Above us, Theo breathes a steady assault of flames onto the Idols flickering around the room. One Idol throws fireballs at my dragon, driving it into his wings and chest. His roar cuts short, pain ripping through our bond hard enough to steal my breath. My vision blackens, my body trying to fold under what he’s enduring.
He cannot hold this.
“Anytime now would be wonderful,” Genie calls from somewhere behind me. “Not to rush the end of the world, but some of us have a cake afternoon to prepare for.”
I smile. The words are so wrong at the moment, but right enough to cut through the pain trying to claim me. I step forward instead of back and embrace everything that I have always beenwithout apology. Every mistake, disaster, fire, broken rule, and the claiming of four hearts made to be mine.
The pressure hits harder, pushing against my skin, trying to drive me down. I hold my ground and reach for it. The chaos answers, and I know now that I can win. Not because I’m stronger, but because I’m not constrained by the laws they hold on to, even when the rest of the world has outgrown them. I catch the force of it, tear it apart, and throw it wide with a grin on my face.
Fire stutters before it reaches Theo. Power fractures before it can strike Gwyneth, and the space around her steadies, the chant holding.
The female Idol strides closer, all of her attention on Nash. She does not strike again. She draws a dagger from a sheath on her thigh and cuts her palm. “Enough,” she shouts, her blood saturating the air, pulsating in time with the magic Gwyneth weaves.
The word lands inside him, and his body jerks. His shoulders lock, his head dropping as his shadows falter, then turn, pulling toward the rising blood instead of holding the line. “No,” he snarls.
The pressure around him builds, and the serpent at her feet slithers toward us, fangs bared. It slides across the marble and wraps around Nash’s legs before climbing, tightening as it goes. His shadows recoil, forced inward, held in place instead of spreading. His breath stutters when the restraint takes hold, his control slipping as the coil tightens around him.
“Nash,” I plead, torn. I can’t move. If I leave Gwyneth, the chant breaks. If the chant breaks, we lose. He lifts his head, his gaze finding mine. For a split tempo he is there, present and fighting. Then the pull returns, and his shadows surge again. Instead of circling us, they target the blood Gwyneth is working into a frenzy.
His body shifts forward before he locks himself in place, every muscle straining while he fights against it. His hands curl, his jaw clenched as the urge rises inside him.
“Don’t,” I say, holding his gaze.
His eyes bleed to black, and his restraint breaks. His shadows snap free of the serpent’s hold and surge forward, no longer guarding us, no longer holding the line, no longer under his control. They have been hijacked by the Idol and her serpent servant. They drive toward the blood, toward the power rising between Gwyneth’s hands. My eyes widen, and my chaos reorganizes all my thoughts into one purpose.
“Fuck,” Hart snarls. He breaks the circle and dashes toward Nash with his blade raised, not in protection, but in execution. An agreement I was never told about settles into place.
No.Adrenaline courses through my veins, and I throw myself between them just as Hart’s sword comes down. My breath catches at the pain shredding my nerves when the blade drives deep into my back. My knees give out, and I grab onto Nash’s shoulders, holding us in place while his shadows lash around us.
“Stop,” I force out through the blood bubbling up my throat. “Not yet.”
The room spins, icy coldness spreading through my body. Nash grabs my hips to steady me when my feet slip, no longer able to hold me up. “Daphne, what have you done?”
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot hovers above me, trying to figure out how to fix this. There is no fixing though.
Hart appears to the side of us, my blood dripping from his blade and his mouth hanging open. I don’t have the strength to speak through the pain, so I force my mind to communicate with reassurance.
It’s a flesh wound.
It’s not.
I’ll be fine.
Unlikely.
You are worth everything.
Truth.
“What did you do?” Malachi roars. Theo backs that up with a rage of fire hotter than any I’ve ever known.
“No,” Gwyneth cries.
“Finish it,” I beg her.
Her voice cracks as she does as I ask. The chant rises.
“Make a wish,” Genie demands. “Damn the consequences.”
