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The impulse to shove Gladys through her chest had my hand raised before I could breathe.
“Mom! I don’t know what to do. Please help me.” Fen’s tortured voice clawed through the comfortable fog of arrogance and rage I found myself cloaked in. I’d drawn it around me because it felt so much fucking better than horror and guilt and fear. “Please.”
But my son was begging me.
“Do it, Kelsey. You know you’ve always wanted to,” Liv taunted.
I had. I’d always known she would turn on me. And she was right. I could feel the power starting to wane. Not too much, but enough that Gladys was worried we wouldn’t be able to finish them all off if we waited too long.
Or I could use that power to open the portal and follow the Days to their Heavenly hidey-hole.
Or you could kill the wizard and then the Days can stay wherever they fucking want. They deserved it. They ran.
That wasn’t my voice. It sounded like mine, but it was Gladys, and not the one I knew. This Gladys had spent twelve plus years stewing with Myrddin’s blood working on her, influencing her the way he did with every creature he came in contact with.
But don’t forget—you count, too, Hunter. She does nothing without your good hand to guide her.
Duffy had told me that she was angry, that I had to temper her.
What if what I felt wasn’t Gladys? What if it was something else? She couldn’t resist the call of that darkness, but maybe I could.
I could go one of two ways. I could kill Liv, slice her through and give Gladys more power, then we could absolutely challenge Myrddin. But the prophecy had told me this wasn’t my fight.
Or I could have faith.
Duffy had shown me Liv wasn’t irredeemable. He’d shown me I could save her if I only saw past the rage that flooded me.
I’d killed a dozen witches and the rage wasn’t gone. No. It had fed off the violence, and it would need more. That rage was toxic. It was a drug that could consume my life, my soul. When I ran out of victims who “deserved” it, the rage would still want more, still push me to greater and greater evil because rage could not be dissipated by violence.
It had to be fought with something more. Love. Faith. Compassion.
My son needed me.
I felt the moment Gladys realized I wasn’t giving in. I swear that sword huffed in my hand and gave up one last spell.
“Somnum,” I said.
Liv’s eyes flared before she fell over in a deep sleep.
I wouldn’t have to worry about her for a while, but I did have a problem. Fenrir was crying as he held Evan, her skin a sickly pale, something dark and oily coating her lips.
Goddess how I wished for the cold because my love came rushing back and along with it the desperation for this girl to live.
“I didn’t know… I didn’t know what else to do,” Fen said.
I looked over and Christopher’s sleeve was rolled up, that oily substance on his wrist.
“You gave her your blood,” I whispered.
Black tears pooled in Christopher’s eyes. “I couldn’t see another way. She was dying. I sent Rose for the king’s blood but Evangeline’s heart stopped. I had seconds. Fenrir… I couldn’t let Fenrir lose her.”
Consequences. Duffy had warned us. There was a reason primals never shared blood.
“I have it.” Rose ran in, carrying the thermos Daniel had sent with us. She stopped when she saw her husband. “What have you done?”
“Give me the blood, Rose. We’ll get it in her and see if her father’s blood can counter whatever primal blood is going to do to her.” I took the blood from Rose and handed her Gladys. She was a companion. Gladys liked companions. I didn’t think she would go psychotic on me for letting Rose hold her. I dropped to my knees and opened the thermos. “Is she alive?”
I had to ask because Evan really didn’t look alive.
