MistNovel - Read Web Novel Stories & Fiction Online

Sleep came against my will, dragging me under despite my resistance.

The dream was immediate. Violent. Wrong.

I was not in my chambers. I was standing in armor, the weight of it familiar and comfortable across my shoulders. A sword hung at my hip, the balance perfect. My hands were larger. Stronger. Not my hands.

His hands.

Horror flooded through me. I tried to pull away from the dream. The bond held me in place, chains wrapped around my consciousness, forcing me to stay. Forcing me to watch.

No. Not watch.

Experience.

I was inside his head. Inside his body. Seeing through his eyes during the siege.

The castle walls rose before me, blackened by fire and magic. Screams echoed through the night. The metallic taste of blood filled the air, thick and viscous. I should have been sickened. Instead, I felt focus. Cold, tactical precision. The absolute certainty of a weapon perfectly wielded.

His thoughts were my thoughts. His memories, mine.

"Breach formation," I heard myself command. My voice. But not my voice. His. Deep and controlled. "Archers, suppress the ramparts. Infantry, on my mark."

Soldiers moved with practiced efficiency. I watched them through eyes that saw them as pieces on a board. Expendable. Necessary.

We advanced. Magic flared from the castle defenders. Silver lightning, so much like mine. My people's magic. I felt no hesitation as I countered with shadow, dark tendrils that consumed the light and left only death in their wake.

The gates fell. We poured through.

No. Please. I do not want to see this.

But the bond was merciless. It dragged me deeper into his memory, forcing me to feel everything he had felt.

The throne room loomed ahead. The inner sanctum where my family had made their last stand. I knew what waited inside those doors. I had seen the aftermath. But I had not seen this.

The moment he gave the order.

"Breach the sanctum." His voice was cold. Absolute. "No survivors."

A soldier hesitated. "My lord, there are women inside. Children."

"No. Survivors." Each word was a death sentence.

The doors exploded inward under concentrated magical assault. I moved through the breach, shadow coiling around me like living armor.

My father stood at the center of the room. Wounded. Defiant. My mother behind him. My brother...

No. Stop. Please.

But I could not stop. I was him. I felt what he felt.

Nothing.

No remorse. No hesitation. Not even anger. Only tactical assessment. Targets. Obstacles. Threats to be eliminated.

His blade rose.

The memory fractured. I was being pulled back, yanked away from the vision before it could show me the killing blow. But I had seen enough.

I woke screaming.

Silver lightning exploded across my chamber walls, arcing from my hands in uncontrolled bursts. The mirror shattered. Cracks spider webbed across the stone. My magic flared wild, responding to my horror and rage.

The door slammed open.

Guards rushed in, weapons drawn. They took one look at the destruction and backed away.

Behind them, Christian appeared.

He was still dressed for sleep, his shirt unlaced, his hair disheveled. But his eyes were blazing with barely controlled fury. Through the bond, I felt his awareness of what I had seen. What I had experienced.

He knew. He knew I had been inside his head during the worst moment of both our lives.

"Get out." The command was directed at the guards. They fled.

Christian stepped inside. Closed the door. The lock clicked into place.

My lightning still crackled across my skin. I could not control it. Could not stop the power from responding to my emotional chaos.

"You invaded my memories." His voice was low. Dangerous.

"I did not choose this." My words came out broken. "The bond pulled me in. I could not escape."

He stalked toward me. Predatory. Controlled despite the fury I felt radiating through our connection.

"What did you see?"

"You know what I saw." I backed away from him. "I was there. I felt what you felt. Or rather, what you did not feel."

He stopped. Something flickered across his expression. Not guilt. Never guilt. But recognition.

"You felt nothing," I whispered. The horror of it was worse than hatred. "My family died, and you felt nothing at all."

"I felt what I was trained to feel." He resumed his advance. "What I was made to feel. Nothing."

"You are a monster."

"Yes." He reached me, his hand slamming against the wall beside my head. "And now you know exactly what kind of monster I am. Does that change anything?"

My magic surged in response to his proximity. Silver lightning met shadow. The collision sent sparks across both our skin.

"I hate you," I said.

"Good." His other hand came up, catching my chin. Forcing me to meet his eyes. "Hold on to that hatred, Princess. You will need it."

Through the bond, I felt his hunger. Dark and possessive. It mirrored my own traitorous body's response to his dominance.

"Get out of my head," I whispered.

His thumb brushed across my lower lip. "Never."

He released me. Stepped back. The loss of contact made the bond ache with need.

"Now," he said, his voice returning to that cold, controlled tone. "Tell me what you saw in my head."