She didn’t bother to shut the door behind her as she raced into the hallway. Killian followed close on her heels, both of them barefoot, Killian still shirtless. They garnered a few curious looks as they bounded into the dining hall below, though most of the patrons had clustered around the doors and windows to survey the havoc outside.
“Move,” Elyse growled at the half-drunks blocking her way to the door. That was the only warning she gave before waving her hand and sending a gust of hard air that knocked them on their backs, clearing a path. She clenched her fist, and the door burst open with abang.
“Elyse, wait!”
Killian tried to grab her wrist, but she was already marching outside. The wide street was polluted with shadowy black movements, the birds blending with the night. Screams reverberated around her, mingling with the sound of flapping wings, but Elyse hardly noticed. Her blood ran cold, her head villainously clear as she stared at the man shrouded in ravens.
Not a man. A demon.
She couldn’t make out Lazarus’s features as the birds swarmed around him, but she could imagine. The sleek, dark hair. The mismatched silver and blue eyes. The vile smirk.
Manny and Sera came rushing out of the inn’s front door and nearly ran straight into Killian, who had chased Elyse into the street. They were both in their night clothes, and both wide-eyed as they took in the chaos.
Blood was already spattered on the street, staining Elyse’s feet. All down the block, people shrieked and covered their faces. The birds were relentless—pecking, scratching, clawing. A man hobbled down the street, one hand covering his eye, blood seeping between his fingers.
“Help as many as you can,” Killian shouted. Streaks of water still covered his bare chest, the moisture reflective in the moonlight. “Get them somewhere safe.”
Manny nodded and took Sera by the hand. She threw up a shield around them as they headed for a group of strangers cowering nearby.
Elyse turned her attention back to Lazarus. This was what she’d been waiting for. Revenge on the one who had made her life miserable, who had tricked her and used her. Now he was here, and she’d burn the whole city down before letting him get away. He stalked toward her, agonizingly slow yet inevitable.
The soles of her feet landed hard on the cobblestone as she took off at a run, heading straight for the demon. Wind whipped at the still-wet fabric of her shirt, her body hot and cold at the same time. Killian called after her, but Elyse didn’t heed his protests. She knew what he would say. That she needed a plan, that she needed the Blade of Hanael. It was too late for that sort of logic. Her magic was already surging, coalescing in her fingertips, ready to strike. Vengeance was her plan, and she would be the weapon.
The birds swarmed around her, but not at her. Never at her. As if Lazarus was saving her for himself.
Her lips contorted in a snarl as she thrust both hands at the demon and aimed a killing spell between the encircling ravens. Lazarus waved a lazy hand, and the spell was redirected. It hurdled toward Elyse, but she ducked low, dodging its lethal smoke. She didn’t look over her shoulder to see who or what it struck.
She was closing in on Lazarus, no more than thirty yards between them. She blasted two more spells, but Lazarus parried them easily. Her heart roared with fury, born of humiliation andhatred. Her magic was desperate and wild. She would end him. She would make him regret ever using her.
She could see the amusement in his eyes. Her hands reached of their own accord, fingers stretching toward Lazarus’s throat. It looked so human, so easily crushable. Before she reached him, before she could wrap her hands around his neck and squeeze, Lazarus snapped his fingers.
Elyse flew backward. She soared down the street, crashing through a mass of feathers and tiny, fluttering bodies. She landed past the inn and rolled another ten yards, her skin scraping on the stone pavers.
Footsteps clamored around her. Screams ricocheted against stone buildings. Somewhere, a child was crying. None of that mattered to Elyse. It was only her and Lazarus. He stood still, staring back at her and waiting with an unnerving calm, his hoard of ravens cawing into the night.
She surged forward again, striking at Lazarus with wrathful precision, but he deflected each spell with a simple flick of his wrist. When she’d almost reached him again, she whipped out her dagger and slashed at the ravens. Lazarus merely laughed and disappeared, bursting into shadowy wisps. She flew through the space where he had been, shivering as she passed through icy air. She hit the ground hard, panting.
“You could have joined me,” came a drawl from behind.
Elyse whirled to see Lazarus towering over her. His ravens circled behind him, waiting to attack. Undeniable evil shone in Lazarus’s blue and silver eyes, in the smirk that twisted his lips. He wore all black, his long jacket nearly dusting thecobblestones. The air around him was thick and shadowed, as if tainted by his very presence.
“We could have done this together,” Lazarus continued. There was regret in his voice. “We could have brought entire cities to their knees, the two of us. Father and daughter.”
Over Lazarus’s shoulder, Elyse could see Sera and Manny ushering people inside the inn while Killian shot spells at any ravens that flew near them. They were weak. They cared too much about helping others and not enough about killing Lazarus. She would have to do this on her own.
She blasted a killing spell at Lazarus’s chest, then swung her dagger. Lazarus sidestepped both with ease, and Elyse growled in frustration. She attacked again and again, alternating her dagger and her magic as sweat trickled down her neck. Lazarus laughed and shielded the barrage until he grew tired of her antics. He swung his clenched fist, and white light burned Elyse’s vision as she was sent barreling backward.
Glass shattered around her, the sound scraping her ears. Pain seared her back. Her breath was forced from her lungs at the impact. For a moment, she lay there, winded, eyes closed as if she could shut out the pain. Lazarus’s smile played in her mind, and she opened her eyes.
He couldn’t win. She wouldn’t let him.
Her ears were still ringing, blotting out the sounds of screaming civilians and the soaring birds. It was dark, but Elyse could discern that she’d landed inside a small shop after hurtling through its window. Glass lay scattered around her, crunching as she rolled onto her side. Her back howled in agony. She could feel the warmth of blood seeping into her shirt. She reachedbehind her, biting her lip to suppress a moan, and felt her way up her back. Her fingers grazed something jagged and sharp. Even the small movement sent a ripple of misery through her, and she hissed. But she kept prodding, assessing the damage.
A shard of glass was lodged in her back. It was long, lacerating a good four inches of skin. It had missed her spine, embedding instead in the muscle beside it, but she had no idea how deep it went.
A silhouette appeared in the battered window, backlit by the lanterns on the street, and Elyse tensed. She raised her dagger protectively—until she noticed the figure’s shoulders rising and falling, as if they were panting.
Lazarus didn’t pant. He didn’t tire. He doled out his punishments relentlessly.
