He grins, tilting his head, his eyelids flickering but not in a normal way, from bottom to top, with black eyelids, and I jerk my head back at the absurdity of it.
“It seems you’re at an impasse, Roxy… there are only two options for you right now. One is certain death…” I swallow hard, and he smirks again seeing that I am listening a little more intently now, “… or, my proposal. You become my consort, give me access to your bloodline and your knowledge of the club’s operations, and…” he waves his hand through the air like this is the only option I can take, “… I’ll spare them.” He gestures, and the air in front of me ripples, reality bending until an image forms in the frozen starlight, showing the clubhouse from an angle I’ve never seen before. “Refuse, and I’ll destroyeverythingyou’ve come to care about.”
My heart slams against my ribs hard enough to bruise. I can see them in the magical projection—Scar moving through shadows at vampire speed, Wreck feeding on fear as fae warriors scatter before him, Coil’s serpentine form coiling aroundenemies with lethal precision. Raze, my dragon, is fighting with fire and ice spiraling together in patterns that make the air scream.
The prince watches my reaction with clinical interest. “Your dragon is impressive, I’ll grant you that. But he cannot stand against the full might of the Seelie Court.” He moves closer, close enough that the frost forming on his armor with each breath is almost beautiful if it weren’t so fucking scary. “You care for them. I can see it in your eyes, taste it in the air around you. That weakness will be their downfall,unless… you agree to my terms.”
I gather every ounce of moisture in my mouth and spit directly in his face. The saliva freezes mid-flight, crystallizing into tiny ice shards that tinkle against his perfect features like falling stars. For one heartbeat, the fortress goes absolutely silent, the pulsing starlight stilling as if the entire structure is holding its breath.
Then the prince smiles wider, and it’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen, before the shards of saliva fall to the ground at my feet, clinking against the ground, making beautiful, harmonious sounds that shouldn’t be so glorious for a gesture out of spite.
“I belong to Raze,” I manage through teeth that want to chatter from cold and fear in equal measure. “And heiscoming for me.” The words hang in the frozen air between us, defiant and absolute.
The prince’s laughter echoes through the vaulted ceiling until it surrounds me from all directions. “Oh, little witch. That’sexactlywhat I am counting on.” He waves one hand, and the magical projection shifts, zooming in on different sections of the battle raging through the clubhouse.
“Watch,” he commands, his voice carrying compulsion that makes my eyes lock onto the images even as I try to look away. “Watch thembleeeeeedfor you.”
The vision focuses on Calder first, the young kitsune fighting with fox-fire blazing from his hands in brilliant orange-gold flames. He’s holding his own against two fae warriors, his youth and speed keeping him ahead of their blades, his fire burning bright enough to drive them back step by step.
Then a third fae appears behind him, moving with supernatural silence, and drives an iron blade straight through his back.
Calder’s fox-fire extinguishes like someone flipped a switch, the brilliant flames dying to nothing as he drops to his knees. Blood spreads across the clubhouse floor in an expanding pool that reflects the overhead lights in crimson patterns. His face goes pale, eyes wide with shock and pain, and I watch him fall forward onto the stone that shouldn’t be slick with his blood.
“No,” I whisper, the word torn from somewhere deep in my chest.
The vision shifts before I can see if he’s still breathing, focusing instead on Rhett and Bennett fighting back-to-back near the main entrance. The hellhound and the angel, constantly bickering and sniping at each other, now move in perfect synchronization as they face down a wave of fae warriors.
Rhett’s shadows coil around enemy legs, dragging them down into darkness that swallows screams, while Bennett’s divine light burns through fae flesh with precision that speaks to centuries of holy war. They’re magnificent together, covering each other’s blind spots, compensating for weaknesses, fighting with the kind of unity that only comes from trust forged in blood.
But there are too many.
For every fae they drop, three more push through the shattered doors. I watch a lunar blade slice across Rhett’s shoulder, opening a wound that spills darkness instead of blood, and watch Bennett’s wing get pierced by an enchanted arrow that makes him stumble mid-flight.
They’re bloodied.
Exhausted.
Still fighting.
Still refusing to break.
“They’re quite resilient,” the prince observes, tone carrying academic interest like he’s watching a particularly engaging experiment. “I’ve sent three dozen of my finest warriors. Impressive, for such a small force.”
The vision shifts again, and this time I’m looking at Thorn. The nightbark stands at the center of chaos, branches and thorns erupting from his body in violent growth, creating barriers and weapons from his own flesh. Trees outside the clubhouse bend to his will, roots smashing through windows to drag fae warriors into crushing embraces. He’s bleeding sap from dozens of wounds, dark, viscous fluid that stains the floor beneath him, but he doesn’t stop fighting.
Then I watch as three fae wielding axes of pure moonlight surround him, and they start cutting. Not to kill quickly, but methodically, severing his connection to the forest one branch at a time. Each cut makes him scream, the sound raw and terrible, echoing through both the clubhouse and this frozen fortress.
I watch his forest connections sever, watch the trees outside stop responding to his calls, watch him collapse to his knees as the very thing that makes him what he is gets thoroughly destroyed.
“Stop,” I breathe, hands clenching into fists despite the iron burning deeper into my wrists. “Please stop.”
The prince ignores me, the vision continuing its brutal tour through the battle. I see Ivy’s greenhouse in flames, centuries of cultivation burning while she fights desperately to save what she can. Ash in phoenix form, taking on six fae at once, her flames burning bright but not bright enough against their combined magic. Luna is calling impossible tides of water, drowning faewarriors, but I can see the exhaustion in every movement, the way she’s flagging under the relentless assault.
Then Scar, five centuries of vampire fury condensed into deadly speed, moving through enemies like death incarnate, but even he’s bleeding from wounds that aren’t healing fast enough.
They’re magnificent.
Every single one of them.
