Page 195 of A Courage of the Chosen

Even with the Craobh plummeting into Elfayne’s magic to provide me with everything I need, the move to shift the Dorche at once has cost me. It’s worth the price, to see the shock swelling through their advance in the form of halted steps, wide eyes, and lowering weapons.

Now you see that you cannot win, I think, and deal the killing blow. For the first time in my existence, I don’t fight the beast. I land on feet that are now paws, longer than they used to be, and my horse is led away as the specially crafted armor molds to the new shape that my body morphs into.

“Kill them all, but the light wielder is mine.” I issue the instruction down ninety thousand threads at the same time. Inch by inch, the transformation rolls over me, and the Brollachan by my side shrink as my height more than doubles.

They rush down to the faltering lines of the royal army in a tide of invincible Dorche power.

The Craobh throbs and vibrates as I give myself over completely to the thing beneath my skin that’s neither beast nor Brollachan, but somewhere in between, and entirely honed on one person.

Dark magic surges through my body, and what Aotrom mist I possess cowers away in the recesses of my mind. It fought resolutely to maintain me for a long time, but it couldn’t restrain this part of me forever.

It bought me time to understand what this side of my magic could do. Showed me how absolute power came from the push and pull of life and death, light and dark.

The clock has finally stuck midnight.

Father was convinced his stolen magic was the weapon he needed, and it turned him into a monster, barely holding onto his sanity. In his madness, he carved the deadliest weapon of them all.

Me.

Each ‘lesson’, every punishment, every manipulation, led to this moment, where the world would bow at my feet.

He was too blind to see it. So overcome with the sense of injustice at the power the light wielders possessed that he only sought to be more. He didn’t care what it took to get it. He wanted absolute control over Seelie.

When he discovered a half-destroyed tome forgotten to time, it spoke of an ancient power surpassing that of the light bearers, and from that point on, it was all he cared about.

The book didn’t say what this power was, or where it could be found, but he didn’t stop. He plotted and schemed. Took a wife, in the hopes she would bear him a light-wielding child, a backup plan, so that he could rival Murdoch and the Darrows for the throne while he deployed his resources to find this power.

And look where his efforts got him. Killed on the roadside like vermin, in a blind mission to end light wielders and usher in an age of darkness.

But I understood. I always understood.

Both have to exist.

Balance is the key.

Elsie refused me her power, her soul, and her love.

Yet there’s another that can give me what I need, and I’ll take great pleasure in ripping the light from someone so . . . undeserving.

Callahan has never felt like family. Certainly not after he took what didn’t belong to him. The only family I ever really had died at my own hand when I was a boy. Ending him won’t cause me any pain, like it did my mother.

His gray eyes are fixed on me as I cut a path through the Brollachan, now tearing into the army that stand in the way of absolute sovereignty.

Elsie’s soldiers fight valiantly, deploying their flame creeper weapons and creations that only slow my forces down a fraction. They’re no match for us now, and before long, the bodies pile higher.

It’s a masterpiece, and while they refuse to accept me as their king, I’m more than happy to let their lives come to such a savage end.

Blood carves rivulets down the grass, trickling between the pads of my paws as I stalk closer to my target.

Callahan steps in my direction, chin held high, a defiant snarl on his red-spattered mouth.

It makes me laugh. “So eager for death? What would Elsie think of becoming a widow so soon?”

“Speak my wife’s name again,” he growls. “I dare you.”

I chuckle long and deep. “Possessive, much?”

We come to a stop with ten feet between us, chaos unfolding every way I turn. Metal tears through flesh and talons rip into bone. Blood scents the air, and the symphony of death is louder than I’ve ever heard it.