Chereads / The Mafia’s Forced Bride / Chapter 22 - The figure in the shadows of Black Fortress.

Chapter 22 - The figure in the shadows of Black Fortress.

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Nelson's vision was dimming as Felicia's tear-streaked face hovered above him, her hands gentle but frantic as they pressed against his wounds. 

He could feel the cold seeping into his body, the warmth of his blood draining away far too quickly. Her words, desperate and full of emotion, echoed in his mind, but they felt distant, like a fading memory.

"Stay with me," she pleaded again, her voice breaking, the strength in her cracking just for a moment. 

Felicia wasn't someone who easily showed vulnerability—her resolve had always been one of the things Nelson admired most about her. But now, her mask was slipping, and he could see the fear in her eyes.

"I… I'm trying," Nelson managed to say, his voice barely more than a rasp. He wanted to say more, to tell her how much he loved her, how she had changed him, saved him, but the words were lost somewhere in the fog of his fading consciousness. 

His grip on her hand tightened weakly, a silent promise that he was still fighting, even as his body failed him.

Behind Felicia, the courtyard was eerily quiet. Ryker's soldiers had either fled or fallen, their once overwhelming numbers now nothing more than bodies scattered across the stone. 

Arion stood nearby, his sword dripping with blood, his eyes scanning the area for any lingering threats. But even he looked worn, battle-weary and on edge. The victory had been hard-won, but it didn't feel like it was over. Something still hung in the air—something unseen, lurking.

Felicia's gaze flicked to Arion, a silent exchange passing between them. "He's losing too much blood," she whispered, her voice barely audible but filled with urgency. "We need to move him—get him to a healer."

Arion nodded, already turning to signal the remaining knights, but his face was grim. The nearest town was miles away, and they had no idea if they could even get Nelson there in time. 

Still, there was no other option. They couldn't lose him—not after everything they had been through.

"We'll make a stretcher," Arion said, his voice rough with exhaustion but full of determination. "Hold on a little longer, Your Majesty."

Felicia turned back to Nelson, her hands cupping his face now, her touch warm against his rapidly cooling skin. "Don't close your eyes," she begged, her forehead resting against his. "Don't you dare give up on me."

Nelson wanted to laugh, but all that came out was a weak, breathless chuckle. "You… don't make it easy… do you?" His smile was faint, barely there, but Felicia saw it, and her eyes softened, her fingers brushing through his hair.

"You're a stubborn man, Nelson Blackwell," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "So fight. Fight like you always do. Fight for me."

Her words hung in the air, a command, a plea, and something more—something that reached deep into Nelson's core, pulling him back from the edge. He'd spent his entire life fighting for power, for control, for survival. But now, he fought for something else. For love. For her.

The clink of armor and the sound of boots on stone drew Felicia's attention away, and she glanced up to see Arion and two other knights approaching with a makeshift stretcher. 

They worked quickly, lifting Nelson with care, though every movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his battered body. He gritted his teeth, refusing to let out more than a low groan, but Felicia saw it—saw how close he was to the edge.

"We need to move quickly," Arion said, his voice clipped. "There's a healer in the village just beyond the ridge. If we can make it there in time—"

A sound cut through the night, sharp and unnatural, like the distant screech of metal being torn apart. It echoed across the courtyard, reverberating off the stone walls, and for a moment, everything was still.

Felicia's heart pounded in her chest, her eyes darting around. "What was that?" she whispered, her voice tense.

Arion's expression darkened, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword. "I don't know," he muttered, scanning the shadows. "But it's not over yet."

The wind picked up, swirling the mist around them in chaotic, unpredictable patterns. The air grew colder, biting against their skin, and a strange energy crackled through the atmosphere, raising the hairs on the back of Felicia's neck.

And then, from the shadows at the far end of the courtyard, something stirred.

At first, it was just a faint movement, barely noticeable through the mist. But then it grew, a dark shape emerging from the gloom, hulking and unnatural. Felicia's breath caught in her throat as she watched it move, slow and deliberate, its outline blurred by the swirling fog.

Arion stepped forward, his sword drawn, his posture tense and ready. "Who goes there?" he called out, his voice strong despite the unease that rippled through the air.

The figure didn't respond. Instead, it continued to move closer, the ground seeming to tremble with each step it took. And as it neared the circle of torchlight, its form became clearer—larger than any man, its limbs twisted, its face hidden beneath a hood of tattered, blackened cloth.

Felicia's blood ran cold. She had heard the stories, the whispers of creatures that lurked in the dark corners of the world, remnants of ancient magic long since forgotten. But she had never believed them—never thought they were anything more than myths.

Until now.

The figure stopped just at the edge of the light, its head tilting slightly as if studying them. And then, in a voice that was barely more than a whisper, it spoke.

"You should not have come here."

The words were like a knife in the silence, sharp and filled with something ancient, something dangerous. Felicia's heart raced as she took a step back, her hand instinctively going to the dagger she had hidden at her waist.

Arion stood his ground, though his grip on his sword tightened. "Who are you?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing.

The figure didn't answer. Instead, it raised one of its twisted hands, and a wave of dark energy rippled outward, slamming into the ground with a force that knocked everyone back. The knights were thrown off their feet, crashing into the stone walls with bone-rattling force.

Felicia hit the ground hard, the air knocked from her lungs. She gasped, struggling to push herself up, but the weight of the dark energy pressed down on her like an invisible hand. She could feel it seeping into her skin, chilling her to the bone.

Nelson, still on the stretcher, groaned in agony, his body convulsing as the energy washed over him. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, his skin pale and clammy.

"Nelson!" Felicia screamed, crawling toward him, but the force of the energy held her back.

The figure stepped forward again, closer now, its presence suffocating. It raised its hand once more, and this time, its attention was focused entirely on Nelson.

"He is mine," the figure rasped, its voice like the grinding of stone. "And I have come to collect what is owed."

Felicia's blood froze as the figure's words sank in. It wasn't just after Nelson's life—it was after his very soul.

And she was powerless to stop it.