“You made me do this,” he said before slamming the pommel of his blade against the Kaizen’s temple. Her head whipped sideways, and she dropped, unconscious.
For one heartbeat, the room was still. Gemma calmed her powers, returning time and her heightened senses to their usual places.
The room was silent but for the rasp of breath, the drip of blood, the hum of Gemma’s faint glow. Phoebe lay crumpled and unconscious, her soldiers strewn in broken heaps across the floor. The battle was over.
Gallowood House was theirs.
“Yeah, well, you made me do this,” Hawk’s dad said from behind her just as Hawk screamed Imara’s name, ripping Gemma’s heart in two.
She spun just in time to see the governor’s blade bury deep in Imara’s side.
“No!” Gemma surged toward her as the governor stepped away, ripping his dagger free and allowing Imara’s blood to spill down her hip. Hawk caught Imara before she fell.
“That will teach you a lesson,” the governor continued, “about what happens when you try to overthrow a king.”
Christian roared, grabbing the governor by the collar and slamming him against the wall. Governor Gallowood’s head cracked against the metal, blade clattering to the floor.
Christian’s knife was at his throat a heartbeat later, the edge pressing hard enough to draw a bead of blood. “You spineless bastard,” Christian snarled, his voice shaking with fury. “Your battle wasn’t with her.”
Imara gasped, eyes wide, a strangled cry ripping from her throat, as Hawk lowered her to the floor. Gemma dropped to her knees beside her best friend, the glow from Gemma’s tattoo flaring bright and frantic as she pressed both hands over the wound.
“Christian, Lysa, somebody—run to the medical wing and grab a coagulant. It looks like a pen, with a blue handle.”
Lysa sprinted from the room.
Philip’s chest heaved, his face pale and slick with sweat, but his eyes burned with defiance. “She was a traitor. Like the rest of you. Better to cut out the rot before it spreads.”
Hawk rose from Imara’s side, leaving the woman he loved in Gemma’s care, his hands and chest streaked with Imara’s blood.
“The only reason I won’t kill you right now is because we need you alive.” Hawk stepped close to the governor, his towering frame casting his father in shadow. “But make no mistake, you are no father of mine. You’re nothing but a coward hiding behind power you never earned.” Philip flinched, but Hawk’s fury only deepened, his voice ragged. “And a king loses his power when his subjects refuse to bow.”
Imara grabbed Gemma’s wrist and coughed, blood bubbling up at her lips. Her eyes—still sharp, still burning with fight—found Gemma’s face. “Not . . . afraid of dying,” she rasped. “Just pissed . . . it was him.”
“Don’t you talk like that.” Gemma’s voice broke, hot tears slipping down her cheeks as she pushed more pressure into thewound, willing her light to sew flesh together. “I can fix this. I will.”
“Just . . . win this. That’s what matters.” Her lips barely formed the words.
Hawk dropped to his knees beside Imara.
Gemma pressed desperately against the wound, but blood continued to seep in stubborn defiance.Come on, Lysa.
“Hawk,” Imara rasped, her hand trembling as she lifted it, brushing her fingers clumsily against his cheek. “Don’t . . . look at me like that. You always . . . do take things way too seriously.”
“Shut up,” Hawk muttered, his voice breaking despite the strength in it. He grabbed her hand, pressing it tight to his face. “You’re going to make it. You don’t get to leave me with this mess.”
Her laugh was a ghost, breath catching. “Mess was . . . always yours.” Her gaze softened, the sarcasm fading as her stare fixed on his. “You’re better than you think. Better . . . than all of this.”
“Hush,” Hawk said, brushing her black hair from her forehead. “Save your strength.”
Her fingers twitched against his cheek. “No strength left.” She drew in a rattling breath, her eyes never leaving his. “Promise me you’ll live.” Imara’s chest hitched once then stilled.
“No,” Gemma gasped and pressed her fingers to Imara’s carotid. “No, no, no. No, not you. Not after everything . . .”
Gemma fell back onto her seat, a loud sob breaking free. The room filled with bright, violet light as every pore in her body radiated sorrow. She should’ve been watching. She should’ve been paying closer attention. She never should’ve allowed Philip to get so close.
Shoes screeched against the floor. “I found it!” Lysa shouted. “I—”
Hawk bowed his head, his broad shoulders trembling as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.
