Chapter 93 Hunt her

Chapter 93 Hunt her
  Amara POV
  Sleep comes like a thief these nights.
  Not gentle, not earned, but sudden and inevitable, dragging me under before I can brace myself, before I can decide whether rest feels safe or foolish in a world that keeps rewriting its own rules.
  Sebastian sleeps beside me, his breathing deep and steady, one arm draped across my waist like a living anchor meant to hold me in place. The warmth of him seeps into my back, solid and reassuring, his scent wrapping around me like iron and smoke and something uniquely his.
  It should be comforting.
  It should be enough.
  But lately, sleep feels less like rest and more like stepping onto thin ice that groans beneath my weight.
  The moment my eyes close, the world tilts.
  Not fading.
  Shifting.
  Like a door opening where no door should exist.
  Cold air brushes against my skin.
  My eyes snap open.
  Except they are not opening into my chamber.
  They open into darkness.
  Not empty darkness, but layered shadows stacked thick and heavy, pressing close on every side like walls built from absence rather than stone.
  I stand barefoot on smooth ground that feels like polished obsidian beneath my feet, cool and perfectly still, stretching outward into nothingness that refuses to reveal its edges.
  No bed.
  No chamber.
  No Sebastian.
  Just shadow.
  My pulse kicks hard against my ribs.
  This is not a dream.
  Dreams blur at the edges.
  Dreams twist and warp and forget their own shape.
  This place feels precise.
  Sharp.
  Intentional.
  A realm carved from shadow and silence.
  “Finally awake.”
  Her voice slithers through the darkness before I even see her.
  Low.
  Satisfied.
  Too familiar.
  I turn slowly, dread curling through my stomach like spoiled milk.
  She stands several paces away, exactly as I saw her in the tower, silver hair spilling around her shoulders like threads of moonlight caught in a storm. Her eyes gleam in the darkness, bright and sharp and deeply, terribly aware.
  The old woman smiles at me like someone inspecting a tool she intends to use.
  “You’re stronger than I expected,” she murmurs.
  Her voice echoes strangely here, bouncing through the darkness in ripples that feel alive.
  My mouth feels dry.
  My hands curl into fists at my sides.
  “You tried to take me,” I say.
  My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
  The woman tilts her head slightly, studying me with unsettling fascination.
  “Tried?” she repeats softly.
  Then she chuckles.
  The sound scrapes across the silence like bone dragged over stone.
  “Oh, child,” she murmurs. “I succeeded in bringing you here.”
  Ice slides down my spine.
  Here.
  Not dream.
  Not vision.
  Here.
  “You’re in between,” she continues, stepping closer. “Between shadow and flesh. Between waking and sleeping.”
  Each step she takes feels like thunder rolling through empty space.
  “And that,” she adds softly, “makes you mine to shape.”
  Rage flares hot and sudden inside my chest, sharp enough to burn through fear.
  “I’m not yours,” I snap.
  Her smile widens.
  A predator’s smile.
  Patient.
  Hungry.
  “We’ll see.”
  She lifts one hand.
  The shadows respond instantly.
  They coil upward from the ground like living things, twisting and writhing as they gather around her fingers like obedient serpents waiting for command.
  Power.
  Old.
  Heavy.
  Wrong in a way that makes my instincts scream.
  “Come here,” she says softly.
  Not loud.
  Not forceful.
  But the words sink into the air like hooks.
  Something pulls.
  Not on my body.
  On my bones.
  On the very shape of me.
  My feet slide forward half an inch before I even realize I am moving.
  Panic slams into me.
  No.
  No.
  Not again.
  Not taken.
  Not controlled.
  I dig my heels into the dark surface beneath me, forcing my body to resist the pull clawing at my limbs.
  “You belong to his bloodline,” she continues, voice low and coaxing. “To him. To me.”
  Shadows lash outward suddenly, racing across the ground toward my feet like black lightning splitting across stone.
  Instinct explodes through me.
  Not thought.
  Not strategy.
  Pure survival.
  Shadow.
  That word sparks inside my mind like flint striking steel.
  Shadow stepping.
  Every night.
  Every accident.
  Every terrified waking.
  Not random.
  Training.
  Preparation.
  The darkness around me is not just prison.
  It is doorway.
  My gaze snaps downward.
  The floor beneath me is nothing but shadow layered upon shadow, thick and endless, waiting like deep water beneath fragile ice.
  If she can command shadow..
  So can I.
  Her hand lifts higher.
  The shadows surge forward.
  They coil around my ankles, cold as winter rivers, tightening with crushing pressure as they begin to drag me forward across the smooth black surface.
  Pain flares sharp and sudden as the darkness squeezes, biting into flesh that feels both present and distant all at once.
  “Stop fighting,” she murmurs. “You’ll only make it worse.”
  Not a chance.
  Fear sharpens into fury, molten and blinding.
  I reach.
  Not with hands.
  With instinct.
  With that strange internal pull that drags me into shadows night after night without permission.
  The darkness beneath my feet answers.
  Not violently.
  Not chaotically.
  It opens.
  Like a mouth welcoming breath.
  Like a path recognizing its traveler.
  The shadows gripping my legs falter.
  Just for a second.
  But one second is enough.
  I step.
  Not forward.
  Down.
  Into the shadow beneath me.
  The world snaps sideways.
  Sound tears apart into jagged fragments.
  Cold air explodes into warmth.
  Darkness fractures into candlelight.
  And suddenly..
  I slam back into my body.
  Back into the bed.
  Back into heat and breath and stone walls that feel blessedly solid beneath my fingertips.
  I gasp violently, lungs dragging in air like I have surfaced from deep water after staying under far too long.
  Beside me, Sebastian jerks awake instantly.
  His hand clamps around my wrist before my second breath finishes, grip tight and ready, eyes blazing sharp with battle-honed awareness.
  “Amara,” he growls.
  My heart pounds like a war drum against bone.
  “I saw her,” I whisper hoarsely.
  His entire body goes still.
  Not relaxed.
  Focused.
  Dangerously alert.
  “What happened?” he demands quietly.
  I push myself upright, breath still uneven as tremors ripple through my arms. The room feels smaller now, tighter, as if the shadows along the walls might suddenly decide to grow teeth.
  “She took me,” I say.
  The words scrape raw against my throat.
  Sebastian’s jaw tightens.
  “Into where?” he presses.
  I swallow hard.
  “Not a dream,” I whisper. “A place made of shadow. She said it was.. in between.”
  His grip tightens slightly around my hand, not painful, but firm enough to remind me I am here. Solid. Real. Alive.
  “She tried to pull me to her,” I continue. “Said I belonged to her.”
  Silence stretches tight between us.
  Heavy.
  Dangerous.
  Then something shifts inside my chest.
  Not fear.
  Not panic.
  Something sharper.
  An idea.
  Wild.
  Reckless.
  Brilliant in the way dangerous plans often are.
  I lift my gaze to meet his, determination rising fast enough to shove terror aside like debris before a rising tide.
  “I have an idea,” I say quietly.
  His brows draw together.
  “Tell me.”
  I inhale slowly, forcing my racing thoughts into something that resembles order.
  “If she can reach me through shadows..” I murmur, voice gaining strength with every word, “then we can reach her the same way.”
  Understanding flickers across his face.
  Slow.
  Careful.
  Dangerous.
  “You want to hunt her,” he says.
  Not question.
  Recognition.
  I nod once.
  “Yes.”
  Fear still lingers beneath my ribs, cold and sharp, but beneath it, something else has begun to grow.
  Resolve.
  Because hiding has never saved anyone in my life.
  Running has never made monsters disappear.
  But confronting them..
  That has always been the language I understand best.
  Sebastian studies me for a long moment, golden eyes burning with thought, calculation racing behind them like lightning threading through storm clouds.
  “You’re thinking of magic,” he says slowly.
  “Yes.”
  The word leaves my mouth with surprising steadiness.
  Not hesitation.
  Not doubt.
  Certainty.
  Because this is no longer just about survival.
  This is about control.
  About refusing to be dragged like prey through darkness by hands that believe they own my blood.
  I shift slightly, turning toward him fully, resolve settling into my bones like armor locking into place.
  “There’s only one way to do it safely,” I continue.
  His gaze sharpens.
  “Say it.”
  A slow breath fills my lungs.
  The words gather at the back of my throat, heavy with risk and consequence and the quiet thrill of stepping onto a battlefield by choice rather than force.
  Then I speak.
  Soft.
  Clear.
  Unshakable.
  “We’re going to summon the witch and kill her.”