Chapter 90 Down The Rabbit Hole
Bella
We keep walking. Forward. Always forward. Because that’s what the scary revenge-murder lady said, and she seems like the sort of person whose advice you should follow even when it doesn’t make sense yet. And it definitely doesn’t make sense yet. My hand stays tucked firmly in Damien’s, his grip steady and warm, making my chest loosen just a little. The woods feel like they're physically moving inwards around us, but I choose to ignore that. Red told us not to trust our eyes. I’m choosing to trust Damien’s shoulder brushing mine instead. Something shifts near my face, and I blink just in time to see Gilfred crawl free from Damien’s collar, his small, scaled body unfolding as he clambers up to perch on Damien’s shoulder. He fixes me with one beady, unimpressed eye. The look is unmistakable. It's something that says, 'What sort of mess have you gotten us into now?'
I sigh. “At least you’re getting a free ride and some sunshine,” I mutter under my breath. “Let’s count the small wins.”
Gilfred flicks his tail, clearly unconvinced.
Damien glances sideways at me, brow furrowing. “Why are you apologising to my collar?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m talking to Gilfred.”
He looks at the gecko. Then back at me. Slowly. “You talk to him a lot?”
“Yes,” I say. “Of course. He's my best friend.”
“That’s… strange.”
I scoff. “It’s no different to you talking to your dragon. Actually, if anything, it’s less weird, because I at least had the decency to give Gilfred a name.”
Damien snorts. “The dragon has a name.”
I blink. That is new information. I tilt my head to look up at him. “He does?”
“Yes.”
“Well?” I prompt. “What is it?”
He hesitates just long enough to make me suspicious. “Dragon.”
I flatten my expression. “Dragon is a terrible name.”
The dragon’s presence stirs immediately, smooth and smug and far too pleased with himself.
But it sounds so pretty on your lips, he rumbles through my mind.
I roll my eyes mentally at him. You are unbearably cocky.
I blush anyway.
Damien catches it instantly, because of course he does, and his mouth twitches. “He likes you.”
“I’ve noticed,” I mutter.
We keep walking. Forward.
The forest feels… thinner somehow. Not quieter, exactly. Just muted. Like someone turned the world’s volume knob down without telling us. I don’t notice it all at once — it’s the absence of little things that finally makes my skin prickle. No boots behind us. No murmured voices. No Ashlyn complaining about the lack of snacks or personal space. I glance back and the path behind us is empty. No soldiers. No Red. No Ashlyn. Just trees and shadow and the faint impression that there should be people there. My heart stutters.
“Damien,” I whisper, because that feels safer right now than saying anything louder.
He hums in response, distracted, still walking.
I swallow and try again, forcing a shaky sort of humour into my voice. “Damien… you’ve lost all of your ducklings.”
That does it. He stops so abruptly that I almost walk into him. He turns, confusion flickering across his face before he looks past me — down the path we just came from and swears. It’s short and sharp and very much not comforting.
“They were right behind us,” he says, already shifting his weight to step back.
My grip tightens on his hand, and I pull.
“Forward,” I say, the word coming out firmer than I feel. “Red said to keep moving forward.”
He hesitates, tension radiating off him in waves. The dragon surges, restless and angry.
We do not leave them, the dragon growls.
“I know,” Damien says quietly. “But—”
“Forward,” I repeat, softer now but no less confident. “She said never back. Not even for a second.”
The woods seem to lean in at that, branches creaking faintly, as if listening to see what he’ll choose. Damien exhales through his nose, long and controlled. Then he nods once.
“Stay close,” he says, thumb brushing over my knuckles. “Closer than that.”
I don’t argue. I step in, pressing against his side, his arm coming around me without hesitation as we start walking again — forward, into whatever this place has decided we need to face. Behind us, the forest closes ranks, and I get the distinct, awful feeling that we didn’t lose the others. We were separated on purpose.
We don’t make it far before there is a soft, rapid thudding that doesn’t belong to footsteps quite yet, more like a mini earthquake or a tapping of war drums. Damien stiffens beneath me instantly, his arm tightening around my back, his stride lengthening without breaking rhythm.
“You hear that?” he murmurs.
“I hear something,” I reply, my pulse starting to pick up. The woods ahead remain unchanged, deceptively calm, but the sound behind us grows louder, closer, accompanied by the snap of twigs and the rush of displaced air.
The dragon lifts his head fully in our minds. Something approaches.
“Forward,” I say quickly, because apparently that’s my new personality now. “Still forward.”
Damien doesn’t hesitate. He scoops me up in one smooth, powerful motion, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, arms locking around his shoulders as he breaks into a run that eats distance like it’s nothing. Branches whip past, leaves tearing free as we surge through the forest. I press my forehead against his for a second, breathless, heart hammering — and then curiosity gets the better of me. I twist just enough to look back...And then I laugh. I can’t help it. It bursts out of me, because tearing through the woods behind us, eyes wide and ears flattened, is not a monster or a witch or some ancient, fanged horror —It’s rabbits. Dozens of them. No — hundreds. A stampede of rabbits, bounding and leaping and crashing through undergrowth with wild abandon, their little feet thudding against the earth like they’ve collectively decided to flee the apocalypse.
“Oh my gods,” I gasp between laughter. “Damien— it’s just—”
“What?” he snaps, already half-turning his head, confusion flickering across his face at my reaction.
And that’s when everything goes wrong. His footing slips, and the world drops. There’s no warning, no gradual collapse. Just a sudden, violent absence. My stomach lurches as gravity abandons all pretence of rules, Damien’s grip tightening painfully around me as we plunge straight down, the forest vanishing above us in a rush of snapping roots and torn earth.
“Bella!” he shouts, his voice echoing strangely as the hole swallows sound.
I scream as we fall.
Down.
Down.
Down.
The walls rush past in a blur of dirt and roots and flashing glimpses of stone, the air whipping around us, hair and cloaks flying wildly as time stretches into something elastic and wrong. There is no bottom in sight. Only falling. Endless, stomach-flipping, breath-stealing falling. I clutch Damien tighter, laughter gone, heart pounding so hard it feels like it might crack my ribs as the world spins and tilts and refuses to orient itself. And we keep going...Down.