The Storm Tower | Vol.4, The Eldenarian Artifacts ✓

21.

Makaela found herself flat on her back in the snow staring up at the pale blue sky. Her chest heaved and her muscles groaned in agony. The cold penetrating her coat and stabbing her skin did little to ease her frazzled mind.

She was alive.

Her Nightling saved her.

A sinister smile stretched across her face. Her fangs poked out from the corners of her mouth, slightly poking at her bottom lip. Her smile immediately vanished. All the relief that had flooded her body upon realizing she hadn't fallen to her death was replaced by an insatiable hunger­—a hunger that could only be curbed by one thing.

She popped up to her feet, her wild, black eyes searching around her.

Karin, Ismael, and Han stood a few paces away, watching her with fear and hesitation in their eyes. Ismael stepped in front of the other two Vayan monks, his hands raised. The silver mark in his palm pulsed faintly as he prepared to cast. Han shivered as he gawked at the halfling demon ahead of him. Karin stiffened, her eyes wide.

Makaela snarled at them.

The Nightling was in control now. And it wanted blood. Weeks of being locked away in the depths of her mind, chained down and subdued like a feral beast, made it yearn for death. But not its own death. No, it wanted—needed—to inflict it upon others. It feened for blood and destruction.

She wanted to prevent what was about to happen but lost that chance once she gave the demon control. All she could do now was watch from behind her own eyes and wait for it to be over.

Her body moved slowly through the snow with her stare fixed upon the trio in front of her. The slivers of sunlight piercing the fog swirling around in the air glinted off her bared fangs.

"Stay behind me," Ismael ordered.

She could practically taste his blood on her lips. In the blink of an eye, she could have his chest ripped open spurting blood onto the white snow gathering around his feet. She grinned wickedly at the thought. Ismael simply kept his hands in front of him, ready to let off a spell at any given moment.

Makaela's mouth twitched as she continued forward.

"Makaela," Ismael began. "Stop right there."

Fear rolled off him like smoke, thick and pungent in the air. She inhaled it, savoring the scent as she stalked toward him. She flicked her tongue over her sharpened teeth as she anticipated them piercing his skin. It had been too long since she last tasted flesh. Far too long.

Her vision narrowed until all she saw was the bald monk. The muscles in her thighs and calves tensed as she prepared to pounce. Silence occupied her mind, drowning out the futile cries of her inner self.

Makaela was lost inside the darkness. The Nightling had consumed her again.

Just as she went to jump, Karin surged forward.

"You're really going to let it boss you around?"

The girl had both hands on her hips. Her face, spotted with clumps of snow, was contorted in annoyance. A disapproving, almost unimpressed, look had seized her grey eyes.

Makaela tilted her head at the girl.

"Karin, please—" Ismael reached for her, but she wasn't listening.

"You think we're scared of you?" Karin forced a laugh. Makaela could see a slight aura of fear wrapped around the girl, but it was rapidly dissipating by the second, like the first layer of ice after the sun comes out after a blizzard.

"What are you doing?" Makaela growled.

Karin folded her arms. "I mean, you were defeated by a princess who can barely fight. If Siren could get rid of a Nightling on her own, I'm sure we won't have any trouble—"