“You think this changes anything?” she sneers, circling me like a predator. “Even if you kill me, the Paragons of Prosperity will persevere! The system I built is bigger than one person. I am eternal!”
What she is, is fucking deranged. I don’t think I’ve ever truly grasped how fucked up Aria actually is. Her hold on reality is feeble, at best. She’s one second away from losing it completely and descending into complete and utter madness.
I push myself up, a grin spreading across my face, a feral, broken thing. “Not if I take control,” I pant, wiping a smear of blood from my lip. “They all see me as your daughter. Your chosen one. A motherfucking goddess. They’ll listen to me.” I laugh, and the sound is hollow and full of promise. “I’ll take your precious legacy, and I will burn it to the ground. I will ruineverythingyou worked for.”
Her face contorts with pure, unadulterated rage. The mask of The Divine One is gone forever, replaced by the spitting, vengeful woman beneath.
My mother.
She roars and charges me.
That’s when I hear it. Behind me, the sound of masculine shouts, of impact, of pain. My men. They’re here.
Aria sees the flicker of hope in my eyes, and her own widen in manic fury. She pulls a thin, stiletto-like blade from a sheath on her thigh. With a speed that belies her age, she lunges.
Pain, white-hot and searing, explodes in my lower stomach. I gasp, my vision swimming as I look down and see the hilt of her knife protruding from my stomach. My knees buckle, but I don’t fall. Not yet.
She leans in, her face a mask of triumph, her lips brushing my ear. “I win.”
“No,” I choke out, raising my own hand. In it, my bedazzled dagger, still slick with the blood of her men, is steady. “I do.”
With the last of my strength, I drive the blade upward, sinking it deep into the soft flesh of her neck.
Her eyes go wide. A gurgling sound escapes her lips, a bubble of blood bursting from them. She stumbles back, her hands flying to her throat, her expression one of utter, shocked betrayal.
The world tilts. The pain in my stomach is a fire consuming me whole. I hear my name being shouted—Ryker, Landon, Beckett, Zane, Dominic.
A chorus of my men.
Wait…
Ryker and Landon?
They’re here?
Am I dead? Dreaming?
Are they alive?
A corrosive combination of hope and despair sweeps through me.
Hope…because they’re alive. They’re fuckingalive.
Despair…because I won’t be for much longer.
Aria falls to her knees, then slumps forward onto the marble, her throne of bones watching over her still form.
I try to stand, to take a step, to go to my men, the loves of my life, but my legs won’t hold me. I only manage to clumsily climb to my knees.
The marble rushes up to meet me, and then there is only darkness.
41
DOMINIC
The hospital room is too small for all of us and the weight of what happened. It smells of antiseptic and stale coffee, a scent I’ll forever associate with the worst night of my life. Beckett is slumped in a chair, his head in his hands, while Zane paces a tight, restless circle by the window. Ryker stands guard by the door, a silent, menacing statue, and Landon… Landon is a coiled spring of rage sitting in the chair closest to her bed.
Ellie looks small, broken. Her face is a mosaic of purple and blue bruises, a bandage wrapped around her head, and the stark white of the hospital blanket does nothing to hide the massive, thick bandaging wrapped around her midsection. The one covering the wound Aria gave her. The one that almost took her from us.
