“Oliver,” I wheezed. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” he mumbled into my neck. “Are you?”
“I’m having a hard time breathing. Can you get off?”
“Rune’s on top of us.”
I groaned. “Rune, we can’t breathe.”
A weight lifted, and I took in a lungful of air, rolling out from under Oliver.
The chaos softened, and we waited in the darkness.
“You can release them from your shadows now, Bloodhound. I’m under control,” the king called.
The shadows stayed, brushing against my exposed skin like they were checking for damage.
“General Ronen!” the king snapped.
Light filtered through as the shadows wisped away. Oliver winked and sat up. Rune bombarded my face with licks, only stopping when the general snapped. She immediately pulled back and stood sentinel by my side while I took stock of the slushy sitting area.
The couches and chairs were shredded and dripping with water. Debris, ice chips, and puddles decorated every surface—except the king’s chair and the circle of carpet we lay on.
I peeked back at the general over the destroyed loveseat. His golden eyes flickered, his face expressionless. Minor cuts marked his body. Red splotches seeped into his once-gorgeous white shirt, now shredded to bits.
Why didn’t he protect himself during whatever the hell just happened?
“You let that Archangel put a Wrath Rune on the three of you?” the king spat.
I bit my tongue, dropping my gaze from the general and turning back to the king. “Let?” I sat up on the carpet. “I was chained to a table, bleeding out, and thought if there was a chance a deal could save my mother, then I’d sacrifice myself so he wouldn’t touch her ever again!” I shouted. “I thought it was a rune for a binding agreement!”
The king stared at me, something close to reluctant respect entering his icy eyes. He nodded at my shoulder. “No, a rune for a binding agreement has the dots at the points. When the dots are at the bottom, it destabilizes the rune and turns it into that.” His tone softened slightly. “A Wrath Rune.” The rune heated again. “Aspecialized rune that’s invisible unless you speak its name—which is why we never suspected it was the cause of your mother’s coma.”
Dread cooled the irritation warming my cheeks. “This is the cause of her coma?”
“Wrath Runes were designed to force energy from one person to another, but that’s during a two-way bind. You said it was a three-way bind, with Michael as the lead, which changes the dynamic entirely. Michael either intended to steal your energy or transfer it to Saraqael, but it didn’t work out the way he intended because you’re awake. That means, as Saraqael sleeps, she’s stealing your essence to stay alive. She won’t wake unless she takes it all?—”
“I need to die for my mother to live?” I whispered, horrified, staring at the door that blocked my view of her. I’d sworn I knew what rune Michael was placing on us. “Is that what needs to happen?”
Did he want me to die for her? Wasthisthe sacrifice part of the prophecy?
I wasn’t insulted. I had such low expectations for father figures—what was one more who’d rather see me dead than alive? At least this one carried possessive love in his unique, double-ringed eyes—for her, even after all these years.
I was nothing but a daughter he’d just learned about, one he forced to jump into a poisonous river without knowing if I’d survive. If I hadn’t been his blood, I would’ve died. He gambled with my life. What was to stop him from doing it again?
As if reading my mind, he raised a brow and said, “I wouldn’t have had my general rescue you if I wanted you to die. There’s another way.”
“Then what? How do we save her?”
“Michael needs to die,” General Ronen said, stepping around the side of the loveseat and positioning himself next to Rune—and far too close to me.
“You can say that again,” Oliver muttered.
I couldn’t agree more. But we were stuck here for another year—one whole year—until the gates opened, and I had to save not only Aspen but also my mom. Again.
Michael ruined our lives. He needed to die. The thought of killing someone should’ve made me question my sanity. But part of me had no aversion to killing—a remorseless, dark part. The itches scattering across my skin and the music tickling my inner ear at the mere thought of what Michael had done made me crave his blood. Did this part of me stem from Hell? From the king’s blood running through my veins?
“Michael’s the head of the binding. Kill him, and the runes will release you both,” the king confirmed.
