Book One – Chapter 8

It had thrilled her to witness the evolution of his instincts over the years, forged in shared torments and conflicts. Indeed, in the crucible of battle, there were instances when he mirrored precisely the primal tempest raging within her. These were the most intense moments between them. Moments where Midnight did not need to transfer her feral intuition, where what emanated from him reflected and amplified the unrestrained storm within her. These were ecstatic, exalting experiences, where Yves felt less like a wizard and more like a beast. Where he felt like her.

However, these moments were grotesquely scarce. The first unfolded at Emery Thurm. Midnight had been a youngling and a neophyte in battle, utterly overwhelmed. As she abruptly sensed, from Yves, the exact resonance of the internal tempest surging within her, the sheer ferocity of their shared emotions engulfed her. He had felt like a beast, like herself. In the heat of that moment, she had felt herself beside herself, consumed within him. In that intense sensation, Midnight had lost herself.

Until then, she had only known hunger and hunt and fear. As she lost herself, these feelings had merged into an oppressive force so unbearable that Midnight felt nothing but an overwhelming compulsion to obliterate, to destroy it. She had lunged at Yves with unrestrained force, hurling him to the ground, pressing her weight onto him, and sinking her fangs into his flesh.

She had bit into the throat of her wizard. She had torn at his flesh. She had tasted his warm blood. It should have repulsed her, should have stemmed her assault, but in that moment, nothing had ever tasted more intoxicating. It was her darkest shame.

As Midnight’s body writhed on the tunnel floor, the thoughts surged uncontrollably. She could not stem the flood of all these words. Amidst them, an even more sinister memory emerged from the deep recesses of her mind.