Oblivion

Isobel grasped him by the sleeves.

She bit her bottom lip and dug deep for what to say, wishing she could tell him that the nightmare had ended, that they’d reached their forever and there wasn’t anything left to be afraid of.

For one blissful instant, it had certainly felt like they had.

“Do you trust me?” she asked again.

Varen watched her with concern, brow knitted, his stare suddenly sober, searching. Slowly, he nodded.

“Then come with me,” she said, taking his hand. “And don’t let go.”

Gathering her soaked skirts in her free hand, she tugged at Varen.

He didn’t ask any more questions, and when Isobel started in the direction of the shore, he followed behind.

Black waters lapped at them, pearly pockets of white moonlight mottling the surface that seemed to lengthen as they headed toward the beach. Step after sinking step, Isobel trudged ahead, but the coast drew no closer.

Dread gripped her, but she pressed on. She squeezed Varen’s hand, peering back at him once, and then again when she noticed him staring at something.

She whipped her head forward and saw what it was that had stolen his attention.

Eddies of white fizz left by the crashing waves swirled and spun on the shore. Emerging from the froth, a slender figure lengthened upward.

Sea foam became glowing gossamer. The delicate swathes of material unfurled in folds and drapes, clinging to the specter’s distinctly feminine form.

Haloed in a glow that shamed the moon stood Lilith, her beetle-black eyes watching them through the shield of her transparent shroud.

Isobel felt Varen freeze when, gliding toward them, Lilith waded into the ocean, her train of veils dragging behind her, rising to float like trails of smoke.

The demon opened ivory arms over the water, and as she did, the ocean surged up to Isobel’s neck and Varen’s chest.

Isobel bounced on the ball of one foot to stay afloat. Keeping the demon in her line of sight and her hand fastened to Varen’s, she tried to think of somewhere to take them, some way to shift them away from her.

But she couldn’t make a door in the water. And with the waves now swelling to her chin, threatening to swallow them both, she couldn’t concentrate. She couldn’t—

Isobel sank below the next wave, and this time, her foot found no purchase. Plunging deep, through the place where the sea floor had existed moments before, she released Varen in a burst of panic.

Crying out, gulping seawater, she scrambled for him, groping blindly through the murk.

Her hands passed through empty water while the current carried her away and the sodden skirts of her heavy dress dragged her down.

She threw her arms out, kicking to propel herself up toward the swiftly rising surface.

Something soft brushed her naked shoulder. Whirling, she reached for the hand that wasn’t there and found herself in the midst of countless luminous white veils. They wound around her throat like tentacles.

Unleashing a muted, bubbled scream, Isobel thrashed against the weblike material.

Her lungs, now empty, burned for air.

Yanking a fistful of veils free, she felt a faint snap at the nape of her neck.

Isobel released the wad of gauze and scoured her throat for the hamsa, nails clawing her own flesh.

Gone.

Spinning in search of the amulet, in search of Varen, she quickly lost her sense of which way led up and which led down.

Then, like a beacon, a pale face appeared in the gloom. Netted by a screen of black hair, it floated toward her.

But it was not Varen’s.

This face—waxen, skeletal, hideous—belonged to a monster.

33

Yet Unbroken

A pair of wasted hands reached for her, their curved black nails like barbed hooks.

At the center of the creature’s sunken eyes flashed two pinpricks of light.

Isobel flailed to get away, but with lungs pleading for air and muscles numb from exhaustion, her efforts came weaker now.

Closing in on her, the demon curled a hand almost tenderly around Isobel’s bare throat, claw tips scarcely pricking the nape of her neck.

As Lilith’s emaciated form coasted to a slow-motion stop, her loose ebony hair rushed around them both. Innumerable black threads intertwined with the clouds of floating veils, tickling Isobel’s shoulders, blocking her surroundings from view.

Isobel saw no sign of Varen. Only inky tendrils, billows of white, and straight ahead, that pinhole gaze.

Like a spider preparing to wrap its prey, Lilith pulled her nearer.

Isobel strained in the demon’s grasp, yearning for the strong, gentle grip of Varen’s hand. But it never came, and she knew he’d lost her just as she’d lost him.