturing mine. “Focus on me, Freya. Me. I’m real.”

“Not real,” I whispered, eyes flitting between his. But my thumb traced the scar we shared. Real. He was real.

The spiders didn’t vanish. They solidified. Crawling up the walls, a few falling to the floor when a deep groan rattled the space.

“Go!” I shouted as horror bloomed in my gut. I’d just killed us both. “The door! Get the door!”

But it was already slamming shut.

Cyrus

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!” Freya was flying to her feet and across the hall, muttering an ongoing string of expletives as she grabbed my hand and yanked me with her. The walls shook with the rumble and click of ancient mechanisms, dirt and debris raining from above. A screeching sound snapped my attention upward as she scrambled up the ladder.

“Freya,” I warned, watching as the top row of skulls retracted into the wall, revealing a dark void.

“I know,” she breathed, throwing herself against the trapdoor. A growl tore from her throat as she gave it everything she had. We were already fucked. I reached for the shadows, but they were locked inside a black stone cage.

Unable to conjure. That’s what she’d said.

Fuck. Me.

“Come on!” she growled, shoving against the door. I climbed up behind her, locking her in against the ladder, pressing my hands to the trapdoor. Together we pushed, arms trembling.