"Rhyland," I croak, the name barely audible through blood-filled lungs.
Emily's eyes flash electric blue, crackling energy rolling off her in waves as she whirls toward the doorway where Morgan disappeared with my mate. Brax lunges for her, clawed hand extending.
"Stay with Dani!" Emily commands, her voice resonatingwith newfound power. "Protect her with your life!"
Brax freezes mid-motion, bound by their magical connection. Frustration contorts his demonic features as he watches Emily sprint after Morgan, her hands already weaving complex patterns in the air.
"Sistere in nomine lucis!" Emily's voice thunders down the hallway. "Animas captivas liberare!" The mansion trembles with her power, plaster dust raining from the ceiling.
Sable appears before me, her bubblegum hair matted with blood, brown eyes wide with determination. Her fingers—steady despite the chaos—cradle my face.
"Here. Drink." Before I can protest, she bites savagely into her own wrist. Blood wells immediately, bright crimson against her pale skin. She presses the wound against my mouth, her other hand holding my head firmly in place. "Now, Dani!"
Fuck. Has she forgotten what blood-sharing does?
The first drop hits my tongue—electric, vibrant, alive. My body recognizes the salvation before my mind can process it. I swallow reflexively, then deliberately, drawing deeply from her wrist. Warmth floods through me, targeting each broken piece. My shattered ribs knit together with audible clicks. My punctured lung inflates, the torn tissue sealing itself. My fractured skull mends, the pressure behind my eyes subsiding as blood vessels repair themselves. My dislocated shoulder pops back into place with a sickening wrench that barely registers through the healing euphoria.
I gasp, drawing my first full breath since the attack, no longer drowning in my own blood. The world snaps back into terrible focus—every detail crystalline in its horror.
But the emptiness where Rhyland should be remains an absolute void that no amount of healing blood can touch.
That fucking bitch carved out what should have been untouchable. Our bond—violently shredded from our souls like she reached in and gutted us both. The emptiness howls inside me, a raw, bleeding chasm.
I want to scream until my vocal cords shred.
Sob until I vomit.
I want to hunt that soul-stealing bitch to the darkest corner of every goddamn realm and rip her apart piece by bloody piece with my bare hands.
What kind of twisted, unholy shit has she tapped into? What abomination of magic lets someone tear apart what the universe has bound together?
Strength surges through newly-healed limbs as I lurch to my feet, blood still smeared across my Christmas pajamas. "Help the others," I command Sable, already moving. My bare feet leave bloody prints across marble as I sprint after my mate, the engagement ring on my finger catching winter light with each desperate stride.
The mansion's grand entrance hangs in splinters. Outside, horror unfolds across our pristine front lawn.
The dead claw their way through frost-hardened earth—rotting hands punching through snow-covered ground, decayed bodies dragging themselves from shallow graves. Morgan stands at the center of this nightmare, one hand extended toward my vacant-eyed mate, the other conducting her macabre orchestra of corpses. Her elegant black coat billows around her despite the lack of wind, power radiating from her in visible waves of darkness that wither everything they touch.
Emily fights a losing battle against the horde. Fire erupts from her in roaring columns, incinerating three corpses at once. Their flesh blackens and crackles, but still they come. She stomps her foot, and the earth responds—a fissure opens to swallow two more walking dead. Sweat pours down her face despite the freezing temperature, her rainbow hair plastered to her forehead as she summons a whirlwind that tosses rotting bodies like rag dolls.
"You think you can over power me?" Morgan's voice carries across the front yard, rich with contempt. "I've consumed more black magic than you could ever imagine."
To demonstrate, she flicks one manicured finger. The huge oak that's stood sentinel over our driveway shrivels instantly—bark blackening, branches contorting as if in agony. With another casual gesture, she sends Emily flying backward, her body slamming into our stone fountain with bone-crushing force.
"Yeah, well..." Emily spits blood onto pristine snow, staggering to her feet with a savage grin. "That's cute. But guess what? I've got a hundred crispy witch souls riding shotgun in my veins. And unlike your bargain-bin black magic bullshit, mine came with a side of righteous fucking fury." She wipes her split lip with the back of her hand, eyes blazing. "So why don't you take your necromantic horse shit, and shove them both straight up your ass!"
Emily's hands slash through the air, "Ignis!" Flames erupt in a perfect circle around Morgan. The fire roars twenty feet high, trapping the witch in a blazing prison. Through the fire, I see Morgan's face contort with fury—but even her power can't breach Emily's inferno.
But the dead keep coming. Dozens of corpses claw their way from frozen earth, moving with unnatural speed across our snow-covered lawn—their rotting flesh and exposed bone—a grotesque contrast to the pristine winter morning.
Rhyland stands motionless between us, his vacant eyes reflecting the dancing flames. Blood drips in ruby trails down his temple, his powerful frame unnaturally still under Morgan's control.
I reach for my power, expecting the familiar surge of winter's might, but nothing happens. The snowflakes continue their lazy descent, deaf to my call. I scream in frustration, clawing desperately at that well of power that should be there—thatneedsto be there. But where I should feel the icy rush of strength, there's only emptiness. My connection to the Aquanite stone feels severed, leaving me helpless as I watch the undead advance.
The blast hits without warning—raw arcane energy that feels like liquid lightning. One moment I'm standing, the next I'm airborne, the world spinning in a kaleidoscope of snow and fire. My body slams into frozen ground fifteen feet away, my back screaming as air explodes from my lungs. The impact rattles through every bone, leaving me gasping like a landed fish on ice-crusted snow.
Through blurred vision, I see him. Adrian—the brother who betrayed us, now another puppet in Lilith's collection. Dark power rolls off him in visible waves, his eyes obsidian pools of emptiness. The gentle scholar who helped me understand ancient texts now stands ready to annihilate us all with devastating magic.
My heart twists as I force painful limbs to move. I have to reach him, have to break Lilith's hold before his power—always so carefully controlled—reduces everyone I love to ashes. But first, I need to remember how to breathe.
