Aurora #2
My stomach rolls as adrenaline surges along my muscles. His blood may taste like shit, but it’s ancient, like all hunter blood. It courses through my very being, feeling other, separate, and wrong. My body floods with strength, my power threatening to burst through my very skin.
He rakes his fingers through his hair, composing himself.
“Now,” he says, reaching his hand toward mine. “We go home.”
I eye his offered hand. The hesitation isn’t all for show.
Not as anticipation rises inside me, stealing my breath.
I know all too well what that hand is capable of, what he’s capable of.
I know that I could take it, and he could use his power against me, filling my veins with acid or stealing my eyesight.
He could slow my breathing to the thinnest of wisps until I lose consciousness, only to rouse me with new scars on my body.
He can do terrible, terrible things to me.
But, I’m no longer weak. No longer powerless. And while I’m not fearless, my rage outweighs it. So, I slide my hand into his and let my power surge. “You’re not going anywhere.”
The confident grin melts off Samuel’s face. His eyes flare wide as he looks down at our joined hands.
“Stop,” he commands. “Stop this now!” He tugs, but I dig my nails into him like they’re claws.
That thread inside me, the one connected to my power, draws his life from him.
Just like the plants, I feel it suck like a vacuum.
This is so much more potent than the lives of those flowers.
So much more complex. The two strings of power are right there, one to heal, one to kill.
The one to kill is stronger, more like a chain than a thread.
I don’t give myself a second to worry about the reasoning behind that, instead doing my best to take and take and take.
Gabriel always said this power is ninety percent intention.
And I certainly intend to put an end to Samuel’s terror.
We need to get him down so we can bind him in iron—
“Stop her!” he yells, wrenching himself free from my grasp.
I yelp as the connection breaks between us, the room erupting into chaos as a handful of Sons of Honor soldiers, including several bloodmad vampires, reveal themselves. The soldiers are armed with what look like dart guns while the bloodmads race toward the stage.
“You didn’t come alone,” I snap. “Neither did I.”
Cassandra and Annika step into the paths of the bloodmads, one taking them down with blades while the other takes them down with water. Some go down without anyone near them, each of them looking more confused than the next at the invisible attack. Avianna.
Sparks of purple energy light up the room as Jocelyn reveals herself, hauling another swarm of bloodmads away from the stage.
“You stupid female,” Samuel says. “You think you can stop us with your girl gang? I have hundreds of years on you. Pathetic.” He snatches my hand back, and I immediately drop to my knees.
Nausea rolls over me in waves, so fierce I vomit all over the stage. A headache bursts in my skull, pounding until I see lightning streak across my vision. I scream against the onslaught, trying everything I can to battle it, but my power is nothing against his.
He releases me, glaring down where I tremble on the stage, trying to regain control of my body, my mind. Samuel snaps his fingers, and shots crack the air. I gasp, reaching like I can stop the guns from popping off.
One by one, darts hit Cassandra, then Annika, and then Jocelyn. The silver needles taking them down in one hit.
“Night Thistle darts,” Samuel says, a manic smile on his lips. “A modified version at my behest. Much more potent than the original herb. Such a useful tool to bring down even a hybrid witch.” He motions to his men. “Collect them all. They’ll be useful bargaining chips.”
“No,” I groan, my senses slowly coming back to me. I messed up. I messed up so badly. I thought I could drain him. Thought we could overpower him enough, but I was vehemently wrong.
“Yes.” Samuel crouches, grabbing my shoulder and hauling me away from the pile of vomit next to me. “You will do as I say. You are mine. You will bear my heirs—”
“I’m not yours!” I cut him off, grabbing his hand again. I pull on his life force, the one I feel connected to the thread of my power. Envision it draining, dying—
He shoves me off, breaking our connection, eyes gaping at his hand.
It’s completely black and shriveled, but he looks more annoyed than in pain.
“This really is quite taxing, Rory.” He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.
After a moment, his hand is back to normal, fresh skin unmarred.
“How can you say you’re not mine?” he asks, looking at me again. “When you have my abilities?”
My stomach rolls. “I’m not yours. I’m Saint’s.”
Samuel rolls his eyes but tilts his head. He bends closer to me, inhaling deeply.
He growls. “He’s broken you in. What a shame.
” He grabs me by the neck, hauling me up and up to his eye level, my toes dangling above the stage.
“Such a familiar position,” he says as I flail, trying to disconnect us.
More Sons and bloodmads pour into the opera house.
Three Sons of Honor have my friends slung over their shoulders.
“This time, I won’t let you go. You will bend to me. I will make sure of it.”
“Let go of my mate.” Saint’s voice fills the space.
My eyes meet his where he stands at the bottom of the stage stairs.
He’s livid.
Roars erupt as assassins and hunters flood into the room, a battle between bloodmads and Sons exploding beneath us.
Hawke’s animalistic growl is only a fraction less than Saint’s as he hunts for Avianna.
Dagon and Benedict are tearing into everyone who stands in their way as they try to get to their mates.
So much anger. So much blood. And now, Saint is at risk too.
And it’s all my fault.