Gray, decomposing flesh.
The smell hits me then—putrid, overwhelming, making my stomach heave.
I scream. Can’t help it. Can’t stop it. The sound erupts from my throat as I stumble backward, staring at the decaying tissue clinging to my claws.
“What the fuck?” Astra gasps, backing away. Her face is pale, her eyes wide with horror. “What is that? His flesh—it’s rotting!”
Zane’s face is mutilated now where I tore into it. But there’s no blood. Just more of that gray, dead meat. And underneath—something worse. Something that looks like evil incarnate.
His eyes burn with rage.
“You’ll pay for that,” he snarls, and suddenly, he comes at us.
He attacks like a force of nature. I barely dodge the first strike, his claws whistling past my face. Astra grabs a chair and swings it with all her strength.
It connects with his ribs with a satisfying crack, but he doesn’t even flinch.
I go for his neck this time, aiming to use his own momentum against him. But he’s already moving, already anticipating. He twists away from my claws, and his hand shoots out, catching me by the throat.
The impact when he slams me into the wall drives the air from my lungs. Stars explode across my vision. His claws dig into my skin—cold, so cold—and I can smell that deathly rot on him, can see the fury in those burning eyes.
“You’re mine,” he hisses, drawing back his other hand, claws extended.
But just then, the door explodes inward.
Seth.
He crashes into Zane like a battering ram, forcing him off me. I hit the floor, gasping, my hand flying to my throat. The mate bond blazes between us—Seth’s rage, his terror, his overwhelming need to protect me—and it steadies me even as I struggle to breathe.
He and Zane are a blur of violence now. Fists and claws and snarling fury. Seth fights like a thing possessed, every movement precise and brutal.
Lucian appears in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room until they land on Astra. In three strides he’s there, pulling her into his arms and then pushing her behind him with one hand splayed protectively across her belly.
“Are you hurt?” His voice is rough with concern.
“I’m fine, I’m—”
Kieran enters last, then stops. His hand moves to cover his nose, his expression darkening. “Where’s the necromancer?”
“Are you blind?” Seth growls, landing a vicious blow to Zane’s jaw. “He’s right fucking here!”
Kieran’s eyes narrow, studying Zane with cold assessment. “No. That’s the undead. The body is dead.”
The words hit me like aphysical blow.
Dead? Zane is dead? But he’s moving. Fighting. Talking. How can he be—
“What?” I croak, finally finding my voice.
“That’s a corpse,” Kieran says quietly, his tone flat. “Animated by dark magic. A necromancer’s puppet. And from the stench of him, he has been that way for more than a year.”
Chapter Seventeen
Seth
The realization throwsme for a loop. “He’s a puppet, too?”
The sound that comes out of Zane isn’t his laugh. It’s too hollow, too sharp—like something else is wearing his voice, but it’s not fitting right.
