Chapter 25
Claws that pulls Memories
Evanora’s POV
“Faith.”
I heard a familiar voice—low, careful—cut through the dark.
“She’ll wake,” Draven snapped. “Why worry?”
Mercurius hummed.
“Because,” he said lightly, “you treated her nerves like a blunt instrument.”
A pause.
“They prefer conversation.”
“You’ve seen how my nerve-bending works on enemies,” Draven snapped. “I didn’t expect resistance. Not from a merchant. Not from a slave.”
“Resistance?”
Mercurius sounded amused.
A sharp exhale followed.
“You promised me the Crown of Baak.”
My eyes snapped open.
Promise?
I didn’t miss the room this time.
Stone walls. Glass tables. Runes etched into steel restraints.
A laboratory—hidden deep within the coven.
Zagan and I were bound to the wall. Wrists and ankles locked. This wasn’t new.
Only the faces were.
Blood streaked Zagan’s temple. Dried. Not fresh.
“Ah,” Mercurius said pleasantly. “The princess wakes from her slumber.”
I tilted my head slightly, testing the restraints.
“Impressive claws,” I said. “You’ve been practicing.”
He smiled.
“Good. Then answer something for me before I use them again.”
His eyes sharpened.
“What is your real name?”
I stayed silent.
Too silent.
“If you don’t answer, sweetheart,” he continued mildly, “death will follow you. Perhaps by my own hands.”
“Death?”
My cracked lips curved. His did too—pleased I’d spoken.
“Dr. Mercurius,” I said softly, “your hands may end my life. But my last breath will seal yours.”
His amusement flickered.
“Not today,” I continued.
“Not tomorrow. But one day, you’ll know my name as your darkest nightmare—and it will follow you until your own is carved into cold stone.”
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He laughed.
“A slave’s curse?”
“My name isn’t your concern,” I said.
“And I’m not giving it to you.”
His hands moved again.
The pressure returned—deeper this time. Sharper. My mind screamed, raw and frantic, while his patience thinned to wire.
I knew this rhythm.
I had set it before.
“Who is Evanora?” he demanded.
“Who is this princess?”
The control in his voice fractured.
“Why does that merchant’s mind,” he continued, “and this slave’s—”
“—keep repeating the same name?”
Beside me, Zagan stirred.
“Leave us,” he said quietly.
The pressure intensified.
“Not until you tell me everything.”
Pain rang through my skull—white, blinding.
“What do you want?” I was forced out.
He leaned closer.
“I know you’re both wearing masks,” he said. “Tell me what you’re hiding.”
“We’re hiding nothing,” Zagan replied evenly.
“If you think we’re enemies—take us to the Council.”
Mercurius laughed.
“Council?”
“Enemies?”
The sound was hollow.
“No,” he said softly.
“I want something else.”
His gaze settled on me.
“And I want the truth. Now.”
My vision is dimmed.
My body sagged, pale and unsteady under the strain. Those claws didn’t tear flesh. They slid through thought, curling around memories like vines, squeezing until silence cracked. .
"Let’s end this, Mercurius,”
I said, my voice threading its way through the screaming in my skull.
He smiled like a man settling into a comfortable chair.
“Good, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You’re easier than the merchant.”
His gaze flicked to Zagan—dismissive.
“Now tell me the truth behind it.”
I inhaled. Slow.
“Evanora was the Vampire Realm’s princess.”
The word landed.
Mercurius’s eyes lit—not shocked. Interested.
“And?” he prompted gently, like a tutor encouraging a promising student.
“Faith—” Zagan’s voice broke in, strained.
“It’s time,” I cut him off.
I lifted my head despite the tremor running through my body.
“She’s missing,” I said. “And we’re here to find her.”
A lie.
A clean one.
Mercurius tilted his head.
“Princess Evanora,” he repeated thoughtfully.
“The missing heir?”
A pause.
“The broken engagement?”
My pulse betrayed me.
“She is the other princess,” I added.
That did it.
The claws slid back into my mind—slow this time. Intimate.
Not tearing.
Exploring.
My nerves screamed like living things.
She lies,” Draven hissed, his voice sharp, but his eyes betrayed doubt.
Mercurius didn’t look away from me.
“She tells the truth,” he said calmly.
A beat.
“But not all of it.”
His claws lingered, curling deeper.
"Mercurius, that’s all,” Zagan said, his voice strained but steady.
“Leave us. If anything happens to us, the Council will hear of it.”
Mercurius didn’t even glance at him.
“Councils,” he said mildly, almost amused.
“That’s not your concern, merchant.”
His eyes never left me.
““Now, darling,” he continued softly, “tell me everything you’ve stored away in your mind.”
The words weren’t in demand.
They were silk.
An invitation.
And I remembered—once, long ago—uttering the same kind of lure myself.
He wasn’t teaching me how to break.
He was reminding me who I used to be.
Not pain. Not freedom.
Nothing new.
This was how I had broken another.
Not with claws, not with chains—
but with patience. With silence. With the promise that resistance would only make the fall heavier.
Anticipation curled through me like smoke, seeping into every thought, every nerve.
It didn’t strike.
It waited.
And waiting was worse than pain.
The crack would come.
Mercurius knew it.
I knew it.
And the room itself seemed to lean closer, listening for the sound.
His hand lifted slightly.
The claws didn’t strike.
They hovered—“coiled, patient, inevitable.
Waiting for me to decide
how much pain I was willing to trade
for silence.
I lifted my head—slowly, deliberately—despite the tremor still coiled through my nerves.
“Enough, Mercurius,” I said.
“I won’t break for you.”
For the first time, his smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“Choosing silence over pain?” he mused.
“Brave words for a slave.”
“Or perhaps just another mask.”
“Now what?” Draven snapped, frustration bleeding through his restraint.
Mercurius didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, his claws withdrew—inch by inch—until the pressure eased just enough to breathe.
“Drain them too far,” he said calmly, almost instructive,
“and the nerves grow numb. They stop answering.”
He stepped back.
“But let silence settle,” he continued softly,
“and silence will do the breaking for us.”
The room fell still.
No pain.
No release.
Just waiting.
And somewhere beyond the stone walls—
I felt it.
Not footsteps.
Not magic.
Pressure.
The kind that bends the air before it enters.
The kind that doesn’t announce itself.
The kind that ends games.
