Kieran’s gaze sharpened on me, his body stiffening. “I’m guessing it’s you.”
“Yes. I need the dagger, my blood, and a few other things Malrik can get from his… collections. Then I can do it. I just need Darian.”
I left out a critical detail, but they can’t know.
“Sounds simple enough,” Ronan said aloud.
Drew raised a hand, like a kid in class. “Question. If we need Darian, then wherever he goes, the bitch goes. That means the Veilguard. How the fuck do the four of us —”
“Four?” Kieran cuts in dryly because Drew wasn’t trained to kill like they were, and Daleyza can't get involved.
“Fine. Three of you, then,” Drew corrected with a sigh. “Because little red will be busy doing this ritual, but she will need protection.”
He makes a good point.
As they spoke among themselves, Ronan’s and Malriks' hands still lingering on me, I stole a glance at Daleyza. Her eyes were heavy with sadness—she had seen everything I had. When I focused, I could feel the weight of her knowing. She understood what I had to do. What needed to be done to save Darian.
And that meant everything my mother sacrificed, every battle she fought to keep me safe—it might all be for nothing.
But I’d do anything for them. Even if it meant stepping into the darkness, I’d spent my whole life running from it. Even if it meant facing the monster I’ve always run from.
Because some debts are paid in blood—and love.
Chapter 38
DARIAN
“I’ll only ask this once,” I say, my voice low and edged with the kind of promise that leaves no room for misunderstanding. “Fail me, and you won’t like what comes next.”
The vampire is chained to the stone wall, the metal biting into its flesh. Behind me, the dungeon floor is slick with blood, bodies stacked in a messy heap—every one of them a failed answer to my question. My gloves are soaked through, warm with gore, the air thick with copper and rot.
“What does King Draeven want from the witch?”
It just stares at me, those cursed red eyes locked onto mine, the veins in its face bulging, lips peeling back to bare teeth.
Fucking defiant.
A slow, inhuman chuckle slips from my chest—low, dark, and not entirely my own. The shadows answer the sound, curling out from me like living smoke, thick and oppressive, the darkness inside me stretching eagerly toward its prey.
I close the distance in a breath, my gloved hand clamping around its throat, squeezing until the chains rattle. “I am not in the mood to be patient. So, speak, or I’ll make what’s left of you wish it had rotted in the sun.”
Kill. Kill. Kill.
It still refused. And I’d had enough.
Enough of the same question. Enough of the same silence. Enough of dancing to Vesperas' tune like some obedient hound on a leash.
But I asked anyway—because I had to. Because her orders lived in my bones now, crawling under my skin, whispering until I obeyed. No matter how much I wanted to stop, I couldn’t. Control was slipping. Piece by piece, ever since the day I gave up my family. The day I gave up on her.
A low growl tore from my throat, the sound raw and feral. My shadows slithered down my arm, wrapping tight around his neck, merging with the grip of my hand until they sank deep into flesh. The resistance was brief—then the tearing began.
His eyes bulged, blood welling and spilling as the shadows twisted, severing muscle, tendon, bone. I felt the final give, the last snap, and his head came free in my grasp.
It hit the ground with a wet thud, arterial spray painting my face in hot crimson.
For a moment, I wanted to rip my skin off—scrub until there was nothing left but raw flesh. But the other part of me—the part that had been growing ever since I lost her—didn’t want to clean it off at all.
I loved it. Hungered for more.
