The spark grows into a bright bead of energy. Suspended in midair, it hums like a living thing. It expands again, and then again, until it becomes a swirling vortex—light spiraling in on itself like a tornado—white-hot at the core and red-gold at the edges. The air around it warps in almost invisible waves.
It’s beautiful and terrifying at the same time and it feels hungry.
Lucian’s jaw clenches, a vein standing out at his temple. His shoulders lock as if he’s physically holding the vortex in place with muscle and will alone. The pentagram is still immaculate, but the room smells strongly now of blood and ozone and something like burned roses.
“Now, go!” he commands us. “I cannot hold this open for long.”
Whistler doesn’t hesitate. He slides one arm around Hanna’s waist and lifts her like she weighs nothing, his expression suddenly all business.
“Come on, girly—home we go,” he says to her.
Hanna’s eyes widen in panic as the swirling light expands, drawing the hem of her gown toward it.
“Jules—” she whispers, her voice thin.
“I’m right here,” I tell her fiercely, squeezing her hand. “Just hold on—we’re getting you out.”
Whistler steps forward with her and they enter the vortex together. The light wraps around them like mist and then they’re gone.
Just…gone.
The vortex flares brighter for a moment and my stomach flips. I take a step toward it—and then everything inside me locks up.
Because leaving means—leaving Lucian…leaving the Spires. It means leaving the strange, brutal, beautiful world that I’ve somehow fallen in love with and the only man who’s ever looked at my curves like they were a treasure instead of a problem.
I’m halfway to the light when something in my chest twists so hard I actually stop walking and I turn back.
Lucian is still there, holding his arms out, holding the vortex open. His face is tight with effort now, lips drawn back slightly over the points of his fangs. His eyes burn like embers.
My throat aches.
“Lucian, if you wanted me to stay—” I begin.
His gaze snaps sharper, furious and sharp.
“No, you cannot. You must go,” he growls.
My heart lurches like I’ve been struck.
“But I thought?—”
“Go!” he demands.
The word cracks through the ballroom like a whip and the air around him shudders.
The vortex surges, pulling harder, tugging at my hair, my dress, the very warmth of my skin. Lucian’s shoulders tremble for the first time and I realize—truly realize—this is costing him.
It’s not just blood…not just power.
Something deeper is flowing out of him—something that makes my eyes burn. This is everything he’s got—his very life-force is flowing out of him. But he’s doing it anyway—even if it drains him. Even if it breaks him.
I don’t think—I just move.
I rush back to him and throw myself into his arms.
For a second he stiffens, as if he’s afraid to touch me—afraid that if he holds me he won’t let me go. Then his arms close around me anyway, crushing me against his chest.
I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him. It’s not a gentle kiss—it’s desperate and bittersweet. It’s everything I feel but cannot say.
