The room stilled.
Balthazar’s head snapped toward her like a predator locking onto prey.
“What did you say?” he hissed.
Her eyes widened, fear pooling in their depths.
“I—I only meant… will that be all?” she stuttered, her voice quaking.
She shouldn’t have said it.
I knew it.
She knew it.
But it was too late.
In a blur of motion, Balthazar appeared before her, his hand flashing out?—
And snapping her neck.
The sickening crack echoed through the chamber.
She collapsed instantly, her body crumpling like a discarded marionette.
A silvery mist—her soul?—spiraled from the crown of her head, curling into the air like a wisp of smoke and sorrow.
Balthazar tipped his head back, inhaling deeply?—
And the silver stream shot straight up his nose.
He let out a satisfied “Ahh.”
I stared, horrified, revolted.
My stomach clenched, bile rising in my throat.
That was her.
He had just devoured her soul.
Balthazar clasped his hands behind his back, pacing with a casual arrogance that made my skin crawl.
“That Malik,” he muttered, disdainfully, “he’s the one plotting and scheming. He has Emily, Olivia, and Roman—and he thinks he’s winning.”
He let out a low chuckle, dark and vicious.
“Well, guess what?” Balthazar sneered.
“He hasn’t won.” His eyes flashed with something unholy. “He’ll never win.”
His fists clenched at his sides, his power crackling in the air like static before a storm.
“I shall reign victorious!”
Silence hung thick and suffocating.
Tristan’s shivering form caught my attention.
