Page 157 of Their Wicked Cage

“You are an arrogant fool,” Rory chides.

“It was my best hope of finding Gwyn.”

“This can go one of two ways, Riven.” Her eyes flash. “One: I turn you⁠—”

“No—” He coughs again. “Not an option.”

“Fine,” she says. “If you won’t let me change you, then you’ll have to face Death. And win.”

His gaze finds mine, eyes full of ache and unspoken longings. “Little witch, I lo⁠—”

“No.” I kiss him before he can finish. He whimpers. I pull back, cupping his face. “You can tell me all your sweet nothings after I resurrect you, grandsire. Not a moment before.”

“Gwyn, we’re⁠—”

His final breath hitches, spraying droplets of blood across my cheek.

His eyes go vacant.

His heart stops.

I feel it before I hear it. Because everything within me stops with it.

All thoughts. All feelings.

I cradle his face and kiss the unspoken word from his lips. Arkyn and Carver help ease him from my lap, gently carrying him over to the Viretree.

I withdraw into myself.

No thoughts. No feelings.

Just the bloodied blade in my hand as I rise and cross the clearing to where Quill pins Lord Devlin down. The lord’s eyes widen at my approach. They’re the same color as Riven’s, only darker. Like the deepest part of the ocean—lightless and deadly.

“I felt it,” I whisper, trading places with Quill and climbing on top of Devlin. “Did you? When you killed Eliana?”

His breath catches.

“You told her she was your life, your soul, the reason why you breathe.” I hold his gaze. “That sounds a lot like a mate to me.”