“Then don’t be.” I spit out the blood pooling in my mouth. “Don’t be the one who kills me. Let me go. I came here to avenge you. You’re alive. My purpose is spent. I can disappear from your life.”
He shakes his head, the corners of his mouth turned down. His hair is so inky against his pale skin that it’s like black lines slashing across his features and separating the pieces of his face.
One piece conflicted. One piece resolved. Another piece indifferent. A final piece cold.
“Have you ever seen true darkness, Daughter?”
I’ve seen it in many forms.
I saw it in the light within my jailer’s hands. He was an angel of supposed purity who used his power to cause pain and subjugation. Surely, darkness masquerading as light is evil.
I’ve seen it in the eyes of a beautiful man, the keeper of dark magic himself, who stood at my side for the last week and to whom I gave the power in my heart.Hisdarkness is a thing of beauty and carries endless possibilities, a darkness that forms a shield between me and the rest of the world, a not-so-quiet protection.
But true darkness…
I see it now, crouched in front of me.
Fathers should never hurt their daughters. No matter their reasons.
Any father who hurts his child is a fucking monster.
“I’ve seen darkness,” I say.
“Then you will understand why I must do everything in my power to end you.”
His words send a shudder through me.
Yes, I am darkness, but I had a purpose that was not unjust.
I thought I would come here to avenge a father who loved me, even though, as dark creatures, we rarely love anything other than power and control and pain.
I believed I was destined to take back the Nostra Empire in his name and as retribution for the life that had been stolen from my mother and the childhood that had been stolen from me.
But now…
The hatred in his eyes leaves me empty.
“You fought well, Daughter,” he says.
Unable to move, I can’t do anything more than snarl at him. “If you’re going to kill me, stop talking and get the fuck on with it.”
Ignoring the taunt, he bends and takes hold of my left wrist—the unbroken but immobilized one. His fingers and thumb dig into my limb in a configuration that feels incredibly deliberate, but his intent is confusing and unclear.
He increases the pressure and suddenly, my claws are forced outward as far as they can go.
I can’t retract them.
Which wouldn’t be a concern, except that he’s pressing them toward my own chest.
Sickening pain streaks through me the moment he compels my arm to bend in a way it currently doesn’t want to, but it’s nothing compared to the fear that bursts through me.
“What are you doing?”
“Your claws and feathers are made of an extremely rare metal,” he says. “A dark substance. One of the few metals that can kill you.”
Fuck no.
“I would use one of your feathers,” he continues, glancing up at the feather embedded in the wall, “but your claws will shred your heart in a single strike. A much more efficient death.”
