That’s not good.
I see Mal notice too. His grip on me tightens infinitesimally. But we can’t stop. The dance must be completed.
We move into the third section—the most physically and emotionally demanding portion. The surrender to each other. Almost there. The music reaches its crescendo.
And Azrael acts.
It happens so fast that my conscious mind barely registers it. One moment I’m descending from a lift, Mal’s hands steady on my waist. The next, the temperature in the theater plummets by fifty degrees, and the audience gasps. The music abruptly cuts off. The stage lights flicker and die, plunging the theater into darkness broken only by the ruby glow of Mal’s bracelet and the silver gleam of Azrael’s eyes.
“Did you really think I would let you succeed?”
Azrael’s voice fills the space, not amplified, but somehow present everywhere at once. It drips with contempt.
“Three hundred years, Malachi. Three hundred years of your pathetic attempts to escape. And you thoughtthis”—the word curls with disgust—”this human woman would be enough to break my hold on you?”
Mal steps in front of me. His glamour is slipping, horns emerging from his dark hair, eyes blazing full crimson.
“The contract is complete, Azrael. The bracelet?—”
“The bracelet is irrelevant.” Azrael strides down the center aisle, and with each step, the pressure in the room increases. “The Dance of Accord requires completion. And you, my bound servant, have not completed it.”
He’s right.
The realization hits me like a physical blow. We were in the final section, yes. So close. But the dance wasn’t finished. We didn’t reach the last measures of the music, the closing embrace that would seal the contract’s dissolution.
“This is a violation of ancient law,” Mal growls. “The Dance of Accord is protected?—”
“Protected from interference during its performance, yes.” Azrael smiles. It’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen. “But you stopped performing, didn’t you? When the lights died, when the magic faltered... you stopped. And a paused dance is not a protected dance.”
Loophole.
He found a loophole.
“Let me explain what happens now.” Azrael reaches the edge of the stage and stops, his silver eyes fixed on Mal. “In approximately thirty seconds, I’m going to invoke the emergency termination clause in your contract. The one that activates if a third party attempts to fraudulently manipulate the conditions of release.”
“She didn’t?—”
“Did she know about the contract before the final invitation?” Azrael’s smile widens. “Did she know that her words, her choices, her precious feelings were being used as instruments of your escape?”
“I told her everything!”
“Everything?” Azrael tilts his head. “Did you tell her about the consequences if you failed? The specific nature of your eternal servitude? Or did you protect her from that knowledge to ensure her feelings remained... pure?”
The silence is damning.
Because he’s right. Mal didn’t tell me all of it. He gave me the broad strokes—the contract, the invitations, the dance—but he softened the edges. He didn’t want me to choose him out of pity or desperation. He wanted me to choose him because I wanted to.
It was thoughtful. It was protective. It was kind.
And Azrael is going to use it to destroy us.
“The termination clause gives me a choice,” Azrael continues. “One of you, or both of you. Either I reclaim my property”—he gestures at Mal—”or I claim a new asset as compensation for the attempted manipulation.”
His silver gaze slides to me.
“You.”
No.
