Ackmard had given up. For the first time since he could remember, he was not desperate for the key. He was exhausted in more ways than one, Tykon's cold stare and even colder words haunting him as he walked through the underground tunnels to find his sister and her new shelter. More than that, he was unused to feeling so uncertain of himself. He had tried to shake it off, tried to forget the image of his father sitting around the dinner table as though he had never left, tried to tell himself that Tykon and his mother no longer mattered to him, but something was gnawing at him, unease and something else—something foreign that he didn't want to acknowledge. Something that felt too much like guilt.

He reached the end of the tunnels where a door sat with dozens of different locks, levers, and dials to unlock it—not that they were needed. The people of Astracia, who were now no doubt resting above him in the darkness and comfort of their homes, were far too arrogant to check beneath the ground on which they walked. They probably thought the battle was over. It made Ackmard smirk to think about.

He placed his lit torch beside his feet and twisted the dials before using his magic on the spelled locks, waiting for the creaking of the old door to signal its opening. Nothing happened. He pushed against the old, dusty brick then, tearing his hands slightly as he did. Still, it didn't budge, though he could hear voices now on the other side.?

"Hello?" he questioned, his voice echoing off the crumbling walls. "Erika?"

A clicking arose on the other side of the door, then, and a moment later it opened, revealing Erika. Her red curls were sticking out at all angles, making her look as though she had been dragged through a thorny bramble filled with wicked forest nymphs, and she wore nothing but a silken slip over her lean figure. Ackmard glanced at her unimpressed, pushing past her to the small space where she had placed a couple of chairs and a bed.

"The door is faulty. I will have Bliviar fix it."

The others must have been asleep in the next room, for no one was here—no one save for a frighteningly pale man with tussled raven-black hair, who was buttoning up his shirt with a lazy grin by the bed. He looked familiar, though Ackmard could not place where he had seen him before. He was certainly not a Dark One, though he could have been, with harsh, hollow eyes and blackened, burned hands.

Ackmard raised an eyebrow, turning to his sister expectantly. He noticed now her flushed cheeks and swollen lips. "And who is this? You have been busy, sister."

"He is an old friend who can get me what I want—several things I want, in fact." She grinned at him, her green eyes flashing with lust as he disappeared wordlessly down the corridor. A strange feeling overcame Ackmard; had he been thrown out of the loop so that space could be made for this new man? "And the door is not faulty, dear brother. I changed the locks."

Ackmard shrugged off his leather jacket and placed it on the back of the nearest chair. "Why? Did someone find you here already?"

"No," she said lightly, prowling around the edges of the room and pretending to be interested in the uneven brickwork. Her bare feet scraped against rock but she did not seem to notice. "I wanted to keep you out. I did not think you worthy of coming back."

He tensed at her words. She knew, then, that he not been able to get the key. "I did what you asked. I had Annika retrieve the key from her father."

"And where is the key now?" Her voice turned icy, but Ackmard was no longer afraid of her. He was tired of doing her dirty work, tired of running around Astracia for her sake. He had done it for far too long.

"The key was a fake. Someone had clearly gotten there before us and swapped it with a duplicate, though I cannot imagine who. I can no longer track its energy."

"You are a failure, just like the rest of your family," she snapped, her eyes darkening in the torchlight. "I asked you to do one simple job and you could not."

"If it is so simple, why not do it yourself, oh mighty one?" he spat back, inching closer to her with his hands balled into fists. His whole body was aflame with the urge to use his magic and shut her up. "Are you too afraid of ruining your perfect little manicure?"

She reached her hands out in front of her but he was expecting it this time and blocked the blast of her magic. Instead, it was fired into one of the torches hanging on the wall behind him, sending it scattering onto the stone floor, orange embers dancing across the room from the sheer force.

She stepped closer, sparks jolting through her fingers again. He dodged them, but her anger was enough to fuel her and she hurtled into him before he could stop her, pinning him to the floor with her hands around his neck. Her fingers were hot and tight around his throat and he gasped for air, laughing only when he saw just how angry she was. Her green eyes were ablaze, her chest heaving for breath and her lip curled with fury.

"I did not do it myself because I overestimated you," she spoke through gritted teeth, smashing his head back onto the ground when he tried to rise, his hands flailing to clutch onto something, but all he could find was air. He tried to use his magic, but she could feel it being pressed down by Erika's own, trapped in his veins with no release. "I thought you were capable and strong. As it turns out, you are weak and pathetic. Look at you; look at your eyes, teetering between blue and black because you cannot commit to your own potential, because you are too afraid of the darkness to truly be a part of it. Did you think I would not see you with your little boyfriend, saying silly little words like 'love'? You are a fool, Ackmard."

He stopped struggling, instead paling. She had seen him with Tykon. She knew.

"He means nothing to me," he choked. It felt as though she was burning a hole through his skin now. "I was there to ask him if he knew who had the key. He is close to the mortal girl and my brother."

"And I suppose you would have the same excuse for the fact that you have been peeking sadly through the Opal's kitchen windows, watching their laughter while you are locked out in the cold—alone." Her voice was mocking. "I know the truth. I know that you are just a sad, lonely little boy who jumped a little bit too far into the deep end. The key was just child's play to you, a way to distract yourself from the monotony of eternal life. You are not made to be a true warrior. You do not belong with us anymore."

"You know nothing!" he shouted, writhing beneath her again.

"I know that you are a traitor," she responded, using her spare hand to pull something from her pocket. Ackmard couldn't see what it was at first, not until she held it above him and it glinted in the light. A knife with a black blade. A knife of dark magic. He had seen Erika use it before when one of the Dark Ones had not done something she had asked or stepped out of line. God only knows what she wanted to use it for now.

"I know that you are weak," she continued, a wicked smile returning to her face. "And I know that you are of no use to me with that pretty little bit of blue in your eyes and the soft, kind, blue-haired warlock in your heart. I am sorry, dear brother, but you must be punished until I can trust you again. I do hope you understand."

"No!" He used the last of his energy to try and push her off him, but it was of no use. She had him tight in her grip and the knife was lowering in her hand, ready to meet with his flesh. When it did, pressed forcefully into his abdomen, Ackmard cried out.

He had never known a pain like this before. Scorching fire shot through every fibre of him, from his toes to the crown of his head. It was enough to send him mad and he curled in on himself, gasping for breath, his fingers curled so tightly that he could feel his palms tearing beneath his nails. Blood flooded into his mouth, rancid and rotten, causing him to gag. He could not see, could not hear anything but the distant laughter of his sister. It was agony. He wanted so badly for it to be over. Everything that he had done had led him here, and the thought only worsened the pain, sending it soaring though his joints, his bones.

And then it stopped. Then, the darkness found him—and it was far kinder than his sister and the pain she had forced him to endure. He welcomed it now more than ever.

[AN: Thanks for 25k reads on spellbound and also I'm sorry about another late update. 

Dedicated to BookishWonderland101 because she has left lots of amazing comments and also her writing is great! Thank you for sticking with my book(s)! 

From now on I will probably only update once a week as I am beginning a new book. The prologue is up now if you'd like to check it out. It's a werewolf fiction so a bit different from Spellbound but I'd appreciate the support! 

I hope you are all having good weeks, thanks again!]