My dark heart inhales it like air, pulling it into me with purpose. I will take whatever anger the book has to give, as long as I hurt it as much as it has hurt me.
I breathe through the painful sensations, accepting the flood of dark magic.
At the same time, my left arm continues its upward arc even as my father leaps down toward me.
The trajectory of my claws takes them up, out of the book, up through the air, and directly into my father’s face.
His downward momentum works horribly against him.
My claws slice through his outstretched right forearm and continue upward to cut neatly through the entire right side of his jaw.
With a scream, he tries to reverse his direction, his wings whipping outward as if he could flap them fast enough to get away from me.
The damage is already done.
His blood splatters across the floor and soaks into the cover of the now-ragged book.
Still screaming, he throws himself backward, scrambling away from me, trying to clutch his face with his uninjured left arm.
I have no illusions that he’ll be out of action for long.
And he’s still located between me and the only exit.
What’s more, a flood of light magic is already building around him. I’m certain he’s drawing on the light magic keeper’spower as fast as he can and will let it loose the moment the worst of his pain subsides.
The book, meanwhile, lies completely still on the floor.
When I was forced to read it, the book itself had turned into vines and daggers, pinning me to the spot so that I couldn’t look away.
Now, it looks like nothing more than black paper bound together. When I grab the side of it that’s still intact and scoop it up against my side, pressing it close to my body, it’s heavy and awkward, parts of it flapping like ribbons.
But I feel nothing of the power I sensed from it before.
As my father’s screams continue, I finally look at Emil.
His hand hasn’t wavered from its spot at the back of my neck, but it has tightened.
I find him frozen opposite me and I don’t have a hope of interpreting the expression in his icy-green eyes.
“I’ve said what I needed to say, and I meant it.” I force sound through my lips. “The truth is a gift, however dark it is. My fate is now up to you.”
For a terrible moment, his eyes search mine.
I force myself to meet his gaze. To face the fear that his current form brings to me.
Only he has the power to get us out of here and, by taking control of my pain and mending the cracks in my heart, I’ve ensured he has enough strength to do it.
Without a word, he lifts his left arm, wrapping it around me and swiftly tugging me closer—all while avoiding contact with the book.
For some reason, I am one of the few beings who can touch this book without it destroying my mind. When I first showed Emil a page that had been ripped out of this book and left for me in secret by my mother, he turned away from the page, not even wishing to look at it.
Emil’s cheek is cold against mine, a deathly iciness that defies his beauty.
In the next second, his transportation magic bursts to life, a tornado of mist rushing against my skin and enclosing us.
Not so much that I can’t see my father’s silhouette beyond it.
A flood of white light pours toward us, cutting through the farthest edge of the mist.
