Tristan shrieked, thrashing in agony.
A thunderous roar erupted from Balthazar’s throat, shaking the very air. His hands shot into the air, and the entire villa quaked.
The marble columns splintered, fractures running like veins through the stone before they crumbled entirely.
Flames erupted from the demon’s palms. Exploded outward. Devouring.
The fire leaped across the walls, raced up the curtains, and swallowed the lavish furniture. The heat burned so fiercely that the very air warped.
The audience’s screams were no match for the roar of the inferno.
Panic detonated. People ran, shoved, tripped, and fell into the flames.
The villa became a hellscape.
And in the chaos, Balthazar vanished.
Tristan was gone with him.
Roman grabbed my hand, yanking me toward the exit.
“Run!” he commanded.
I kicked off my shoes, the delicate silk hindering me, and sprinted behind him.
Outside, the cool night air, thick with smoke and screams, hit my face.
A man sat in the driver’s seat of an elegant carriage, horses already restless.
“Roman! Over here!” another man called from inside the coach.
Roman sprinted, yanking the carriage door open and practically throwing me inside. Then, he leaped in after me, slamming the door shut.
I gasped for breath, my pulse hammering. Across from me, a handsome, elegant-looking man studied me, his gaze sharp with curiosity.
“Hi-yah! Hi-yah!” The driver’s whip cracked against the horses’ flanks.
The carriage lurched.
The horses reared.
I screamed, clinging to Roman as the carriage shot forward.
We hurtled down the driveway like a wild stampede, the thunder of hooves drowning out the anguished cries from the burning ruins.
Thick smoke coiled behind us, swallowing the villa in darkness and fire.
The destruction clung to us, an inescapable stain on our souls.
The ghostly screams lingered.
Etched into memory.
Branded into fate.
It seemed impossible that we could recover from this night.
We had left behind nothing but pain. Sorrow. Destruction.
