Page 106 of Ashborne Forged

I’d taken great delight in telling other children that this monster came to life at night.

I’d taken delight in a great many things as a child—and a young man—that now turned my stomach.

And I was about to walk back into this house, which had been the witness to it all, for the first time in over seven years.

Help, I prayed. But I continued to shake. ‘Kham, I don’t think—’

‘We spoke of this. You were equipped.’

‘I was evil!’

‘You were honed into a weapon. But it is the wielding of that blade which determines whether it is good, or evil. You are not evil, Voski. Yet, any man is capable of evil things.’

‘But, if I’m here, and they’re—’

‘Put on what you know, like a cloak. A disguise. Let them see what they wish to see. You and I both know what’s hidden under your skin. We know your heart.’

I grimaced. In my opinion, Kham had seen more good in me than I possessed, from the very first day. But there was no doubt he was good. And his heart fed mine.

I swallowed. Closing my eyes, I took several deep, slow breaths to bring my body under control.

I couldn’t cower. Couldn’t let them know that they’d broken me.

And then I saw it again, in my mind—first, Grace in the grip of that bastard. An image that set fire in my veins. Then the memory of her splayed on the bed, crying my name, and clinging to me, which ignited an entirely different flame.

I wasn’t coming back here for me. Or for them.

I was here for her.

And I needed to be strong.

I looked over my shoulder toward the woods where Kham would remain until I was out of sight, and swallowed.

Then, when I turned back, I exhaled everything I had become, and inhaled everything I used to be.

Dark.

Cold.

Mean.

In control.

I closed my eyes, and donned the old skin I’d once discarded like a shedding snake. I felt it fall over me again. Felt my heart go still. And my mind as well.

Felt myself go cold.

Then numb.

And then, with only a small shudder, I grasped the slick, bronze knocker, lifted it, and banged it twice against the doorplate.

Despite the late hour, shadows moved inside at once, passing before the rippled panes of glass in the door. Voices raised in quiet surprise, but quickly stifled.

The sound of the lock turning, the heavy clunk that signified freedom—or a cage—vibrated in my bones. I shoved my hands into my pockets, my elbow holding back the bags thrown over my shoulders as I braced one leg, let the other bend in casual rest, pushed my shoulders back, and dropped my chin.

Light that should have brought warmth with it fell over me, making me blink after being in the dark for hours. So, it took a moment to see clearly enough to identify—

“Oh dear God!”