Chapter 30 #2
She lunged at Devon with unnatural speed, her claws aimed at his throat. The force of her attack sent them both crashing into the stone wall.
“Kate, fight it,” he whispered, even as he struggled to hold her back. “I know you’re in there.”
Aleksander laughed from his throne. “Beautiful, isn’t it? She’ll tear you apart with her own hands, and there’s nothing you can do to stop her.”
Every blow she landed on Devon was a fresh wave of agony in her own mind. She could feel the crack of his ribs under her elbow as if they were her own, see the betrayal and pain in his eyes even as her body moved with a will that was not hers.
Stop, she screamed in the prison of her own mind.
Please, stop.
But the compulsion was a relentless master, forcing her to be the weapon that would destroy her own heart.
With a final surge of desperation, Kate broke one arm free and drove her elbow back into Devon’s solar plexus. As his grip loosened, she spun and struck at his throat. Devon caught her wrist just inches from his jugular.
“This ends now,” Devon snarled, his patience finally snapping. With unnatural speed, he moved past Kate’s defences and launched himself at Aleksander.
The moment Devon’s attention shifted, Kate attacked his back. Devon spun and caught her wrists. Then he did something that broke his heart. He pressed on a nerve cluster at the base of her neck, and she collapsed unconscious in his arms. He lowered her gently to the stone floor.
“Sleep,” he whispered. “I’ll end this.”
Aleksander wiped blood from his mouth. “You dare—”
“I dare everything,” Devon interrupted. “You made a fatal mistake, Aleksander. You touched her.”
They collided in the center of the platform with a sound like thunder. Devon fought with the fury of a man who had watched the woman he loved be used as a weapon against him. He slammed Aleksander’s head into the stone floor again and again.
“This is for using her against me.”
But Aleksander was ancient and vicious. He drove his knee up into Devon’s stomach and raked his claws across Devon’s face, sending him sprawling.
Aleksander loomed over him with the slow, savoring cruelty of a victor who had waited centuries for this moment.
“It was always meant to be me,” he whispered, his voice a low, venomous purr. “Elisabeta was a fool. She should have chosen me.”
He gestured vaguely toward Kate’s unconscious form. “But the universe corrects its mistakes, doesn’t it? What was denied to me then is given to me now. You were just a placeholder, Devon. An obstacle. And now… you are simply in my way.”
He raised his clawed hand, the killing blow poised to fall.
And Kate’s eyes snapped open.
As Aleksander loomed over Devon, the compulsion reached a fever pitch, a chorus of triumphant hatred screaming in her mind.
He is mine to destroy. You are mine to command.
But through the psychic noise, another voice emerged, clearer and stronger than before. It was the voice of the woman who had survived his torture, the artist who had painted her pain into power, the partner who had stood side-by-side with the man she loved.
I am not his Pet, she thought, the words a silent scream against the compulsion. I am not his weapon. I am Kate Morgan. And I choose.
Her hand closed around a jagged piece of stone from the shattered wall. With a guttural cry that was part rage, part pain, Kate forced her body to move. She drove the jagged stone into the back of Aleksander’s neck with every ounce of her strength.
Aleksander’s scream was inhuman. He spun toward her, his eyes wide with incomprehension. The compulsion hit her in a wave of pure, undiluted agony. Kate collapsed to her knees, screaming.
But the opening was all Devon needed.
He moved in a blur of black. His hand shot out and grabbed Aleksander by the hair, yanking his head back. But instead of going for the neck, Devon’s other hand found Aleksander’s jaw.
“She is stronger than you ever imagined,” Devon snarled.
Aleksander’s eyes went wide with terror. “Wait—”
Devon’s hands moved with brutal, final efficiency.
The sound of vertebrae separating was wet and final. With a final surge of rage-fueled strength, he completed the separation, tearing Aleksander’s head completely from his shoulders.
The moment Aleksander died, the maker bond shattered like glass.
Kate gasped as the psychic agony vanished. She found herself lying on a stone platform, watching Devon stand over Aleksander’s headless corpse.
“Devon?” she whispered.
He turned to her immediately, the monster disappearing. Devon dropped to his knees and pulled her into his arms.
“You did it,” he whispered. “You broke free, you saved me.”
Kate clung to him, her body wracked with tremors that had nothing to do with the cold stone floor. The silence in her head was vast and terrifying, a hollow echo where the compulsion had been.
It was over. He was gone.
But the memory of her own hands attacking Devon, of the sickening crack of his ribs under her elbow, was a fresh, bleeding wound in her mind.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, her voice muffled against his chest. “Devon, I’m so sorry. I tried to stop, I couldn’t—”
“Shh,” he whispered, his hand stroking her hair, his touch infinitely gentle. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his own face bruised and bloodied, but his eyes held nothing but fierce, unwavering love.
“Never be sorry for that. That wasn’t you. You fought him, Kate. You broke his hold. You saved me.”
He brushed a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb, his gaze dropping to the now-fading maker’s mark beneath her breast. The angry, raised scar was already receding, the dark magic that fueled it gone.
He traced the spot with a feather-light touch, a silent acknowledgment of the violation she had endured.
The sound of approaching footsteps made them both look up.
It was Sophia, her face grim, her daggers dripping with black blood.
She surveyed the scene, Aleksander’s headless body, the carnage on the dance floor, the two of them huddled together on the platform, with a weary but satisfied expression.
“It’s done,” she said, her voice low. “We’ll handle the cleanup. Get her out of here, Devon. Go.”
Devon nodded, his gratitude unspoken but clear. He scooped Kate into his arms as if she weighed nothing, her head finding its natural place in the crook of his neck.
As he carried her through the wreckage of the club, past the bodies and the blood and the lingering scent of death, Kate closed her eyes. The battle was over. The war for her mind was won.
And in the arms of the man who had given up everything for her, she finally, truly, felt free.