It’s your blood, Tempest. It’s addictive. But it’s MINE. You are MINE.
Emrys growls the last words. I need to give him time to get here, handle the dhampir, and so I turn slightly in his hold, giving him better access to my blood. When his canines penetrate my skin, I yelp loudly, and tears flood my face. The pain is a constant, present sting, unlike when Emrys feeds off me—his bite only brings me pleasure. The pain sears through me, as though his very saliva is venom, seeping into my veins and corrupting all it touches. This torment that traps my being is what urges Emrys to act, and with a loud roar, he breaks free of my brother’s magic. The dhampir stares at him, wide-eyed, but he’s unable to release me, his desire to drink from me causing him to latch on.
Within seconds, Emrys rips Faas away from me, the sharp teeth rupture my skin, and I cry out as the raw, pink flesh is exposed. Warm blood spills onto the ground via petals that color crimson. I clasp my hand over my other arm, putting pressure on the wound. Faas cries out, his teeth drenched in scarlet, glinting in the sunlight as he flies through the sky, nearly crashing into the crystal-clear water with a deafening thud.
“I’m so sorry,” Emrys murmurs as he gently licks my wound, his saliva repairing my broken skin.
“None of this is your fault, my love,” I whisper, and I kiss his forehead.
Emrys’s flesh is healing itself; the small blisters the Aurum inflicted are fading, revealing healthy skin beneath. The fog that initially shrouded the area is no longer there, and I glare at the two witches who are backing away, cowardly trying to escape. It’s Emrys’s shadows that make it impossible for them to leave.
“You two will join me in this fight,” Emrys snarls at them, pulling them close to us.
“He’ll kill us,” Caria sobs.
“The Umbra is right, we should at least try, darling, we’ll never be free as long as those two walk around,” her lover, the First Quarter Witch, says in defeat.
The youngling looks up at him, doe-eyed, and reluctantly wipes away her tears. It’s Fynn who breaks the spell, having no other choice but to act now that his henchman lies broken like a marionette without strings.
“I’ll burn you all alive, aside from my sister,” Fynn says menacingly. “I have a special plan for you, Harlot. I’ll rip you apart. I’ll sever your skin and tear out your flesh and muscles until you’re nothing more than a carcass that serves as dinner for the crows.”
Emrys bares his teeth at Fynn. “If you even dare to touch a hair on her head, you’re dead.”
“Big words from a big man. You managed to escape my magic once, but I wonder if you can perform that trick for a second time. You must be exhausted. Why would you put your life on the line for such a puny, useless human?”
“Because this woman holds my soul, our hearts beat in unison, and I’d rather die than dwell another minute on this plane without her by my side. But make no mistake, Fynn. This is Hell’s territory, which ismyfamiliar grounds. This is whereIwas born. The blood of this plane courses throughmyveins, and when I am done with you, you’ll quiver as you beg my name for mercy.”
A flicker of fear is visible in Fynn’s eyes as Emrys rumbles his words aimed at him, his voice darker than the deepest oceans and louder than multiple thunderstorms colliding. Fynn’s eyes quickly glance at the dhampir, who sits against one of the weeping willows, eyeing what’s unfolding. Yet, my brother’s companion doesn’t make a move to get up and assist him, and Fynn’s lips curl up in dismay.
“All of you darkling freaks are useless,” he mutters under his breath.
With his hands, Fynn makes a circle, and the air around him begins to ripple, blurring the sharp contour of vision. He pushes his magic out, his target Emrys, who stands in a defensive position, his shadows in front of him acting as a shield.
Caria stands next to me, a hand on my shoulder, as she too lets her powers unwind, joining Emrys’s. Reiner steps beside Emrys, the men exchange a glance, and then the witch lets out his mist, obscuring the thick layer of shadow.
“If I have to die, I’ll do it alongside you, Umbra,” Reiner says, clenching his fists.
“The pleasure is mine, but I refuse to die by the hands of a brat like him,” Emrys responds, determined.
With his opening blast, my spiteful brother’s magic rips through the makeshift shield of smoke and mist, splintering it like brittle bone, as if it had never been. Reiner is unable to conjure up enough fog to support Emrys’s shadows as they knit themselves back together. Fynn unleashes another surge of Aurum. This time, it cleaves the shield apart, tearing through it like fragile flesh. Both men soar through the air and land on their backs, the impact stealing the breath from their lungs, despite their powers breaking the fall.
Emrys and Reiner rise again, charging at Fynn while their furious roars cause the ground to tremble. Fynn turns to face them, raises his hand, and conjures a wall of actual fire. The flames are an unnatural purple, mixed with pink hues. They attempt to penetrate and fight through it, but the magical fire waits eagerly for them to do so. As soon as Reiner’s ghostly fog touches the flames, it is drawn toward him, with a violet ember invading his skin and starting to dissolve his flesh. Reiner’s eyes widen in horror and fear as the pain consumes him. Right beforeEmrys’s dark tendrils clash into the fire, he withdraws them, avoiding the same fate as the witch.
Measuredly, Fynn saunters my way, one eye on the seemingly impenetrable wall with flames angrily lashing out, and the other on me. I clench my fists as the wicked smirk on his face makes my stomach churn. Small wisps of shadowy smoke curl around me—a pathetic display compared to Emrys’s power, but better than being defenseless. Fynn arches an eyebrow as he no longer watches the wildfire he created but instead stares mesmerized at the shadows. A low chuckle escapes his throat, and panic rises inside me.
“Is this what happens when you sell your body to a darkling? He marks his whore?” Fynn scoffs.
I clench my teeth but stay silent. What did Emrys say when he killed Elijah? The more you speak, the more you give your enemy a chance to wiggle out of their predicament. Essentially, you’re helping them escape if luck isn’t on your side. My eyes flick toward where Emrys should be. I need to buy him some time. I straighten my shoulders and give Fynn a piercing glare.
“Why do you even care? Haven’t you found your own human whore?” I bite back.
“You always carried that air around you like you’re better than anyone else, thanme. Your fucking twin, you bitch. We are the same! Yet, you’d stare at me, challenge me, as if you could outrun me. You are not stronger than me, Harlot, nor will you ever win a fight with me. You know why? Because I am the better sibling, and you’ll finally understand that when you meet your end at my hands. And that’s the last thing I need to do, win.”
I tilt my chin and face him.
“I don’t need to be stronger than you. I just have to be smarter, and intelligence isn’t your strong suit. Never has been.”
Fynn snorts, saying, "This… your arrogance. When will you realize you are losing? In fact, you already lost!”
