Cassius taught me the only way to kill a vampire, short of direct sun, is to cut off their head.
I make it to my hands and knees.
I crawl for my second dagger.
Air finally fills my lungs. It’s a small mercy.
Everything hurts.
Somehow, drawing on every ounce of magic I can pull from Phantom, I stumble to my feet. I am a tower of torn and broken things, but I face the monster I came to slay. Can she see it in my eyes? That I have become an even darker monster? Can she see the promise I have for her in the glint of my blades? Can she see how love has made me hard as stone and sharp as broken glass?
I bare my teeth.
I taste blood.
She comes for me.
I let her.
She reaches for my head.
I sweep the dagger between our bodies, aiming for her throat.
A loud snap rings through my ears.
42
The End of Everything
DAMIEN
The sound of my mate’s neck snapping is a gong that drowns out every other noise in the room. Eloise drops like a sandbag, her beautiful green eyes staring sightlessly in my direction. A few strands of her hair have come free from her ponytail, and the bright red curls stick to the sweat on her fair skin. Her hair is the color of blood, although I’m spared the sight and scent of the actual thing. Valeska broke her neck. She’s otherwise intact.
All color and life drains from the world. I drop to my knees. “Eloise! My little dragon. My fallen bird.” I sob openly, not caring about the shame it brings me as a warrior. Not caring about anything but the shattering of my soul as I stare at my fallen mate. My hands beat against the barrier between us, morphing from enormous, black-taloned paws to my polite form, the form that fits with hers, the form in which I will die.
Through the deep, wrenching agony of our severing bond, our time together flashes through my mind. The night she summoned me. Her smile. Her laugh. The way she held herself like she was larger than a grizzly bear when she was feeling brave. I see her in the tiny dress she wore to Bad Witches’ Club that brought me to my knees. I see her kneeling on her grandmother’s grave. I see her trembling, covered in her assailant’s blood. This woman was my goddess, my lighthouse, my freedom, my sanctuary. I cannot bear a world without her in it.
I glance toward Lazarus, who is beside me now, hand on my shoulder. “Do it. You must do it,” I tell him. He knows what I want. We spoke of it for hours before this night.
My pleas are swallowed by the roar of the crowd. Some are chanting Valeska’s name. Others are wailing at the loss of their wagers. Still others, like Marabella, who appears at the edge of my vision, stand in silent vigil to the death of my mate.
“Now Lazarus. You must decapitate me before Valeska can reach me.” I grab the scribe’s hand and beg. It is no bother. I am already on my knees.
“She hasn’t been declared the winner,” Lazarus hisses. “The mirror remains occluded.”
I raise my eyes to find Valeska still struggling to grasp my mother’s crown. My little dragon has gutted her, and without blood to heal herself, she’s weakening. She bares her fangs and leaps, but her fingers just miss the gold edge. A small thrill goes through me as I watch her struggle.
But then my gaze drops to Eloise again. A fly lands on her face, crawls across her open eye. Any pleasure I’ve gained that the crown remains out of Valeska’s reach is dashed at the sight of Eloise’s motionless body.
Valeska will win.
There can be no other outcome.
Eloise is dead.
I turn toward Lazarus. “You must do it. I cannot go on without her, old friend. Please.”
The scribe draws the Stygian-steel dagger I gave him from the folds of his robes.
