A glob of spit struck her cheek, wet and slimy as it rolled down her face. “You truly are a monster.”
And maybe she was. She rolled her eyes, her gaze sliding up to the blank wall of the tent, as if bored. By him—by this whole ordeal.
That only enraged him further. With a snarl, he shook her violently. Her body whipped back and forth like a flag in a storm. Pain exploded behind her eyes; her head throbbed, her brain felt mashed to a pulp.
“I’m going to kill you!” William roared, each word flung with a spray of spit.
Still, Luna didn’t respond. She pressed her lips together, her resolve unshaken.
He was already dead to her, so his threats were as meaningless as the dirt beneath her body.
A slap snapped her head sideways and pain bloomed across her cheek. The force of it left her dazed. Finally he let her go, and she crumpled, her body unable to support its own weight.
William stood over her, his breathing uneven. Then, with a deep, disdainful sigh, he combed his fingers through his hair and muttered, “You might want to think carefully about whose side you are on.”
He turned and stomped away, rejoining the other men at the central table. “Pathetic,” he added under his breath. “All these resources, wasted on the likes of her.”
The men nodded in agreement, already speaking of troop movements and the march back to Grythorn—where she would be delivered to the king like a package, broken and bound.
Chapter 32
Starlight
She felt him then.
Felt his power.
His fury.
His fear.
His very essence as it rolled through the air, shadows searching for her. And she knew—more than she’d ever known anything in her entire life—that he’d find her, and these humans would be shown no mercy.
From under glowered brows, she watched the busy men chattering about their plans to take her back to King Hendrix, to her hell. Unaware of who had just entered their camp, too distracted by their so-called triumph.
She needed to get to him. To the man who had lied to her.No—she wouldn’t think about that now. She searched deep within herself for even the faintest spark of warmth. Of the light that was her power, but nothing came. She only needed a flicker. Just enough to get these ropes off.
But there was nothing.
She had nothing left.
Trembling, she weakly cried out, “Damien . . .”
Cold, cruel laughter answered her. The men at the table revelled in her failure, mocking her hope, her desperation, but they didn’t laugh long.
Darkness clouded the white tent. Its fabric blackened, as if ink had been poured over it, swallowing every trace of light until only a shadow remained—a swirl of smoky mist—and then it simply floated away.
In its place stood a black unicorn. Darkness flowed from him, wrapping around his form like living armour, ready to strike. Snakelike shadowscoiled at his hooves, waiting on his command. His once green eyes were now black, locked onto hers.
She tried to smile. For a fleeting heartbeat, she thought she saw something—relief, perhaps—soften his hard stare, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by cold resolve.
“Dead. All of you.” His voice was quiet, almost gentle, and all the more terrifying for it.
Any remaining laughter died. The world stilling as he vowed, “By the skies above, may the stars themselves forsake me if even one of you draws another breath.”
A deafening roar followed as Damien unleashed his magic. A storm of shadows burst from him—black tendrils wisping through the air in a haunting wave, crackling like lightning as they tore hungrily towards their prey.
The humans panicked; some let out battle cries, others screamed in fear. Men scrambled for weapons, but most turned and fled. A cluster of guards rushed to form a barrier around Luna, their eyes wide with terror as they sought to protect their prize.
