Let it go. Keep it with him. Let it go. Keep it with him.
Fuck.
Stay. Stay. Stay.
Pitch panted through the scorching heat, searching for hint of the hesitation he’d felt earlier. The beast’s yearning to do as he bid. That moment when he and the wildness had not been adversaries but part of the same whole.
Stay. Stay.
The sorcerers were relentless, never missing a beat with their chant. Those unholy words showed the wildness the way out of the abyss.
Stay.
But the connection was gone.
Pitch faltered.
This was hopeless.
This theft was happening.
He’d once thought himself magnificent, a prince with no equal, a mighty creature of destruction.
But it was he who was being destroyed. By schemes and intentions beyond his own making.
So why could he not just let it go?
Let the angels take their prize.
Let this be over.
The wildness was just beneath the surface, having consumed a path through Pitch as it rose. He was an absolute maelstrom within, whipped into a frenzy by maleficium and angels and the beast that sought to leave him. The roar in his ears grew louder.
Pitch’s sob caught at the back of his throat. This was too much.
Don’t you dare give up, do you hear me?
But surely Silas would understand, if he gave in, and ended this fight?
The ankou did not wish him to be in pain. Well, Pitch was riddled with it now. And all he had to do was let down the very last of his defences, the ones the wildness and the magick were likely to destroy anyway, and there’d be no more agony. No more chance to destroy the halo either, but that would not matter.
Not for him.
But for the ankou? Silas’s dead would suffer forever more with the Blight. And the oaf himself? Would he truly mourn a daemon’s loss, shed tears where others declared good riddance?
I will find you.
Silas had said it twice. Making sure he was heard.
The wildness slashed at him, a viscous strike that left Pitch’s already fragile hold utterly tenuous. There were no words to describe how much having the wildness stolen from himhurt.
Yet, despite that, despite how very easy it would be to give up, how could he dare?
Stay.Pitch drew on a desperately low reserve of strength.Listen to me. Stay, you fucking cretin. I am not your enemy.
A venomous spasm gripped him. He thought for one vile moment he was going to shit himself. His innards punching at his arsehole in the hope they might escape the turmoil within. Why not add insult to injury? It was that kind of fucking day.
Fingers closed around Pitch’s jaw.
