Chapter 67
I stand tall before the demon king, my heart pounding like a war drum. The look in his eyes is no longer contemptuous or domineering. I’m not sure what it is. Frightened?
No, he’d never let me see that.
Apprehensive?
Maybe.
“Aren’t you going to fight?” I demand. “Isn't that what we’re here for?” A bitter laugh escapes me. “Or was that just another one of your lies?”
His lips curl into a twisted smirk. “You're no better than I am,” he snarls. “You can pretend all you want, but we’re the same.”
Seriously? That’s where he’s going?
A sure way to get me to knock him on his ass.
“No,” I say, the word punctuated with the conviction of someone who finally knows her worth. “We are not the same.”
I strike first.
A quick jab to his solar plexus.
He blocks it—barely—but I pivot and drive my heel into his side.
He grunts, stumbles, but recovers fast.
Too fast.
He sweeps his arm, and a blast of dark energy slams into me like a wrecking ball. I fly backward, my spine ricocheting off air held stiff with psychokinesis. It doesn’t hurt as much as it should—I’ve been hit harder—but it knocks the breath from my lungs.
I don’t give him the satisfaction of staying down.
I flip to my feet, teeth clenched, and surge forward. He throws another wave of cold and crushing power. I slice through it with mine, moving like lightning. His eyes flare, and this time, we both move at once.
He’s strong, for sure. Taller than me by nearly a foot, broader, and made of raw fury. His magic hammers at mine, a brutal back-and-forth of invisible forces slamming into one another midair. He’s trying to get inside my head, trying to wrap his power around my mind and squeeze.
No.
Fuck, no.
I throw him.
He slams against an invisible wall I create behind him, and before he can fall, I pull him forward again and spin him in midair. His body corkscrews like a tornado. When he lands, he’s on his knees.
“Who’s on his knees now?” I jeer.
I lunge, driving a kick into his chest.
He flies backward—again—but this time he catches himself and stays suspended in midair.
“Well done,” he growls, floating toward me and crackling with black flame. “You’ve learned control. But control means nothing if you won’t use it.”
The moment he says it, I feel it.
Pressure slams into my temples like a vise. He’s in my head. Pushing. Trying to force me to my knees. My vision wavers. For half a second, my legs buckle.
I roar, and the power inside me swells.
I shove back—hard—and his eyes widen as his own pressure begins to crack. My magic floods the area—brighter, sharper, hotter than his. His force shatters like glass against mine.
And then I’m moving.
A punch to the jaw, spinning back kick to the gut, a brutal upward strike with the heel of my palm that snaps his head back.
He recovers, snarling, and sends a rock flying at me with his mind.
I catch it midair and hurl it back twice as fast. He ducks, but not in time. It grazes his temple, and blood trails down his cheek.
I inhale.
I remember the scent of demon blood, but his is ten times stronger than Eris’s.
I tamp down the blood lust.
Never will I take blood from a demon again—especially not this one.
He lifts a hand, ready to unleash something bigger—but I’m already there. I catch his wrist and twist, my magic wrapping around his like a noose.
“Getting tired?” I ask through clenched teeth.
His answer is a guttural growl and a wave of heat that sears across my left arm.
“Fuck!” I scream as fire burns my skin.
With a twist of my magic, the fire is gone, but my skin is charred, and the acrid smell of burnt flesh sends rage whirling through me.
I’m done playing.
I lift him. Not just a few feet, but ten. Then fifteen. I hold him suspended in the air with his arms flung wide. He tries to resist, but I feel the strain in his limbs, the desperation starting to bleed through the arrogance. I clench my fists, and the force tightens around his throat.
“I should end this,” I say, my voice shaking with anger. “After everything you’ve done. To me. To her.”
His bloodshot eyes find mine. And then he laughs.
That low and vicious laugh.
“You don’t have it in you,” he rasps, choking on the power pressing into his throat. “You’ll never kill your mother’s husband.”
My pulse stutters.
For one heartbeat, my magic quakes.
He feels it. Smiles wider.
But I recover and twist the tendrils of magic harder. Just enough to make him gasp.
“I’m not her,” I whisper. “And if ending you costs me my mother, so be it.”
I tighten the pressure again.
And this time, I don’t let go.