Reeve smiled at her. All teeth and pride.
Her eyes flared with Magic, ruthless and reckless as she said. “So, I’m going to take control now.”
She pulled the Dread Dagger from its concealment on her body and sliced across her palm, offering her blood in exchange for guidance. And oh, did it guide her.
Her left hand surged with Dread Magic, but not just any Dread Magic: Mal’s Dread Magic. Every drop, every molecule of it buried within the Dread Ring was hers to command, hers to absorb. And she did. She took it all.
With it, she placed her hand on Reeve’s arm, and Obscured, Dread Magic at her disposal at last. The floor fell from beneath them, and they twisted together, landing a moment later beneath the white trees of the temple that sat high in the Dark Peaks.
Sanctum. The highest point on the planet. Maeve had been to the temple before, when she’d begged Reeve to allow her to bringMal to Aterna. She’d been so angry at him for his denial, but she knew now it wouldn’t have mattered.
Mal could only be saved by her. Not Magical waters or hands of healers. And saved was a generous term.
She wouldn’t let him die alone.
The temple had not changed. Three pale trees, their bark nearly white, twisted together, their limbs becoming one. Save for the gentle sound of trickling water from the small flow of a clear stream that snaked its way beneath the trees, Sanctum was silent.
She gripped the fabric of his shirt and brought him close. And though the almighty Reeve of Aterna towered over her and easily overpowered her, he fell to his knees willingly. His hands found her hips, and his fierce heartbeat pounded in her ears. So loud.
The face of a man welcoming death evoked something intrinsic. What irony. To be so full of life, at the door of death.
“Maeve—” he began.
But his words were cut short. She wouldn’t let him utter goodbyes when they were meaningless, when she had no intention of hearing final confessions of adoration. She was immortal now, just as he was.
And she would make sure he spent eternity telling her just how beloved she was.
Magic erupted from Maeve, mighty and paramount. Bright-white light radiated from the single finger she pressed into Reeve’s chest. He barely had time to register his shock as his firelight eyes collapsed into darkness, and the spell took hold. His hands slid from her hips.
The blood still dripping from her palm aided her, nurturing and encouraging her Shadow Magic to its full potential as she drained Aterna Magic from Reeve. It was nothing like Dread or Shadow. It was pure, untainted, and holy. It filled her body. Then again. Then again. When she was certain she’d overflow with it, it continued to amplify, merging with her blood.
There was nothing painful about it. No scraping hands, or piercing fangs.
Just. . .warm Magic.
She tugged on her bond with Reeve, feeling for how much Aterna Magic he still held. Soon, she’d stop and leave him with plenty.
When at last the scales tipped, and then tipped further, she severed the drain.
Reeve’s eyes flooded with color, wide and locked with hers.
Divine violence.
That’s what Maeve felt with the god’s power running through her. Remade and forged of something completely and effortlessly bound to her. It sat at the ready. No bargain or price need be paid. It sat sweetly beneath her skin, ready to be commanded.
She brushed her fingers beneath his chin, feeling his racing pulse.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
Reeve’s mouth fell open. She couldn’t recall ever having seen pure shock on the High Lord of Aterna.
“Am I alri—” stammered Reeve. “Are you?” he asked incredulously.
She beamed. “I am a star reborn,” said Maeve, as she took his face in her hands.
It wasn’t a far distance to close, even on his knees, and he was ready for her as she pressed her lips to his. The kiss was delicate, cherished. He smiled at her as she pulled away.
“How did you do that?”
