The words “great”, “terrible” and “destiny” reverberated around me as the last memory, the one that stood out more than all the rest, came into focus. It was an image of Merrick’s face, contorted in terrible pain, and the blood-chilling moan that escaped his ruined mouth, just before the mist encased the vision. I gasped, pushing myself away from him, tripping on the root of a tree, and landing hard on my knees. “Alexandra, what is it?” he asked, his voice anxious. “Taika,” I whispered, my hand automatically going to the painful bump on my neck. His eyes widened as the colour drained from his cheeks. “How did you remember her?” he asked, his voice strained. “You’re afraid for me,” I mumbled, staring at the stark terror on his face. “You weren’t there,” I remembered, as I’d searched desperately for his hand. He snatched my hand from where it was resting at my throat and cradled it in both of his. I looked up at him. “You let go of my hand.” “I’m so sorry,”
