A flicker, just a flicker, of Luca’s love and assurance answers me back. He must be closest to me. Is he coming for me? Will he find me dead on this table, a hole in my back and the light gone from my eyes?
A spike of concern flashes through our bond. Saints, I wish I could talk to him one last time. I wish he could know that I’m facing down one of my greatest fears but won’t survive it.
Unless… I think back to something Simon said the moment after we realized my magic was locked.
Clark broke through his.
Geoffrey Clark, a warden at a home for unmated omegas, tortured more than fifty omegas to death. When he was finally thrown in prison, his magic was locked, something reserved for the worst of the worst criminals.
But he broke through the lock on his own.
It’s possible.
I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath, reaching out with my awareness. I feel the lock, wrapped around my maginalus, but more than that, I feel the individual sigils, just like the ones Ian unwound. Is this how Clark felt? Was he able to sense the sigils locking his magic just as I’m able to sense these now? Saints, it’s just ten sigils. It’s nothing compared to the last lock my father put on my magic. Ianhad his scribe when unlocking my magic. He drew the sigils from my body thread by thread. How can I do the same when I’m immobilized? When I have no scribe?
I concentrate on the first sigil, imagining it dissolving. I pour all my intention into the thought, but the sigil remains firm, wrapped tight around the well of my magic. Fuck. I steel myself. I can practically feel my magic brimming on the other side of this fragile lock.
I assess the sigils again and focus on carefully unwinding the lines of the first, like I’m tugging a thread loose from the hem of a blouse. I draw in another deep breath, focusing my intention once more.
And just like that, the sigil pulls free from the lock, dissolving.
Saints, Ididit. With one sigil gone, I can already feel my magic flowing, trying to escape the lock. I undo the next sigil and the next, practically crying with relief when I pull the tenth and last sigil apart. My affinity bursts through me, and I have to swallow down my startled gasp. I’ve never felt so powerful in my life.
I send all the love I can back down my bond to Luca.
I will not die today.
“Subject’s affinity will be given to Baphomet’s Prince and used to bring about his new world order. The Prince will be pleased.”
My father doesn’t know the sedative has worn off, and he’ll have to release me from his affinity to perform an operation as delicate as removing my maginalus in one piece. Such an operation will require his full focus. When he releases me, I’ll strike. I let my affinity flow through me. It electrifies every part of me, like pure power buzzing beneath my skin.
My father makes the first incision. Pain lances throughme as I feel hot blood rush over my skin, but it helps ground me.
I strike.
I lashout with my affinity, driving it like daggers into my father’s mind. He stumbles back from the operating table, letting out a roar of pain as he drops to his knees. I scramble off the table and snatch his scribe off the tray of surgical instruments, clutching it tightly. With his scribe and my affinity, I have a clear advantage.
I don’t think. I just act.
“Agonia!” I shout, aiming the scribe at my father’s heart.
He seizes control of my arm using his affinity, and the hex goes wild, flying over his shoulder and striking the wall of the operating theater behind him. He tries to make me drop his scribe with his bodily control, but I resist.
I strike again, driving my magic into his skull as hot blood runs down my spine. I put the full force of my power behind it, and he grasps his head in his hands, letting out a howl of agony. When I finally release him, he stumbles to his feet. I maintain position, ready to act at his first attempt at a strike. Letting my affinity flow, I future cast, trying to predict his actions.
I throw up Cassian’s full-body shield just in time to deflect one of his attacks, but the shield is of no use against his affinity. He drives me to my knees and twists my arm behind my back, all without moving an inch. I cry out as pain shoots down my arm from my shoulder. My father stalks toward me, eyes on his scribe. He knows he’s stronger with a scribe than with just his affinity. That’s telling. I throw off his control just in time, rolling away from him and jumping to my feet.
I drive my magic into his mind, whipping his scribe through the air, a hex on my lips. It lands, sizzling against his skin after burning through his rumpled scrub top. I get a quick future sight of his next attack and notice something, a tell. My father slows down before using his affinity.
He isn’t as trained in his as I am in mine, I realize. His control is weak, and his foundations shaky. Clumsy.
He lets out a snarl as I easily deflect his attack.
“On your knees!” he roars, his voice full of alpha command.
My knees shake as the command slams into me. I fight with myself, forcing the command away. I remain on my feet, enraging my father. He lets out a roar and charges me.
I deftly dodge out of the way, relying on the self-defense training I’ve learned from Marcus. My father’s momentum carries him forward, and he crashes straight into the table holding his instruments. He grabs a scalpel from the instrument tray, slicing toward me. Thanks to my future sight, I’ve already seen his attacks in my mind, and I avoid every single one, easily ducking out of the way.
