I can feel him thrashing against the bars of his prison.You think you can bleed me dry and survive? His voice scrapes raw against my skull.She’ll flay you alive for this.
I don’t reply. Don’t stop.
The Raven King's mental howls of anger and anguish tear through my mind like jagged shards of glass. His rage threatens to shred my sanity to ribbons. But I can't think about that.
Brigid’s there, trying to stay alive, like a candle drowning in its own melted wax.
My tattoos ignite. It’s not fire now—it’s worse. The ink becomes liquid frost, siphoning up from my bones, through muscle, out through pores. A black thread unravels from my sternum, quivering in the air between me and the monster wearing my mate’s face. The thread pulses once. Twice.
Then it plunges.
Stop! The Raven King batters at my consciousness.You’re killing us both!
He’s right. My knees hit the cracked cement floor. Blood drips from my nose as the thread is still pulling, draining me, us, faster than I can think.
“Marius!” Tiernan’s voice slices through the chaos.“She’s not—”
The Morrigan spins toward Callen, shadows making her hand morph into talons. Brigid’s body moves wrong now—stutter-stepped, disjointed. Like two souls fighting the controls.
Callen doesn’t flinch. Bastard actually bares his throat.“Do it,” he says.“Give her a reason.”
The Morrigan’s talons twitch against Callen’s throat—then freeze. Her entire body spasms, shadows peeling back from Brigid’s hands like ink dissolving in water.“No,” the goddess snarls, her voice cracking down the middle. Brigid’s left hand whips up, seizing her own right wrist. Bone creaks.
Callen doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Blood wells where claw meets skin.
“Fight her.” My voice barely carries. The siphon thread quivers, thinning. Hold. Hold.
The Morrigan’s lips twist into a mockery of a smile. The Raven King laughs inside my skull, wet and broken.
But then Brigid’s fingers flex. Just once. Her voice scrapes out:“Enough.”
The siphon snaps.
I collapse forward, palms slapping concrete as vomit burns my throat. My tattoos aren’t just fading—they’re turning into smoke, black lines curling like burnt paper edges before they disappear. Some vanish entirely, others are leaving pale gray scars. The Raven King’s presence shrinks to a faint itch behind my eyes.
Brigid staggers, but her eyes find mine. Her pupils oscillate between liquid mercury and pale gray. When she speaks, both voices layer—Brigid’s soft tone undercut by the Morrigan’s velvet purr.“This changes nothing,buachaill. She can’t hold me forever.”
“Watch me,” Brigid whispers.
Then she convulses. Crumples.
I try to lunge for her, but my body says fuck you and faceplants instead. Cement grit sticks to my cheek. Boots pound nearby—Lochan barking orders, Callen’s curse slicing the air. Someone yanks me onto my back. Rory’s big face and shaggy hair swims above me.“Still breathing, asshole?”
“Regrettably.”
He snorts. Lets my skull thud back down.“Typical.”
I turn my head to watch Callen as he crouches over Brigid’s limp form, his hands hovering above her sternum. His throat’s a mess of blood and shadow residue. Tiernan grips his shoulder.“Don’t.”
He takes Callen’s place over Brigid and his palms press down. Golden light spills between his fingers. Druid shit—all earth chants and healing energy.
Lochan materializes beside me, arms crossed.“Transferring the Raven King’s power to a goddess-vessel. That’s your solution? You might have killed her.”
“Worked, didn’t it?”
“She’s comatose.”
“Not dead.”
