“No, Father,” I whisper, my lips brushing Verrick’s ear. “All of it will bemine.”
The pride in his eyes falls away, replaced in a heartbeat with pure, uncut rage.
“Donotpresume to claim the power that my blood has bestowed upon you. I am your—”
“You have no claim on me, monster!” I roar, slamming my palms into his chest. A burst of wild, indigo magic explodes from my very soul, the force of it sending him flying into the nearest pew. The wood splinters beneath him, and the floor cracks, a deep rumble shaking the cathedral.
Indigo and silver light bursts out of the cracks in the floor, blinding me, a shocking pain splitting my skull.
The cathedral groans, timber beams cracking. A chandelier crashes to the ground, then another. Windows shatter overhead, and the side wall crumbles. I have just enough awareness to drop and roll under a pew before a thousand stained-glass shards fall to the floor in a deadly rain, slicing through the demon army.
Chaos erupts as the legions scatter, slipping on blood and gore, choked by the dust of the falling walls. Zorakkov and the Forsythes run into the fray in a vain attempt to corral the demons, but the Archmage and his family have no power over my dark army.
I glance over at the broken pew where Verrick landed, but he’s gone. I can’t find Eloise or Brian, either, but that doesn’t matter now.
Out. I need to get the fuck out.
But glass continues to rain down, the remaining chandeliers swinging precariously overhead. Candles fall, flames igniting wooden beams. Black robes catch and burn.
I’m about to make a run for it, take my chances in the chaos, when I spot a familiar shadow sweeping over me.
Wings.
Seconds later, strong arms haul me out from under the pew and pull me against a muscled chest, those beautiful, impenetrable wings arcing over us, shielding us from the falling debris.
“Hang on, witchling,” a deep voice growls in my ear. “You fucking hang on.”
Augustine.
The feel of him, the warmth, the solid arms around me… All of it brings me back to myself. Back to him.
The runes on my skin fade, but the magic inside me crackles as hot as the burning cathedral.
I catch sight of the other gargoyles in my periphery—Rook heading for the Archmage, Draegan going after Celine. Magic and violence clash, blood spilling, wood cracking all around us.
I find Jude just in time to see him tear out the heart of one of the robed demon-mages.
And there, right behind him, the awkward gait of the black-eyed demon prince.
“Put me down,” I demand.
“No can do,” Augustine says. “We’re leaving. Now.”
“No! I’m not leaving here like this. Not while Verrick and Zorakkov still breathe.”
Auggie sighs, almost as if he’s… disappointed?
That makes no sense.
“Auggie, what are you doing? Put me down! I’m serious!” I struggle against his hold, but he doesn’t budge.
“Witchling, you can hate me for this all you want, but I can’t let you do this. You’re not yourself right now. It’s the demon bond. It’s forcing you to obey him, and—”
“Obeyhim?” I laugh. “Augs. Look at me.”
He meets my gaze, scrutinizing me.
“I’m ready to fuckingdestroyhim,” I grit out, magic pulsing in my hands. “Verrick too, along with all these demons and anyone else in on this sick, fucked up game. So either put me down and help me, or I’ll putyoudown with a spell that’ll knock you so hard on your ass, you’ll turn back into a human.”
