Chapter 31 #2
“Malrik, you knew what to do with her magic. Any ideas on how to destroy dark magic?”
He tilts his head, messy black hair falling into his eyes.
“Dark magic is rare as hell—ancient, older than most histories, whispered about in stories you tell to scare children.
Nobody's ever seen it. It's practically a myth.
And destroying it? I don't even know if it can be destroyed, let alone how.”
The weight of that settled in the room, and I felt the cold knot of worry tighten in my gut. We were in deep, and the clock was ticking.
The sun was creeping over the horizon, and the twins would probably be up any minute now, well, not Drew. Someone needed to check on temptress—and I desperately needed a drink, or I was gonna lose what little grip I had left.
“Well, isn’t this just fucking perfect,” Ronan pulls at the ends of his hair. “Darian’s vanished, Cherry won’t wake up, Malriks collecting severed limbs like trading cards, and you’re one second away from snapping our necks for a drop of alcohol, and the twins—fuck.”
I lean back, arms crossed, teeth grinding. “Thanks for the personal dig,” I mutter, voice flat. My fingers twitch uncontrollably, each pulse a reminder of the withdrawal crawling through me.
Malrik didn’t even look up. He was just standing still, flicking old varnish off his black-painted nails with a vampire tooth. “I could try getting into her head,” he says lazily, like he's deciding what to have for dinner.
I frowned. “You can do that?”
He smirks, eyes flashing red. “I have… ways.”
“Care to elaborate?” I ask, not really expecting an answer. Still, it pisses me off when he spins, vanishing upstairs without a word. One second he's there, the next all that's left is a gust of air and the faint, bloody tang of him lingering in the room.
“Fucking bloodsucker,” I muttered, stuffing my hands into my pockets. My skin was on fire, my nerves dancing under it. Every bone in my body wanted a drink or a fight, or to fuck. Preferably all three.
Ronan jolts upright. “I need to bake.”
I blink. “You what?”
Already, he's halfway to the crumbling kitchen, muttering about chocolate and strawberries like the entire realm isn't collapsing.
I let my head drop back against the wall and exhaled through my nose.
I know it's only a matter of time before Vespera finds us. And when she does, she won’t be alone.
She’s got the full set—her personal bodyguards, the heads of the witch factions, and the rest of the Veilguard.
All of them are loyal, ruthless, and powerful.
You have your enforcers in the Veilguard, which included me, Ronan and Darian, with a couple more, then the rest were practically soldiers.
I don’t like our odds.
The house is quiet. Too quiet. A pressure builds in my chest—that familiar weight that always settles before things go to hell.
A loud crash from the kitchen makes me look over my shoulder.
“Motherfucker!” Ronan's voice echoes from the room, full of rage.
Despite the bruises and broken ribs, his wrists healed but were still sore, he stormed out of the house like his ass was on fire. I don’t follow straight away, he could just be having a bitch fit over whatever he’s baking. But then another voice filters in through the open door—sharper, colder.
Not Ronan.
My body moves on instinct.
By the time I reach the open doorway, Ronan's already swinging.
His fist connects with Darian’s jaw—hard. The crack of it echoes through the cold morning air.
“You fucker!” Ronan snarls, eyes wild with fury. He grabs Darian by the collar and slams another punch in his gut. “Where the hell were you?”
Another hit. No hesitation. No mercy.
“She went in there alone. Alone, Darian. You let her risk her fucking life!”
Darian doesn’t move. Doesn’t even lift a hand. Just takes it—every savage blow. His head snaps to the side as another punch lands, blood trailing from his lip, his cheek already swelling.
And he still doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t defend himself.
Ronan looks like he’s unravelling—not just angry, but gutted. Guilt and Grief drip from every word he throws, every punch he lands. And I just stand there, frozen as I watch it play out.
Because part of me agrees with him.
But I also know we won’t survive if we turn on each other.
“I nearly died for her,” Ronan spits, his voice wrecked and shaking. “And I’d do it again. Over and over. If it meant keeping her safe.”
He shoves his face inches from Darian's, eyes blazing. “But you… You’d rather let her die.”
Another brutal punch. This one lands with a sickening crack.
That’s it.
I’m already down the steps, grabbing Ronan from behind and yanking him back with everything I’ve got. He fights me like a mad dog, all rage and heartbreak, throwing his head back—nearly catching me in the face.
I dodge it, barely, growling low in my throat.
“Enough,” I snap, tightening my grip around his chest, pinning his arms as he struggles, “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”
He doesn’t answer me. Just keeps thrashing, trying his hardest to finish Darian off. His elbow grazes my busted lip that manages to slip from my grip, and I taste blood all over again.
“Fucking hell, man,” I grunt, forcing his arms behind his back and locking him down. “Get your shit together.”
He stills for a beat, chest heaving under my grip, and I drop my voice, rough but firm.
“Remember who we are. We’re brothers. And right now, she needs us, not this.”
His head dips forward slightly, but the fury doesn't leave him.
Not when it comes to her. He's still breathing like he ran straight through hell, every muscle pressed against me, taut and trembling with barely restrained rage.
Ronan is completely—utterly—in love with her.
Head over fucking heels. And me? I can't wrap my head around that kind of devotion. I wish I could. I really do.
But I don’t.
Not like him.
I keep my arms around his chest, grounding him before he explodes again. My eyes shift to Darian, still standing a few feet away like a statue. He doesn’t move, doesn’t wipe the blood from his skin. Just watches.
Those usually hazel-green eyes of his are nearly black now, unreadable—like something in him finally broke free.
And that scares the shit out of me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. He wasn’t supposed to be able to find us. That blood mage’s cloaking spell was supposed to be solid.
“I can sense her.” He says simply, like it explains everything.
It doesn’t.
I slowly ease my grip off Ronan. He’s still trembling, hands flexing at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. I can tell the pain is starting to cut through the fury.
Good. Maybe it’ll keep him from launching himself at Darian again.
“Still doesn’t explain how you found us,” I say flatly, keeping my body angled between the two of them. “And you really shouldn’t be here.”
Darian's eyes flick towards the house. “I don’t have long. I need to see her.”
Ronan barks a bitter laugh, and teeth and venom. “You’re not going near her.”
He takes a step forward, practically vibrating with disgust. “Wouldn’t surprise me if you tried to slit her throat the second you got the chance.”
I shove a firm hand against his chest to stop him. He winces, and I catch the split-second of exhaustion across his face. His body’s wrecked—he needs rest, not another fight.
“You’re no good to her like this,” I mutter. “Go lie down before you pass out mid-punch.”
To my surprise, he doesn’t argue. Just glares daggers at Darian and backs off towards the house, probably to lie down with temptress.
“She’s not awake,” I tell Darian.
His gaze snaps to mine, like this costs him something. “Just… tell her I know about the darkness. And that this is the last time I’ll be able to see you. If I stay longer… she will find out.”
“How the hell do you know?”
Darian just smirks, cold and tired. “I’m not stupid, Kieran.”
I never thought he was.
His expression hardens, voice dropping so low I have to lean in to hear it.
“I can’t ignore the whispers in my head telling me to kill you. To kill her. Rip her to pieces.”
He steps closer, body rigid as the wind picks up. “It’s taking everything I have not to walk through that door and do it.”
A chill creeps up my spine, but I hold my ground. His eyes seem haunted, no emotions clouding his face. Just like Vespera.
“But I know there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to,” he continues, jaw clenched. “That part is screaming to protect her. It’s like something’s rotting inside me, eating me alive from the inside out.”
His voice breaks just enough to sound human. Just enough to remind me this isn’t the Darian I trained with, the man I let in and now call family. This is something else—something twisted, infected.
“I’m fighting myself every damn second,” he admits, breath ragged. “But she needs to know she can’t fix this. She shouldn’t try.”
He stares at me, a grim finality in his tone.
“She needs to leave. All of you do. Before I can’t hold it back anymore, and I kill her.”