There was a dull sound, heavy and final, like something had fallen from the heavens. Perhaps because something had—or in this case, someone.
Renata's body struck the ground, her breath leaving her lungs in a sharp gasp. Pain flared through her arms, her back, her very bones. She had been high in the sky when the command came, and though she had fallen willingly, her body had not been spared the punishment.
Fall.
It had not been her will. Not entirely. That voice had reached into her being, pulling strings deeper than flesh or thought. This was not mere mental domination—it was her very demon blood obeying. For Renata Malcrist was not simply human. She was demon kin, and to one who bore the mantle of domination, her nature bent instinctively.
She tried to push herself upright, breath ragged, arms trembling as she forced her body into a sitting position. That was when the sharp whistle in the air caught her attention.
