The rain drizzles down, soaking everything around us as I glance at Drew and Daleyza.
“I want you two in the house.”
Drew immediately protests, stepping toward me. “I think the fuck not. We’re here to protect you.”
“I’ll feel better knowing you're both hidden inside,” I insist. Daleyza gives me a small, understanding glance, but Drew isn’t having any of it.
“No. I’m not leaving you.”
My heart is pounding; the thought of him or his sister getting hurt because of me kills me.
“We don’t have time for this, Drew.” I snap.
A shout rips through the air, and my head snaps toward the sound. There, in the distance, they stand—Vespera and her guards, the Veilguard, flanking her with deadly precision. Ronan, Malrik, and Kieran are caught in the centre, bracing themselves.
I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering, and I quickly turned back to Drew and Daleyza. “Get in the house,” I whisper, my voice tight with urgency.
This time, they move without protest, slipping inside with careful, silent steps, their eyes darting to me one last time before disappearing. I exhale, the storm of fear and determination winding tighter inside me, knowing the real fight is just beginning.
I lower myself onto the ground, settling inside the circle, the bowl and dagger poised before me.
More keep appearing, flooding the clearing, and panic rushes through me. There’s no way they can win—not like this. It’s impossible.
I can’t hear them over the pounding of my heart, but I can see every shadowed movement in the darkness. A part of me wants to give up, to throw myself into the fight, to destroy them all before they can touch the people I love. But then I see him.
Darian.
He steps forward from the crowd, every movement too measured. The boy I love, but not him—never him, not like this. The darkness has hollowed him out, wrapped around him like shackles, and I feel it even from here, pressing into my ribs, suffocating me. But the shadows clinging to him… they terrify me. That kind of power—so unnatural—is supposed to only belong to shadow demons. Yet it’s here, entwined with him, feeding our connection in ways I hadn’t anticipated. I can feel it tugging at him, twisting him, something she never saw coming—and I need to save him more than ever.
The bond is pulling, begging me to run to him—but he stands at Vesperas' side, eyes empty, and I know. I cannot let this end with him lost to her.
So, I close my eyes and turn inward.
My magic surges up like a storm breaking its cage, searing through my veins, sparking under my skin, aching to be unleashed. I press my fingers harder into the dagger, my other hand sinking into the blood. Heat flares immediately, crawling up my arm as my blood hisses against the blade, light spilling from the contact like liquid fire.
The circle awakens.
The ground beneath me trembles as ancient runes flare to life, cut into the earth by forces older than memory. A low vibration hums through the air, the storm above answering my call—clouds splitting open, lightning flashing overhead. The rain falls harder, soaking into the earth, steam rising where it touches the circles' glowing lines.
I whisper the incantation, ancient words spilling like venom off my tongue, and my magic obeys, the storm above groaning in response. But the moment the circle surges with a bright light, I hear it. The clashing of steel. The unmistakable sound of war breaking loose.
My eyes snap open.
Ronan is a whirlwind of fury, his blade flashing like lightning, cutting down three of the Veilguard in one. Sparks fly as steel collides, his teeth bared in a snarl, every strike a release of unyielding rage. Kieran moves with brutal precision—calm, ruthless—his sword slicing through a soldier’s throat, dark blood spraying across the soaked mud.
And then there’s Malrik.
He doesn’t fight like them. He tears through them with his bare hands, ripping two hearts out so fast their bodies are still standing when he drops the pulsing remains at his feet. The others rush him, brave or foolish, but they don’t even touch him. His eyes glow like embers as his power explodes outward, and the guards freeze mid-charge—screaming, scratching at their faces as blood pours from their eyes, their noses, their mouths. One by one, they collapse in twitching heaps, silence following them.
But they don’t stop coming. More and more of the Veilguard surge forward, endless as a tide, their blades flashing in the storm light. And still, Vespera doesn’t lift a finger. She just stands there—smiling—as though the slaughter unfolding before her is nothing more than a game.
Beside her, Darian scans through the chaos, searching, hunting—for me. The pull between us is painful, and I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from breaking the ritual.
I know what she’s doing. She isn’t trying to kill them. Not yet. No, Vespera is far crueller than that. She’s wearing them down, bleeding them of their strength, forcing them to fight until exhaustion takes hold of them.
And I—gods help me—I can’t do a single thing to stop it.
Chapter 40
