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With that knowledge tucked into my heart, I let go and surrender to the darkness.

Nothingness. That’s what death is.

Ice races through my veins as a rush of cool air brushes against my skin.

There’s a voice. Deep, smooth. And coming from somewhere inside me. It’s not begging or pleading… it’s praying. Praying for me to open my godsdamned eyes.

But Death… she’s wanted me for a very long time. Since my parents forfeited my life to her the moment they planned and forced the day of my birth two weeks too early.

A sacrifice to the Death Moon, to her.

“Oh, sweet Rory,” she croons. She’s everywhere and nowhere all at once. She is the depths of this gloom, ageless and haunting. “Clinging to life will not stop me from taking what is mine.”

But I am not hers. I am his. I am⁠—

Sweetness spills through my lips, pours across my tongue.

Wake, Rory, and allow me to bare my soul to you.

She’s chasing away his words as she slithers along my scalp and down my spine.

Allow me to tell you how utterly transfixed I am by you.

Her taunting clings to my hair like smoke.

Allow me to tell you how thoroughly you’ve possessed me.

She cackles, and it reverberates like lightning along my bones.

Allow me to show you how much I love you.

“Love will not save you,” she hisses. “How many times do you and your mate honestly believe you can cheat me?”

There’s a spark of light somewhere in the distance. A drop of indigo in a sea of ink.

“Just once more,” I growl as I dig my nails into the veil of darkness and tear.

I startle awake.

The darkness is gone, replaced by flickering candlelight. The calming scent of night-blooming jasmine is thick in the air, overpowering the tang of blood—both mortal and creature. I listen for the quiet murmur of the others, but there’s only Quill. He kneels over me, rocking back and forth, his eyes screwed shut and his lips moving in silent prayer.

Or promise.

He’s still dressed in that dreadful crimson guard uniform, but the collar is shredded and so are the sleeves, as if he tore them in a frenzy. I, on the other hand, am thoroughly disrobed, save for the scrap of lace covering my privates. My stomach… It’s scarred. Not brutally, but certainly not prettily. It’s a slash of silver glittering against my snow-white skin.

I sit up, and his eyes snap open.

“Oh, thank fuck.” Relief passes along his heart-healing features. “You were so still, I thought… I thought⁠—”

I smile wryly. “Death will have to try a lot harder if she wants any chance of keeping me from you.”

Blood flakes from his forehead as he lifts it in interest. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.”

My lips are coated with his sticky, sweet blood, and I can’t stop myself from groaning as I lick them clean. He tracks the movement.

His gaze flicks to the scar on my belly. “You healed well, tiny monster.”