Pretty Little Poison Bonus Chapter

Coward. You left him to die. He needed you, and you let him send you away. My grip on the reins tighten as I stare at the horizon, the battle growing smaller beneath me. The pain in my chest is worse than any wound I’ve ever endured. I should have stayed. Fought by his side. I would’ve died with him.

The memory of his touch burned against my cheek, his voice echoing in my mind. ‘I need you to live.’ But what was living without him? What was survival if it meant losing the only person who made me feel whole?

Ambrose, you idiot. You can’t promise me forever and then send me away. You can’t make me love you and then expect me to live without you.

The wind bites at my skin as Stryker carries me farther and farther from the battlefield, my tears freezing as they fall. I’ll come back for you. I’ll find a way. Just… please don’t let this be how our story ends. The wind tears at my face, sharp and unforgiving, but it’s nothing compared to the pain clawing at my chest. I clutch the reins tightly, my knuckles white as Stryker’s massive wings cut through the air. Each beat carries me farther away from the battlefield, further from him.

A sob rips from my throat, ragged and raw. I press a trembling hand to my chest, trying to hold myself together, but it’s useless. The ache is too much. Too deep. I didn’t even know a pain like this existed. It feels like a part of me is being torn away, like I’m leaving my very soul behind with him.

I can’t take it anymore. "Turn around!" I scream, leaning forward against Stryker’s warm neck. My voice breaks, but I don’t care. "Stryker, turn around!"

Stryker's rhythm falters, and I feel his massive body slow beneath me. Those obsidian wings, usually so steady, hesitate in their powerful strokes. He twists his long neck, and suddenly I'm staring into those golden eyes. They're different now - shimmering, almost...wet? No, it can't be. Dragons don't cry. Do they?

  But there's no denying the sorrow in that gaze. He shakes his head, and the rumble that escapes his throat is so mournful it pierces right through me. God, it's like someone's twisting a knife in my chest. I can barely breathe.

"Damn you, Stryker!" The words tear out of me before I can stop them. I'm pounding my fist against his scales, but I doubt he even feels it. My voice cracks embarrassingly, and I can feel hot tears streaming down my face. "Damn you, Ambrose!"

Stryker lets out a guttural screech, one that echoes my own anguish that nearly deafens me, and surges forward again, his powerful wings beating against the wind. I give up, slumping forward, my shoulders shaking as sobs wrack my body, and I bury my face against his warm scales, wishing I could disappear into them.

His warmth should comfort me, but it doesn’t. It only reminds me of Ambrose—of his fire, his strength, his arms around me when the world felt like it was crumbling.

"He sent me away to save me," I whisper, my voice hoarse, barely audible over the rushing wind. "But what if he dies? What if I never see him again? What if the last thing I said to him wasn’t enough?"

I grit my teeth and lift my head squinting against the wind, and I'm not sure if it's from the tears or the speed we're traveling. Either way, it feels like my whole world is out of focus.

"Stryker, please," I beg, my voice breaking again. "Take me back to him. I can’t leave him. I can’t lose him." It's pathetic, I know, but at this point, I don't care.

For a moment, Stryker hesitates. His wings slow, and I hold my breath, hope flickering faintly in the storm of my despair. But then he surges forward, his decision made.

"I hate you for this, Ambrose," I whisper, the words trembling on my lips. "I hate you for loving me enough to send me away."

The wind steals my words, carries them into the void. All I can do now is hold on and let the agony consume me as I fly farther and farther away from the one person I can’t live without.

The stars above blur together as I look up, my tears turning them into streaks of light against the dark sky. Every beat of Stryker’s wings feels like a hammer driving nails into my chest. My hands tremble on the reins, the leather slick with sweat and blood—my blood. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters if Ambrose doesn’t make it.

I can still see him in my mind, standing tall, fire and lightning crackling around him as he turned his back to me. He didn’t even say goodbye.

My throat tightens, and I clutch the reins harder, my voice rising again, desperate and wild. "Stryker, I’m begging you! Please, take me back! I can’t leave him there!"

Stryker lets out another mournful screech, the sound vibrating through his body. It feels like he’s saying I’m sorry, but it’s not enough. Nothing is enough.

The cold air bites at my cheeks, but I barely feel it. My mind is back there, replaying the moment over and over. The way Ambrose looked at me—his eyes fierce, his jaw clenched, but his touch gentle when he lifted me onto Stryker’s back. Like I was something fragile. Like I was something he had to protect.

"Damn you," I whisper again, the words hollow now, drained of the fury they carried moments ago. My chest aches, the weight of my helplessness pressing down on me until I feel like I might shatter.

The shadows on the horizon stretch endlessly, and I can still feel their pull. It’s like they’re taunting me, whispering all the things I should’ve done. I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve made him understand that I didn’t care about living if it meant living without him.

But he wouldn’t have listened. Ambrose never listens when he’s made up his mind.

I look down at Stryker again, my fingers stroking his rough scales. "You love him too, don’t you?" My voice shakes. He lets out a soft, mournful sound, and it breaks something in me. I press my face into his neck, my tears soaking his scales.

"I can’t do this," I whisper. "I can’t go on if something happens to him."

Stryker doesn’t answer. He just keeps flying, his powerful wings slicing through the night. And I’m left alone with my thoughts, my fears, and the unbearable emptiness that stretches out before me like a chasm I’ll never cross.

Minutes pass, or maybe hours—I don’t know anymore. The battle is long out of sight, but it hasn’t left me. It’s carved into my soul now, the image of Ambrose standing in the storm of shadows, the firelight flickering around him as he told me to live.

But how am I supposed to live without him?

As the horizon shifts, a faint glow catches my eye. It takes a moment for my tear-streaked vision to focus, but then it becomes clear—the moonlight is casting a silvery sheen across a snowy landscape. Nivostra.

The sight punches the air from my lungs. Its pristine beauty feels like a cruel joke, a quiet mockery of the chaos I left behind. Snow blankets the hills and trees in an unbroken expanse of white, glinting like shards of crystal under the moon's pale gaze.

Nivostra. The land Ambrose spoke of in his rare, unguarded moments. A place untouched by war and darkness, where the nights are silent and the stars burn brighter. He always said it was where he wanted to go someday, away from the fire and the blood. Away from the shadows that clung to both of us like a curse.

And now I’m here—without him.

My breath catches, a shaky exhale that fogs the cold night air. I tighten my grip on Stryker’s reins, grounding myself against the overwhelming tide of emotions threatening to drown me. Ambrose should be here. He should be the one seeing this, standing beside me, the cold biting at his skin as he makes some offhand comment about how I’d probably hate the cold here. His teasing voice echoes in my mind, a phantom that only makes the emptiness sharper.

But instead, I’m alone. And the beauty of this place, this haven he dreamed of, feels like a wound I can’t bear to look at.

Stryker lets out a soft trill, his golden eyes watching me with a mix of concern and sadness. I reach up, resting a hand on his neck, drawing what little comfort I can from his presence.

"I don’t deserve this," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the quiet rustle of the wind. "I shouldn’t be here when he’s not."

Styker shifts beneath me, his wings folding as he lowers his massive body into the snow. He’s exhausted too, and I can see it in the way his shoulders slump.

I slide off his back, my legs trembling as they sink into the thick snow. The cold seeps through my boots, sharp and biting, but I welcome it. I need to feel something—anything—other than this unbearable ache.

For a long moment, I just stand there, staring out at the untouched landscape. The moonlight feels like it’s mocking me, illuminating a world that’s beautiful and whole while everything inside me is fractured.

My fingers curl into fists. "What’s the point of this?" I say, my voice rising as I look up at the sky. "Why bring me here? Why let me see this when—" My voice cracks, and I can’t finish.

Stryker rumbles softly behind me, his golden gaze steady and unwavering. He doesn’t have answers, only loyalty, and it makes me ache even more. I fall to my knees, the snow crunching beneath me as I press my palms into the frozen ground. My breath comes in shallow gasps, my tears hot against the cold. My dark blood falls in droplets against the snowy ground, each bead sinking into the white with a faint hiss, staining the purity with threads of dark crimson that spread like fractured veins. The silence of the snow swallows the sound, leaving only the haunting contrast of life spilling onto the frozen stillness.

“Nyx? We’ve been expecting you.”