Chapter 41
Forty-One
BECKS
She wants me to kill her, but I don’t know if I have the strength to do it.
The thought tears through me harder than the demon’s magic ever could. Even now, its dark cords bite into my scales, into my wings, into my throat, holding me pinned to the ground as if I’m nothing more than a beast beneath its heel.
I strain anyway. Always.
Haven hangs suspended in the air before me by the same horrible magic like a broken star, her body arched as tendrils of darkness thread into her skin, into her chest, into places I can’t bear to look at for too long.
Each pulse of the demon’s power makes her glow for a heartbeat and then dim, as if something vital is being pulled out of her piece by piece.
Her magic.
Her life.
Her soul.
My claws dig furrows into the hardened earth. I would rip this world apart if it meant reaching her.
The demon laughs softly, as if this is all some exquisite performance staged for my benefit.
“She burns beautifully,” it murmurs insidiously. “You should be proud.”
Haven’s gaze is still locked on mine through the pain, through the shadows, through the impossible distance between us. They’re glassy now, unfocused at the edges, but still her. Still Haven.
Still begging.
Not with words. She doesn’t have the breath for that anymore. She begs me the way she always has when the truth is too heavy to speak aloud: with her eyes. With the quiet, devastating trust that says she believes I’ll do what needs to be done, even if it destroys me.
If the demon finishes this . . . there won’t be anything left to save.
I know that. Creator help me, I know that.
If it takes the last of her magic, if it drains her dry, her soul will be bound to it, trapped inside that monstrous shadow for eternity. No afterlife. No peace. Just endless darkness, aware and suffering and alone.
Death would be mercy.
Death would be kinder than what waits for her now.
Fire coils tighter in my chest, responding to the truth like it always has. My fire has never been gentle. Never precise. It consumes. It ends things.
It would end her.
A broken sound rips from me, half roar, half plea. I thrash again, muscles screaming, wings straining uselessly against the magic pinning them at warped angles. Blood drips from my chest, hot and slick, but I barely feel it. All I feel is her.
Haven.
Her name burns through me, a silent plea I have no voice to give.
Her lips part as if she’s trying to say something, but nothing comes. She only looks at me, steady and unflinching.
Then she nods. Once.
My vision blurs. Fire leaks from between my teeth, curling into the air in ragged threads.
The demon doesn’t notice, too focused on its prize, the one it’s been awaiting for thousands of years. The one I’m about to deprive it of.
I’m sorry, my soul whispers. To her, to myself, to every future that dies with this choice.
I draw in a breath that feels like it splits me in two. I gather every shred of fire I have left. Not wild. Not raging. Focused. Final.
For her.
If this is the last thing I ever give her, then it will be peace.
For a heartbeat, I hesitate.
Not because I doubt what must be done. But because loving her has always meant wanting one more second.
Her eyes stay locked on mine.
No fear.
No regret.
Only trust.
I unleash the fire.
It pours from me in a blinding torrent, white-hot and absolute, far hotter than anything meant to burn flesh. She’s fire-born. Fire-touched. To affect her, it has to be more.
A dragon’s flame stripped of fury and driven by mercy, it wraps around her suspended form, devouring the dark smoke feeding on her and forcing the demon to recoil with a shriek of rage.
Haven doesn’t scream.
She doesn’t thrash or beg or fight it.
She burns.
Light consumes her, too bright to look at, too final to undo. Her body dissolves into brilliant flame and heat, every trace of her breaking apart under the intensity of my fire. Magenta and purple magic surges wildly for a heartbeat, flaring like a dying star as it mixes with my flames—
Then there is nothing left to take.
No flesh.
No bone.
No soul for the demon to claim.
Only ash.
I cut off the fire as suddenly as it began, leaving the air thick and silent. Gray motes drift downward, slow and weightless, settling against scorched earth like snowfall at the end of the world.
I roar. The cry tears out of me, raw and broken, shaking the ground beneath us. It’s grief and rage and love tangled together, a sound that has no language, no shape. Only loss.
As ash settles on my scales, the demon screams.
Not in pain. In rage.
The smoke binding me shudders as the demon’s fury spikes, its focus splintering. The magic pinning me to the ground loosens, just enough. I seize the opening, tearing one wing free, then the other, ripping through the choking mist with a roar that shakes the scorched ground beneath us.
I meet the demon head-on. We collide in a violent tangle of power and rage, the demon striking with brutal precision, every blow meant to weaken, to break.
My claws slam into mist and flesh. My fire scorches through its darkness, burning holes that sizzle and reform, over and over again.
But I don’t fight like I should.
Not really.
Because every strike lands hollowly. Every breath of fire tastes like ash.
Haven is gone, and the world feels smaller for it, emptier, quieter in a way I don’t know how to survive.
The demon knows it.
“You ended her,” it snarls, its darkness tightening around my throat. “And now you’re nothing.”
It slams me to the ground, magic crushing my chest, driving the air from my lungs. I snap my jaws, rake my claws, but my movements are slower now. Sloppier. Grief drags at my limbs, heavier than any chain.
What’s the point?
Without her—
The demon rears back, power gathering in its grasp, mist condensing into a blade of pure darkness. I know this moment. The final one.
Part of me doesn’t fight it.
Part of me welcomes the end.
Then—
The ash stirs.
A sudden rush of magic explodes outward, sharp and brilliant, forcing the demon to stagger back.
Its death blow never lands.
I twist my head just in time to see the gray remnants on the ground ignite, not into flame, but into light.
A phoenix erupts from the ashes.
Red and gold blazing wings tear into the sky, radiant and furious, a scream ripping from its beak that rattles the heavens. The air vibrates with raw power as the phoenix crashes between us, shielding me, flames whipping outward in a protective arc.
The demon’s dark smoke shrivels and recoils as fire burns through them like sunlight through fog. It howls as its magic burns away under the intensity of her fire.
Her fire.
I recognize it instantly.
Hope slams back into me so hard it steals my breath.
Haven. I think her name like a prayer, like a lifeline, like the only truth left in this broken world.
The phoenix turns its blazing gaze on me for half a heartbeat. And even without words, even without her human form, I know.
She’s back.