He shook his head frantically, swallowing down the agonizing pain with every word. “Adara,” he breathed. “Don’t do this. I didn’t mean it,” he tried to explain.
She whirled on him. “Inevershould have trusted you,” she seethed. Adara bent down to his level and gripped his tunic. It sizzled under her touch. She pulled him forward, her face mere inches from his. Her lips twisted into a sadistic smirk, but Dominic could see the hurt masked beneath it, the tears welling in her eyes. “It’s all a game, Dom,” she snarled, voice dripping with abhorrence.
Then she kissed him, one last time.
He tasted the salt of her tears as her lips moved against his in one final farewell. Then she shoved him out of her grip, sending him reeling back before he could catch himself. He hit the ground hard and let out a grunt, anguish rippling through him.
She shook her head softly. “Your move.”
Before he could beg her to stay, plead for her forgiveness, Adara’s wings flared behind her, and she soared high into the sky. Dominic could only watch her disappear over the horizon as he lay motionless from the pain in his chest and mind as he bled out on the forest floor. He didn’t have the strength to get up, to follow her.
After a lifetime of being hated, cast aside, unwanted . . . After a lifetime of never wanting anything more than to survive, Dominic had finally felt something.
He wanted her. Perhapslovedher. But she didn’t want him. Wouldneverlove him. Not the first time, and definitely not now. He didn’t blame her for stabbing him where his crooked heart should be. Didn’t blame her for that loathing in her eyes.
He hated himself, too.
But he wanted nothing more than to believe that she’d loved him.
The pain of heartbreak was too much for him to face again. He let himself bleed. He deserved it. He deserved every agonizing moment of torture she inflicted on him.
It was all he could think as he let the pain overwhelm him. Let himself fall into sweet, dark, numb oblivion.
Epilogue
Windwhippedatherface as Adara flew through the sky. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but she would not let them fall. Dominic—Alecsander, whoever the Hel he was—was not worth her sadness. He was worth nothing. She repeated this to herself, but it did nothing to soothe the ache in her heart.
She was a fool to ever believe she could make Dominic Nite love her. He was a sadistic, heartless, lying demon. He’d harmed the ones he got close to time and time again. Adara was stupid for thinking things could be different for her. Damon was right.Dominic Nite was a monster who toyed with people and tossed them aside when he was done.
That was all she was to Dominic—a means to an end. Adara knew from the beginning that he would manipulate her, that she was nothing but a gateway to power. But it still hurt to find the whole truth.
They’d known each other before.
And he’d betrayed her. For a moment, she could have believed that he actually loved her. Hedidlove her . . . before he tossed away his heart. But even then, it was all lies.
Dominic Nite was not a lovable soul. He was a monster created in the dark and taught to claw his way out of the depths of the shadows. She intended to do the same.
Adara might have left the island, but this war was far from over. She’d get his key one way or another. That wound wouldn’t kill him. No, death was too merciful. She would not stop fighting until she got her revenge.
Wrapped protectively in her royal blue cloak and stuffed inside a satchel she’d grabbed after she left Dominic, the portal orb, eye of the Whisperer, ashes of the Ruins, and dragon scale hummed with energy. As if all the relics were as eager to forge the Realm Fracturer as she was.
Fishing into her satchel, Adara grasped the two portal orbs she’d stolen. One, Dominic had intended for the Realm Fracturer. She released that one, leaving it in the sack. The other was merely a backup. It was this one that she crushed in her palm, knowing she wasn’t able to fly the weeks-long journey it would take to cross the Plagued Sea back to Malryn, nor did she have the time for that. The dull throb in her left forearm was a constant reminder. The jagged bits of the broken orb bit into her palm. Magic shimmered around her, its steady hum sending tingles along her skin as it enveloped her in its embrace and transported her far from Andreilia.
Adara landed on an empty street in Lykrios. If she was going to find shadow steel anywhere, it would be here, under the queen’s suffocating reign, where the material would have happily been bought or stolen from the empire to nullifyPherra.
Another dull pang shot through her arm. Gritting her teeth, Adara peeled away her vambrace to reveal the dark numbers inked upon her arm, counting down. Andreilia’s water made her ageless, pausing the timer to her demise. Yet it seemed that solution was only temporary, for when it resumed, and she drank the water again before departing, it proved that the Shadow Empire was too powerful. Perhaps the life from Dominic’s key would be a vain attempt to stop the curse as well. However, his powers would prove useful in the war . . . if she lived long enough to fight.
She read the numbers, feeling like a knife was lodged between her ribs, twisting ever so slowly with each second that passed.
173:04:49
173 days, four hours, and forty-nine minutes. That was all the time she had to defeat the Shadow Empire before the curse killed her.
Adara was running out of time.
