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And now I have to add that delightful thought to the mess that’s my poor brain right now.
Focus, Riley. You’re only gonna get one shot at this.
This time, when I stumble, it’s completely on purpose. I fall forward, cushioning my knees by landing on one and bending the other, my hands grabbing for the grass as I topple over.
My heart is thumping wildly. There’s a lump in my throat that I can’t get past. I want to hurl, but I’m already committed to this reckless, stupid plan. Closing my fingers around the handle, I ready myself.
Rys is leaning down, his hand outstretched. It looks like he’s just trying to offering to help me up.
No, thanks.
“I think,” I begin, tightening my grasp, ready to spring up. “I think I’ll take my chances.”
Know what? The Light Fae has never given me enough credit. Because of my human side, Rys has always underestimated me. That was his mistake. Just like the time in the mausoleum, I have to use whatever advantage I can get.
Right now, this heavy shovel is all I’ve got.
He’s not expecting me to lunge toward him. As I spring upward, dragging the shovel with me before swinging the metal blade up at his head, I pray to any god that can hear me that the blade is made of iron.
I’m not really aiming. A heady cocktail of panic, fear, anger, and grief guide my swing. At that second, Rys is the golden fae who killed Madelaine, the Dark Fae who tricked Carolina into starving to death, the faceless Fae Queen whose paranoia about a ridiculous prophecy ruined my fucking life.
Okay. So I’m not so strong and the shovel is way heavier than I thought it would be. Except for the way the very edge slices right across the height of his left cheek, I barely make contact at all.
From the howl Rys lets out, you would’ve thought I bashed his head in.
His hands fly to his face. I’ve never heard such a terrible scream in my life, not even the high-pitched shriek of terror I let out the second Madelaine’s neck snapped and her body dropped to the floor. Rys’s howl… it’s unearthly and ear-splitting and it stuns me right to my center.
I drop to the ground. The shovel clatters by my side as I raise my hands, clamping my gloves over my ears.
It doesn’t help.
It’s at that moment that I know I’m dead. Believing that Rys would never retaliate against me might have been my mistake.
A fatal one, too.
Because Rys sure isn’t and, despite the way he professed his love for me, he’s still an unpredictable fae male and I seriously doubt he’s going to let me live after that attack.
Nothing happens right away. As quickly as it started, Rys’s unholy screams stop. Or maybe that’s the leather muffling my hearing. I’m not about to drop my hands and check, though I do jerk my head up. I’m scared—absolutely terrified—but I’m also stubborn as hell.
He wants to kill me? He’s going to have to look me in the eye as he does it.
Only something’s not right. I… I can’t see his face. I can’t see much of anything at all.
Rys usually has a golden shine. He’s a Light Fae. I’ve gotten used to it. This, though? Something totally different. In the middle of Madelaine’s plot, he’s burning up like the sun, bright and blinding. As I stare up in shock, a blazing heat blasts from him, shooting out in all directions.
Flames lick at the grass, the dirt, the graves surrounding us. The source of the fire? Rys.
Oh, man.
Rys has transformed himself into a fireball.
Yup. I was right.
I’m toast.
Beads of sweat erupt all over my body. The stink of burning hair fills the air. My mouth dries up, my eyes stinging from the heat. It’s like I’ve climbed into an oven. I start to choke, to gag, and I just manage to yank the collar of my hoodie up so that I can breathe a few seconds longer.
This is it, I realize. This is the end. Rys is going to burn me to death using his enchanted fire. No quick death for me.
