Troubled (The Binding Chronicles #4)

Prologue

T he night after the Blood Moon,

Darkness bled into the land the night the creature awoke.

At first, it didn’t understand what was happening. Centuries had gone by since the last time it drifted into an awakened state. Generations had lived and died, leaving their mark on the world while the creature rotted in its tomb, not bothering to open its eyes.

After all, there were only so many times one could look at pure, inky darkness before madness set in.

The moon’s silver glow was far removed from the creature’s mind, and light itself was nothing but a distant memory.

Long ago, the creature used to wake and moan, agonizing over the cursed dead-but-not-dead, aware-but-not-aware state in which it found itself.

No longer.

Now, it just existed in this black hell.

Once, when the creature had first been cast into this awful, ancient place, aches and pains haunted it .

Everything had hurt.

During those first few centuries, the creature screamed, yelled, and cried, desperate to catch someone’s attention—anyone willing to free it from the magic binding it to this undead state.

No one answered.

No one came.

Eventually, despair drove the creature to gouge the stone of its forever tomb.

Nothing worked, and it became more despondent.

The rocks were too thick, the tomb too strong, the curse too powerful.

Centuries passed.

The creature’s voice grew hoarse. Its bones became brittle, and its flesh dried, sticking to its frame. It lost track of time.

Every so often, the creature woke from its deep, nightmare-filled sleep. No matter how many years passed, it followed the same routine each time. It pried open its eyes, only to be greeted by endless darkness. It didn’t moan. It couldn’t. At some point, its voice had stopped working altogether.

Its heart would beat once, maybe twice. It was irregular at best.

Minutes would pass. Hours?

It didn’t matter.

Eventually, the tomb’s magic would press down against the creature, a massive weight forcing it back to sleep, waiting for a death that would never come.

That had been the creature’s fate for as long as it could remember, but tonight…

Tonight, something had changed.

The creature’s ancient black eyes blinked open in surprise. Instinctively, it took in its surroundings .

The magical binds remained around the tomb, but they were weaker than before. The darkness wasn’t as thick. The air wasn’t as stifling.

And then, the creature saw it.

It had been so long that it could barely comprehend what was happening.

A sliver of light, barely more than a crack, broke through the endless shale above the creature’s head. It craned its neck, brittle bones cracking as it moved for the first time in over a thousand years.

Ancient fangs aching from disuse burned in its gums, soul-deep hunger cramped its shriveled stomach, and frigid air seeped into its lungs.

Those were nothing new.

But the light…

The creature stared at the light until it was convinced it was real.

Then, and only then, did its dry, cracked lips stretch into an eerie, macabre semblance of a smile.

Many nights had passed since the crack appeared. Slowly—so Ithiar-damned slowly that if the creature’s mind hadn’t already deteriorated centuries ago, the endless waiting would’ve driven it to madness—the crack widened.

At first, it was a sliver. Just enough that the creature knew light existed.

As time slipped on, the crack expanded.

By day, the creature crouched in its tomb, avoiding the deadly shards of sunlight inching into its cursed home. Even in its brokenness, the creature knew the kiss of sunlight would bring a swift, fiery death.

By night, it worked to free itself from its prison, digging at the crack with renewed strength, trying to enlarge the opening .

Months became years.

The binding magic around the tomb was ancient, its threads woven deep into the stone. The creature had been trapped for a reason… or so it thought. Its mind struggled to return to the past, and when the creature thought too hard, stabbing pain like daggers being driven into its skull attacked its mind.

It didn’t give up, though.

Even archaic spells cast by witches that had long since Faded couldn’t hold the creature forever. Not now that the tomb had been breached.

The creature was patient…

Or at least, it was trying to be.

It waited as the crack expanded, the magic slowly fading with each passing day. The opening was the length of a finger, then a hand, and then an arm.

One blessed night over a decade after the crack first appeared, the gap was large enough for the creature to be certain its head and shoulders would fit.

A mangled, breathy moan wheezed out of its cracked lips as it rearranged itself and slowly stood. Its legs trembled and shook, muscles screaming as they grew used to supporting weight once again.

The creature raised its arms, but the crack was still high above its head.

No.

It wouldn’t give up. It didn’t wait all this time just to fail now.

Bending its knees and ignoring the cracking of its joints, the creature jumped. Its feet barely lifted from the ground.

It tried again. And again.

The creature lost count of how many times it leaped in the air before its frail, thin fingers met stone.

Broken, jagged nails dug into shale.

Ignoring the flashes of pain coursing through its body as ancient flesh scraped against rock, the creature hung from its fingernails.

Feet dangled and arms screamed as the ancient being pulled itself up using muscles that had long since atrophied to nothing.

Pain was the creature, and the creature was pain.

It didn’t let go, though. It couldn’t.

Dangling from the shale, it drew on strength from deep within its blackened soul. Opening its mouth, it screamed to the heavens as it pulled on its dead arms.

Up, up, up.

Every inch hurt more than the last.

Magic was a heavy wall shoving against the creature, trying to force it to remain within the upright coffin.

“No.” The word was mangled and rough.

Freedom was so close; it could taste it.

The creature dug its fingers into the rock, but it slipped.

No, no, no.

It slammed its hand against the shale, grappling for a handle. A ledge. Something. Anything.

A nail ripped off, and fire ran through the creature.

It screamed.

If it could still cry, tears would’ve flowed down its cheeks.

It dangled, feet scrambling at the shale.

Everything hurt, but what was pain when freedom was so close?

Up, up, up, the ancient being forced itself past the oppressive powers keeping it in place.

Inch by inch, it emerged into the night.

Soon, the top half of its body hung out of the tomb. The magical weight was heavier than ever, trying to shove it back inside.

The creature would not be pushed around .

Not when freedom was so close.

With one final push and a ragged cry, it shoved itself out of the tomb and fell, landing facedown on a frozen, white sheet.

Snow , the creature’s mind supplied a moment later.

Digging fingers into the snow, it shivered.

The tomb hadn’t been warm, but this…

This was awful.

Tattered rags hung from the creature’s once beautiful body, doing nothing to prevent the bitter air from seeping into its bones. Teeth clattered together as the creature gathered its remaining strength.

It couldn’t stay here.

The air was thick with danger, and old magic remained, even now.

Resolve seeped into the creature’s mind, and despite the agony still running through its arms, it pushed itself up onto trembling feet. Throwing out a bony hand, it leaned against the tomb and drew in shaky breaths.

The creature’s toes curled in the snow. Cold. So, so cold.

It looked up.

Countless stars shimmered in the night sky. The moon was barely a sliver, but the creature was drawn to it.

Once, it had loved the moon and the cold.

Now, it didn’t even know its name.

The creature stood as still as a statue, drinking in the moon’s silver glow, until pain twisted its stomach.

Agony.

White-hot ropes of pure pain unfurled within the ancient being.

The creature was intimately familiar with this feeling. Hunger was too simple of a word. It was ravenous, its hollow stomach and the need to feed the only thing it could think about.

The creature had been strong once .

Now, it was merely a remnant of itself—a wisp, little more than a ghost.

It couldn’t stay here. It needed food.

The creature lowered its gaze from the heavens and looked around. More tombs, each outlined in silver, stood in a large circle around the creature. Were the others awake?

It listened for a long moment, extending its senses, but didn’t hear anything. It shook its head.

Away. It had to leave.

The others would have to break their own bonds.

The creature shoved away from the tomb. It staggered, its legs attempting to remember how to walk.

Right foot. Left.

It slowly stumbled forward, leaving the tombs behind.

Once, the creature had a name.

Not anymore.

There was only one thing on its mind as it headed towards the snow-covered trees: blood.

First, the creature would feed. Then, it would exact its revenge on the people who had locked it up.

One person at a time.