To my confusion, he seems intent only on holding my gaze.
His lips part as he inhales a deep breath, stronger than before.
I sense the wand’s power, giving him a surge of energy a moment before he raises it off his stomach and points it at me.
“Death,” he says.
Power from the wand shrieks upward, streaking past me, so close to my face that it burns my cheek.
I twist to see Hadrix creeping up behind me just as the wand’s power hits him.
He drops to his knees as the life disappears instantly from his eyes, and he drops to the soil beside his wife’s body.
I’m still crouched beside Striker, and now his hand touches my cheek, just his fingertips, as he holds the wand clear of my face.
The gentle way his fingers graze my jaw and one corner of my lips shocks me.
I freeze, my heart thumping harder than I expected, while my snakes slither around my shoulders and waist, their movements calming.
Striker’s arm drops back to his chest. Without a word, he presses the wand tightly against his heart.
I’m not sure what he’s doing until the molten lava that flows through the open veins down his arms begins to spread across his hand, the fiery substance flowing along the surface of the wand now clutched to his chest.
The lava lines on his torso break free from their confines and flow toward the wand, sliding across his skin until the white bone is covered in fire and no longer visible.
His eyes close, and the lava disperses, drawing away from where the wand used to be, leaving nothing behind.
My eyes widen to see that the wand is…
Gone.
He destroyed it in the fires of hell that he carries within himself.
He chose.
His face is smudged with dirt and blood. His incisors rapidly disappear. The fire in his eyes is finally dying.
He won’t last long now, but his choice has determined that I won’t be the one to kill him.
The strangest feeling fills my chest. As if… I’m about to lose something that might have once been precious to me.
I push that feeling away.
It has no place in my mind or my body.
I’m already turning to the human men with guns, among whom the tension is rising to a breaking point. I don’t fear them, but I won’t stand for them killing anyone else who doesn’t deserve to die today.
I quickly rise to my feet, but Striker’s whisper stops me.
“Peyton,” he says. “I choose you.”
Perplexed, I stare back at him.
I am not to be chosen.
“I will not kill you today,” I say before I spin on my heels and hurry away from him, rushing toward the twitchy gunmen.
They all train their guns on me, although the smart ones are looking at the gaps in the fence, no doubt wishing they’d taken the chance to escape already.
