Rules of Mercy (Mercy Temple Chronicles Book 2) by Ciara Graves

Author:Ciara Graves [Graves, Ciara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-11-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Mercy

All around me was a mass of swirling colors in a never-ending storm. My feet never touched the ground, but I wasn’t scared. It was peaceful here. There was no pain or fear. Only the weightlessness of floating through the glowing colors that cast patterns across my skin. Memories teased me, passing by in little glimpses, but I shut my eyes, unwilling to see them.

I need to wake up…

I frowned, turning away from my own mind. Pressure struck my shoulder and hip suddenly, and I gasped at the onslaught of pain. It tore me from the peacefulness and then I was falling down and down into nothingness.

Voices echoed around me.

It felt as though someone took hold of my hand, but I remained alone. A part of me knew what this was, but another part had no need to acknowledge the truth of what occurred. The pain increased.

I screamed when my feet finally touched down and collapsed in a ball of agony.

Glimpses of the fight struck me, and I begged for it to stop.

My magic burned, wanting to break free, but it was too weak to do so. It churned in my stomach.

I hunkered down even lower, curling in on myself.

A voice came to me again, growling my name. A soft ghost-like touch caressed my cheek, and the pain eased.

I was able to sit up, and the darkness around me faded away into a very familiar setting I’d never expected to see again. The walls of the room returned in vivid detail. The desk in the corner was covered in drawings and colored pages. The unmade bed overloaded with stuffed dragons and unicorns. Clothes littered the floor. Near them were a pair of bright purple rain boots and sneakers. On the nightstand, a lamp in the shape of a heart was on, just as it was every night when I went to bed in this room.

My room. At my house.

The sound of rustling covers caught my attention. I turned slowly about to find a tiny version of myself, hair all blond at this point, sitting up in bed. She—me—clutched a blue dragon to her chest, rubbing at her eyes with her other hand. I stayed perfectly still, unsure of what I was looking at exactly.

Voices drifted through the closed door, growing louder, then softer, as someone shushed them.

Younger-me crawled out of bed, dragon in tow, and headed for the door.

“I remember this,” I whispered then clamped a hand over my mouth.

Younger-me made no indication she heard me and opened the door all the way. Light from the hall poured in, and she stepped out.

I had no idea what night this actually was, but while I was growing up, I vaguely remembered countless nights when I was told to go to bed early because my parents were having a meeting of some kind and I wasn’t supposed to listen in. Mom always told me it was adult stuff, and I’d be bored, but she’d lied. I knew this because I was so much like her.

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