“I was eight.”
Antony hums in the back of his throat. “Just a child.” The corners of his mouth turn down. “We were both just children.”
“Children at the whims of fate.” I grind my teeth as I rise back to my feet, my fire cold and dead.
Now we’re grown men and still at the whims of fate.
“I have to break this fucking curse,” I say. “I need Thyra to do that.”
“Not if it hurts her.”
Three days ago, I never would have imagined Antony caring about the Oracle’s well-being.
“You need this curse broken as badly as I do.” I shake my head at him. “What changed?”
He doesn’t answer my question, but his eyes darken. A dangerous sign.
“That dark wood can stop Thyra from foreseeing the actions of the person who carries it,” he says. “As long as a piece of that wood is on their person, she can’t foresee any harm they might do to others. Or to her.”
The full impact of what he said sinks in quickly.
That means…
“Thyra won’t see me coming.”
But is that a good thing?
I don’t have time to consider it because Antony gives me a sudden smile, dark and chilling, and I’m reminded that he grew up surrounded by fae who manipulate others for sport.
He’s renowned for weaving lies and maneuvering his enemies toward their deaths.
Ah… Fuck.
I take a quick step back.
He got me talking. He even got me to douse my fire.
Which is suddenly a huge fucking problem.
“Here’s what else I know,” he says, his voice low, his green eyes turning pure black, a visible surge of vampyric power. “Whatever vision Thyra had just now, she drew us both to her. You might have seen her in the Frost Kingdom, but I saw her in darkness. Somehow, she took me to that tree. She showed me that fucking wood being harvested. And now? Now I have a purpose.”
He advances toward me again. “I’m going to hunt down every fae carrying a piece of that fucking tree, and I’m going to kill them. Starting with you.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Antony
Istrike as fast as I can.
I won’t let Maxim endanger Thyra.
In a blur, my fist collides with Maxim’s chest, my razor-sharp fingernails gouging as deeply as claws, tearing strips off his chest.
If I had thought I could have sliced through his neck, I would have, but he’s already throwing himself backward along the mountain ridge.
I’ll only have a minute—if that—before his fire returns and with it, his full strength.
To my advantage, his pupils are enormous. Without his fire, I’m certain he’s struggling to see properly.
