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Because the part of his heart he usually saved to encompass the entire world had been stolen by a raven-haired man and then broken by their star-crossed fate.
“We’ll not cast.” Malcolm addressed the Wyrd sisters with unyielding certainty.
“Don’t be so certain.” In a confusing flurry of robes, Badb hurled her broomstick on a powerful gust of wind. It impaled Kenna with such force, she was knocked from her feet and propelled backward before crashing to the stones.
Niall was at her side in a moment, his golden hair brushing her face as he gasped her name.
Bael ran for the Crone, but Nemain stopped him with an explosion of her fire, the strength of it knocking him to the ground, as well.
Reflexively, Malcolm lifted a flagstone from the earth and hurled it at Badb. She didn’t counter in enough time to completely avoid it and her legs became crushed beneath its staggering weight, pinning her to the earth. The Grimoire went flying, sliding in a flesh-colored heap toward Nemain.
Badb tried to lift the stone with her powerful gusts of wind, but Malcolm used his magic to keep it in place, locking them in a battle of elements.
Nemain lashed out with her hands and a wall of fire crawled across the courtyard, effectively cutting Kenna, Niall and Bael away from the Four Horsemen and the four Druids.
Malcolm advanced on Badb, his hands out, intensifying the pressure of the stone crushing her legs.
Instead of shrinking in fear, Badb sneered triumphantly up at him, blood beginning to stain a few of her teeth that had been broken in the fall. “That makes three of us casting at once,” she cackled. “Now Morgana must heal your cousin, or she’ll die.”
“Malcolm?” Morgana inched toward the fire. “I can’t just do nothing. Let me heal her.”
“You’re running out of time, Druid King,” Badb taunted. “How much are you willing to lose to save the world?”
The void in Malcolm’s heart suddenly became a cavern, and all the loss, rage, and helpless fury rushed to fill it until his heart did slow, and his breathing stabilized as the answer to everything became startlingly clear. “Nothing,” he answered coolly. “I’m done with sacrificing what is mine for the greater good.”
Chapter Eight
It was a reckless risk, but he seized it. Whirling to face the Horsemen, Malcolm addressed Death once again. “This Druid has taken tens of thousands of souls from ye, including her own, and locked them in the Void.”
Death narrowed dark, soulless eyes at Badb. “So she has.”
“I doona think that ye want us to break the Seals.” It was a stab in the dark, but something in the eyes of the Horsemen, in the way their steeds pawed the ground in impatience verified what he’d begun to suspect.
“We will unleash the might of the Underworld on this plane, whether we will it or not. Make no mistake of that.” Death gestured toward the book, lying innocuously on the stones. “The prophecy demands it.”
“Until then, it is yer duty to escort the souls to the Other World.”
His statement was met with expectant silence.
“I could offer her to ye.” Malcolm gestured to the Crone. “Ye could take her and the souls in her possession to do with as ye will.”
“You can’t!” Badb hissed. “Not in time to save your fire witch.”
“Heal her!” Niall demanded of Morgana. “Now!”
“Wait,” Malcolm ordered. “Doona cast.”
“Malcolm, Kenna is dying!” Her blood was now running into the grooves between the stones, creating gruesome rivers in his courtyard.
“I am yer King,” Malcolm commanded. “Ye will obey me for once.”
The eyes of the man called Death were shrewd and unnerving as they narrowed on Malcolm.
“And what is your price for this trade?” Death inquired.
“One soul,” Malcolm answered.
“The Fire Druid?”
