When I pull away, understanding dawns on his features, and hope shines in the depths of his eyes. I hate that he’s leaving me, but he has to.
Right now.
“Go,” I scream. “Help Syko.”
He nods and turns, running away in a blur of movement.
I watch him go until he disappears, and only then do I bend to pick up my discarded crown before I turn. The back of my hand hurts; the spot where my father, Lucian Morningstar, kissed his burning promise onto my knuckles flares in pain at a broken deal.
I’ve held back my magic for so long, for too fucking long, and it’s time I unleash the full extent of my rage.
The words I whispered to Malek rise with my power, my magic merging with the fury of my Prod and me.
I am going to kill them all.
Seven
Malek
Violent shivers tear through the nephilim’s body so hard I nearly drop him several times as I speed through the halls and stairwells of the main building. My foot collides with a solid door, and it flies open to greet me with the cold whipping winds of the rooftop.
At the first sound of Syko’s agonized screams, Saint’s there in a flash of movement.
“What the fuck happened? Who did this to him? Did Izzy do this?” The questions hurtle, one after the other, in my direction with brittle anger and worry.
“No. The Messenger did,” I whisper breathlessly.
Saint’s arms shove at mine until he’s holding Syko against him, falling to his knees and covering himself in the nephilim’s blood just to be near him. “You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be fine,” the vampire says over and over again.
But there’s so much blood. Matted crimson-stained feathers hang from crumpled wings. Torment pulls at the man’s features in a way I could never imagine. It’s a brutal, torturous death that the Messenger intended for him.
And he will die. Supernaturals have rapid healing powers when it comes to small wounds. But this—this is too much for anyone.
“Where—where’s Phoenix? Syko was with Phoenix.” Saint’s blue eyes are enormous as he looks to me like I might confirm all the terrible scenarios that are clearly slamming through his mind.
“He was following after a professor. He probably wanted to keep going after the magic that’s warding this place. Syko flew to Izara the moment he saw her, though.”
“And her Prod didn’t hurt him?” Heaven’s eyes are narrowed on me, and Sasha gives her girlfriend a look, clearly thinking the woman’s voice should be lowered just slightly.
I agree.
“No. Izzy… she’s in control of her Prod. She’s—she’s on our side. We have to keep faith in her,” I say with a firm nod.
Heaven’s laughter is a cutting slice right to the jugular. More disbelief.
And her amusement is accompanied by Saint’s glare and Syko’s sudden wail of pain.
All of us tense as his cries carry into the cold night.
“Heaven, get our father. Get our mother.” Saint doesn’t look back at the woman standing with wide eyes behind him. “Go! Now!” he screams in a shaking tone.
Heaven is simply a blur of dark colors as she rushes into the building. Seconds later, I faintly hear the rattle of a gate in the distance.
The thing is, no vampire will be able to help this. Not even the leader of the Citadel. Saint’s father can’t heal this mess.
But Saint wants him anyway. I think he just wants someone to tell him what he’s been whispering to Syko for the last several minutes.
That everything is going to be okay.
