“I love you,” he says, then smashes his palm into the glowing snow. It surges bright, and suddenly Zorakkov bursts into flames on top of me.
I shove the burning carcass away and jump to my feet, and a dark entity explodes from his mouth like a plume of thick, oily smoke. It spirals and swirls above us, then dives straight into Brian’s mouth.
He howls in pain, but reins it in fast, his lips moving in yet another spell as he struggles to maintain control of his body—a battle of wills between his humanity and the demon prince now possessing him.
All around us, the demonic army drops from the sky, their bodies exploding into ash and smoke when they hit the ground.
I haul Eloise off of West and pin her arms behind her back, forcing her to her knees. My witchling runs straight for her father.
He’s on his knees too, black blood leaking from his eyes, the glow from his spell finally fading.
“What’s happening to you?” West whispers, kneeling before him and reaching for his wounded hand. “What is this magic?”
“It’s a containment spell,” Tatiana says, joining us with the other witches. Rook and Jude are back too, helping a stunned but unharmed Draegan to his feet.
“Containment for what?” West asks. The heartbreak in her voice nearly guts me.
“Your father summoned Zorakkov from his broken vessel,” Tatiana says, “allowing the demon prince to possess him instead. Then, he trapped him there. When your father passes, Zorakkov will be no more.”
“Oh, goddess.” West closes her eyes, tears streaking her dirt-smudged cheeks.
Brian coughs, black blood spilling from his lips. His eyes flash red, his neck snapping back at an unnatural angle.
And then, with a final wheezing breath, he’s gone.
“He saved our lives,” I say softly, because that’s the simple truth of it.
“What a hero,” Eloise sneers. “You know, Westlyn, you’ve only yourself to blame. If you’d stuck to the plan, this—”
Her words choke off as I wrap a hand around her throat and haul her up off the ground.
“You willnotspeak to her again,” I seethe. “Ever.”
I toss her to the ground face first, then kick her over onto her back. “If you’d like to use your shadow magic to make an escape, now’s the time.”
She covers her head, begging me to let her be.
No more mojo, then. Good.
Beside us, West rises from her father’s broken body, as silent and graceful as a dancer. When she meets my gaze, her eyes flash with silver.
With vengeance.
With death.
“Are you… are you going to kill me?” Eloise gasps, blinking up at me with wide, terrified eyes.
“No,” I say, knowing it’s not my place. Then, leaning down with a fanged grin straight out of the Jude Hendrix Playbook for Psychopaths, barely resisting the urge to tear into her fleshy throat, I say softly, “That honor belongs to your stepdaughter.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
WESTLYN
Shock and adrenaline and magic course through my veins, my whole body buzzing and electric, but I’m grateful for it. I’m fucking grateful for this power, this rage, this grief.
This darkness.
“Y-you don’t have to do this, Westlyn,” Eloise whimpers. We’ve got her locked in a pillory in the town square, head and hands sticking out of the holes, her back bent at a painful angle, feet bound together.
