I’ve come to take back what is rightfully mine.
She’d never heard such vengeance in his voice…had never even known he was capable of it. But there was no denying what she had seen with her own eyes.
August has ripped his humanity out of his soul.
The thought alone was enough to eviscerate the last shred of energy Wren had left, and soon she found herself slumping down onto her bed, the exhaustion of the day settling upon her bones. She blew out the candle at her bedside table, crawling under the sheets. It wasn’t just the emotional toll of seeing August again. The torture sessions had left her feeling carved out and hollow. Itwas violating, being forced to relive her death over and over, being compelled to witness her sister’s untimely end without reprieve. Her mind felt unsteady. As though it were on the brink of shattering into a thousand infinitesimal pieces, and all Wren could do was sit back and watch.
If only she had her magic.
Ever since Edith had stripped Wren of her magic, a persistent ache had lingered in her chest, as though a vital organ had been cut out. She had grown to find comfort in her magic. A source of joy in the bleak existence she’d been handed.
Without her magic…she had nothing.
Shewasnothing.
Wren had begun to close her eyes and drift into the inviting oblivion of sleep when a rustle echoed at the tent’s entrance. Her eyes shot open. She sat up, scanning her surroundings, but all she saw was darkness.
Instinctively, she lifted her hand as if to summon a shard of light, cursing under her breath when nothing happened.Right. No magic.She blinked twice, attempting to adjust her vision to the dimness of the room.
“Is someone there?” Wren called out.
But the only response was a thick silence.
Despite the stillness that lingered, Wren couldn’t shake the feeling that she was no longer alone. Somebody was watching her. She felt a presence in the darkness. A heaviness that wasn’t there before.
Weapon, Wren thought, panicked.You need a weapon.
But what could she use? She didn’t have magic, and her trusty dagger had been taken from her upon her arrival at the encampment. All she had was this bed and these sheets and a damn nightstand—
Wren muffled a gasp.
Of course.
She quickly reached her hand out, blindly searching the top of the nightstand, until she felt the sharp metal edge of the candleholder resting upon the surface. She flinched as the recently melted wax stung the tips of her fingers, and let the candle topple to the floor, though she kept a firm grip on the heavy metal holder.
Slowly, Wren slid out of bed. Her chest rose and fell with panicked breaths.
“Whoever you are…you shouldn’t be here. Edith wouldn’t be happy to know you messed with her favorite new toy.”
Wren held her breath. She waited for a response.
At first…there was nothing. Only that weighted, tangible silence.
But then came a noise. A deep rumble.
Laughter.
Before Wren could process what was happening, a bright glowing light appeared a few feet in front of her, revealing a set of silver eyes staring back at her.
Augustine Hughes had one hand lifted between them, a swirling vortex of flames hovering in his palm. The other hand was firmly shoved into the pocket of his black trousers, a casual arrogance in his stance.
“You’re right,” August mused. The right corner of his mouth lifted a fraction. “She’s never been fond of sharing.”
Wren’s response was instinctual. She lifted the candleholder higher, tightening her grip, though she didn’t strike. Not yet.
If August was at all concerned with the blunt metal object, he didn’t show it. He simply dragged his smoke-filled eyes up toward the holder before sliding them back down onto Wren’s face.
He lifted a brow. “And what, exactly, do you intend to do withthat?”
