CHAPTER FORTY #2
It should have enraged me, should have split me open with fury at his claim, his audacity.
Instead, it sank deeper, branding itself into me without even touching.
Swiping the blood from my mouth, I raised my dagger, ready to finish what we had started but not before Reve bared his teeth right back to Ronan and said, “Not for long.”
And I was there, fist colliding with his cheek. A snap split the air, bone, knuckle, maybe both. Ronan let him drop and I was already on him, pouncing.
Over and over my fist slammed into his face until blood painted us both and Reve had gone still.
Strong hands seized me from behind, dragging me back from his limp body. I thrashed, only to freeze as a shrill whistle cut the breeze.
Ronan shielded my body just as an explosion burst near where Reve lay.
I kicked, I clawed, I did everything I could to get free of his grip and back to Reve’s blood. Ronan only cursed, holding me back with little effort.
When the smoke cleared, the ground was empty.
Coward.
“Ever wonder what will get you killed faster?” Ronan asked against my back, Brights swarming us in a tide. “Your stubbornness, or your rage?”
My chest heaved, but I forced a laugh. “Aw, you worry for me?”
It came out brittle. All I could think about was how I hadn’t seen anyone as of recently. I didn’t even know if they were alive.
And knowing Reve was here, that his magic could touch them, all I could think about was Elva...
“Don’t flatter yourself.” Fumes lashed from his palm, cutting through four soldiers as they dropped at our feet. Show off. “We all have a bet going, just curious about your odds. Hoping to win.” He crossed his fingers, smug.
I gave him a less-than-appealing gesture before my blade slit across a soldier’s throat, hot blood splattering across my face.
Every godsdamned time.
“It won’t be stubbornness,” I hissed, stepping into the next strike, “or rage that kills me.”
Ronan’s eyes caught mine, a guise of calm, even in the chaos. His smirk arched wickedly. “That’s exactly what I’m betting on.”
No matter how many men we cut down, more came running from the trees. Obrann must have emptied his ranks, sent every last one to drag us back.
Or to kill us.
But if he knew, if he understood, he’d never have chosen battle. Because every strike, every scream, every fall fed the fire in my veins.
The Viper and I, together for once, craved the same thing.
My body danced, a chorus made of steel, anger honing to grace. The next fool stepped into my path, sword half lifted. My dagger left my hand before he’d even blinked, splitting his skull.
He dropped like a stone.
I pressed my weight into his chest as I tore it free, savoring the sound it made against his bones. The nix sang with every attack, its own toxin sinking into flesh with the slightest scratch. Men dropped screaming, incapacitated, but it wasn’t enough.
Not for me. Not for the curse.
Even as their throats opened beneath my hand, even as their hearts stopped, I wanted more suffering. We wanted more.
Ronan’s dark form sifted to my side, reforming where he had vanished when I had gone to find the others.
Ford had still been with the girl, huddled away, pale as ash, his shield flickering. He had tried to revive his magic as much as he could, but the Bale was too close. The core was too weak.
Steel clashed as another Bright lunged from the smoke before I could find Elva or Callum. I ducked low, slashing through his gut before his blade could find my throat.
Ronan’s shadow fell across me, his sword cutting clean through the next one that came too close, blood spattering across his jaw.
“You’re bleeding,” I said, breathless, watching the hint of ruby slide down his temple.
His eyes never left the next target. “So are you,” he said.
It was easy to decipher the difference between a normal Fae’s watered-down blood, and Ronan’s that carried spice and heat.
I wasn’t sure how he could smell mine when I hadn’t been—
Oh. Damn.
My fingers traced the new cut across my chin. How did I not feel that?
Darkness stretched its spine, uncoiling in my chest as my dagger drove through another soldier’s chest seconds before his brute force rammed through me.
I glanced back at Ronan. “Save the concern for someone who needs it.”
“You pointed out my scratch.”
“Trust me,” I scoffed. “That wasn't a concern, only observation.”
He smirked, that infuriating glint catching in his eyes even as he wiped blood from his cheek. “You’re welcome to look away.”
Perfect. Now he thinks I’m staring. Which I was...like a feral idiot. I debated turning my blade to him but thought better of it.
Instead, I asked, “Where’s Elva?”
Inessa and Kanoa crashed beside us into the fray, siblings in perfect tandem, steel twining like one body, one soul. A brute’s ribcage cracked under Kanoa’s fist, another followed suit, clutching his gaping stomach from Inessa’s strike.
None of them stood a chance.
Callum was still absent. Gods, let him be with Elva. Let Wells and Nezra be with them too.
Ronan’s body barely shifted at my side as his blade rose and fell, no wasted motion. A cold shimmer hissed at the sight of him, and I cursed, too, at the gleam of sweat across his arms. At the sculpt of muscle flexing beneath his clothes.
At the way the killing wasn’t just easy for him, but how little he took from it. Just barely, his eyes lost a hint of color at every soldier he struck down.
But he kept moving, turning away the moment they fell, as if stopping would mean feeling it all.
My dagger sank into the collarbone of a round-eared male, his cry cut short as he collapsed. Pivoting, my arm bent, driving my elbow back, sending it smashing into another’s face. He stumbled, nose breaking with a wet crack.
And still, it wasn’t enough.
My arms snapped out, voice raising sharper. “Where is Elva?”
Ronan slammed his fist into a soldier’s jaw, sending him straight to the ground. “How am I supposed to know that?”
“She’s the princess!” This time, a Bright got one glimpse of my blood-streaked face and ran away himself. Ronan’s smoke didn’t let him get far. “They’re after her.”
His peer cut past me, landing on Killian as he sprinted toward us, sword spinning in his hand. “Elysian took her,” he said. “Hid her with the other pixies.”
A rush of air left my lungs. Thank the gods, thank the fates. Thank even Elysian.
My grip slackened on the dagger. “So, she’s safe?”
Killian’s nod came with the weight of his hand clamping down on my bare shoulder. I hadn’t even had time to armor myself, my skin still exposed, slick with sweat, blood, fate knows what else.
“But...” His sword tipped toward the mayhem ahead, where a tall, blond man stood, holding a pixie woman aloft by the throat. Her legs thrashed, eyes wide in terror.
My blood stilled, suspended, every vein pulled tense.
Reve.
Ronan wasted no time, wisps of black slinked from his palms, lurching across the air and twining up Reve’s arm, searing as it went.
The pixie fell, her face gone from deathly blue to flushed red, chest heaving as air rushed back in.
Twisting, Reve hissed at the burns eating into his flesh. Killian stalked closer, a devilish smile across his face, until Ronan blurred past him, both men bearing down, their steps thundering in unison.
Reve’s teeth grit, his face contorting under the pain as his gaze snapped, locking on me. He smiled, the rings around his fingers pulsing violet fire as smoke and steel closed in. When they were only a foot away, the rings flashed, and he was gone.
Not fallen or beaten. Gone.
What the fuck.
The ability to sift wasn’t granted to ordinary Fae. It belonged only to those who held the most dominant power.
And Reve, he hadn’t awakened like the rest of us. His magic was not born. It was bought, bartered, in trade for any goodness left in him. That was the only other way to harness it...
Those rings, gods, I had seen them before. On Obrann’s hand. On Perseus’s—
The puzzle slammed into place. A coven of corruption, a bargain steeped in blood and soul. One powerful enough to lend such assets.
But Deimos was still chained, bound beneath the mountain. Which meant this power had been harvested elsewhere. From the only other breed capable of weaving such diabolic magic.
It was all coming together, all starting to make sense—
“Verena—” Callum’s ragged scream cut through the thought.
I whirled, searching. Where was he?
“Behind you!” he yelled again.
Metal screeched, and I turned too slow when a soldier lunged.
But Ronan was faster.
Ash-veined air speared through the man’s chest, dropping him in a twitching heap at my feet.
His snarl burned hot against my ear. “Keep your damn wits sharp.”
I ground my teeth, slicing through the next soldier that came at me. But movement pulled my gaze to the tree line, where Reve stood in a flicker, sifting in and out. His sneer found me, eyes securing on mine before he turned, sprinting into the stone woods.
And so, my hunt began.
My breath tore, my blade slick in my hand as I rushed after him, then slowed, searching through the trees rising around me like petrified titans.
Until he appeared again, sifting right before me, that vain sneer still curling his mouth.
“How?” I asked, fury biting the edges. “Why are you so powerful?”
“Because we are not so different, you and me. I tried to show you that...” His voice dipped, oily, obscene. “But my fun was cut short.” He leaned closer, as if to savor my disgust, “Maybe next time.”
The world went red as I lunged—
And faltered.
At first, there was no pain, only confusion as I staggered, turning to the man behind me as he ripped the sword from my back.
One of his eyes was missing, the other alight with satisfaction.
I lifted my dagger, to carve out the remaining eye. Or maybe I’d tear him apart with my nails.
Before I could decide, he faded, right as the pain came.
Not Reve’s magic any longer, but a dull ache. Then fire, spreading like poison until my knees buckled. My fingers reached for the gash through my chest, my grip never quite securing as the world slipped grey at the edges.
Ronan and I were both wrong. It was my rage that would kill me after all.
I smelled him before I saw him. His dragon smoke. His fire. The veracity of his fury.
The force of him tore past me, aiming for Reve where he had reappeared at the cliff’s edge. His rings flared, a void opening before them, right in Ronan’s path.
Ronan slowed, then didn’t move at all, knuckles fisted as Reve stepped to the sift’s brim, arms casually behind his back.
“Well, well.” Reve tilted his head. “You’re not where you’re meant to be, dragon prince.
” He stopped just at the black pit. “I could have sworn the stench coming off you in the ballroom that night was disgust.” Chuckling softly, he smoothed his hair, then stretched his arm toward me where I clutched at my bleeding heart. “Go on, throw me her body, will you?”
Smoke surged at my feet in answer, swarming fast enough that Reve made an irritated click of his tongue and took two steps back.
A low, dangerous rumble carried across the realm as Ronan said, “You won’t survive the mistake of reaching for her.”
Reve’s jaw flexed. “Very well.” He nodded once. “I’ll come for her when her body cools.”
“No—” I stumbled forward, blood hot down my side, chasing the tear of power splitting the air where Reve stepped into.
His outline shimmered, provoking me and I lunged, dagger raised, only for the world to rip apart at the last possible breath.
He sifted away an instant before my blade found him, leaving nothing but a fading ripple of magic and a wink left behind like a taunt.
I pitched forward, toward the drop of the cliff.
Stone vanished under my step, and I was weightless. And then—
I was falling.