Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities #8) - Shannon Messenger Page 0,162

ITCHY.

Every nerve raw and tingling as a million buzzing things sprang to life under Sophie’s skin, and she wanted to thrash and claw and scrape until they could scurry free and skulk away.

But she was pinned.

Trapped.

And then came the pain.

Time stopped as lightning flashed through her veins, and her blood caught fire, and a million needles and nails and spikes drilled into her brain.

And her heart…

Something was squeezing.

Crushing.

Closing off everything.

She couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

Couldn’t function.

Everything was stopping, stopping, stopping as her insides twisted and writhed.

Resisting.

Rejecting.

Her body wanted to heave—wanted to purge—but something cold coursed through her, numbing and soothing and sweetening the sour enough to quell the urge.

She wished it could ease the other pain, which was swelling with every strangled breath, hammering with every stalled heartbeat, tearing with every prickle and squeeze.

But the agony raged on—harder and harder and harder until something tore open inside her.

A new wound she knew would never heal.

And the darkness she’d been carrying—hiding—crawled inside.

Nestled deep.

Made itself at home.

It wasn’t a monster anymore.

It was part of her.

And with that thought a scream ripped out of her—guttural and primal.

Drowning out the other noises—other voices.

Distant sounds on the edge of everything that were too far away to actually be something.

People calling her name.

Offering promises and pleas.

None of them mattered.

Nothing could reach her.

Even the lulling melodies that slipped under her skin.

Her brain was too busy telling her, Retreat, retreat, retreat.

And her heart…

That still wasn’t working.

And then, something soft and feathery slipped through.

A cool green breeze.

Floating and fluttering through her mind.

Swirling around her heart.

Keeping everything steady, steady, steady.

Despite the pain.

And the panic.

And the punishment her body was enduring.

Even the darkness turned sleepy.

Tucking itself away.

Hiding for later.

And Sophie kept drifting, drifting, drifting—letting the verdant wisps of energy hold her solidly in place, even though everything was fading, fading, fading.

Slipping so very far away.

Too far, maybe?

She—

Brutal, stabbing agony knocked her back to reality, and she felt herself cry out again as the world grew louder and louder.

Colder and crueler.

But there was also warmth.

And strength.

And air.

Blissful, beautiful air.

And with each glorious breath, time ticked slowly back to life.

Steady as a pulse.

Following a powerful new rhythm.

The voices were closer now—some shouts, some whispers. All saying the same thing.

Sleep now, Sophie.

Don’t fight.

Give in. Give in. Give in.

Sweetness coated her tongue as another green breeze drifted in, and she let her consciousness follow it to a sweet, soft, soothing oblivion.

* * *

Awareness returned in stages.

Pain first.

Then nightmares.

And finally, a hazy fragmented reality where Sophie couldn’t fully tell how much her blurry eyes were seeing and how much was still in her head.

“Where am I?” she asked, the words sticky and garbled and so much more exhausting than they should’ve been.

“In your room.”

A smudgy form leaned over her, and it took Sophie’s brain a second to morph the colors into the shape that matched the voice. “Mom?”

“Yes,” Edaline whispered, leaning in to kiss Sophie’s cheek.

Sophie blinked hard, willing her vision back into focus as Edaline pulled away, so she could study Edaline’s expression.

“Wow, was it that bad?” Sophie asked, hating how swollen and shadowed and red Edaline’s eyes looked.

“I’m sure it was far worse for you than it’s been for us.” Edaline swiped at the sweaty hair on Sophie’s forehead, but it seemed to be plastered there. “How much do you remember?”

“I don’t know,” Sophie admitted. “It’s sort of surreal as it’s happening, so it’s hard for me to connect it to anything physical, if that makes sense. Plus, my head’s still really foggy.”

Edaline nodded. “That’s probably from the sedative.”

“Sedative?” Sophie wanted to jolt out of bed in protest, but it felt like she had a woolly mammoth standing on her chest—and like maybe that mammoth had trampled her before it settled down, because she ached in every bone and muscle and nerve. “Last time I couldn’t take sedativ—”

“Last time was different,” Edaline interrupted. And there was a noticeable crack in her voice as she added, “Or so I hear, since I wasn’t there. But last time they didn’t have to do chest compressions until your heart started beating again.”

“Chest compressions?” Sophie knew she needed to stop repeating things, but… chest compressions didn’t sync with her scattered memories.

They did match the pain in her ribs, though.

“I don’t remember that,” Sophie admitted.

“Well… I guess that’s good.”

Something in Edaline’s tone made Sophie wonder if Edaline wished she could’ve forgotten that particular moment too.

But Sophie had other questions—better questions. Most important: “Did it work?”

Edaline sighed. “They think so. But we won’t know for sure until you inflict—and you need to