“And you know what to do with it?”
Another nod. “Yes.”
“Good,” he says, the single word carrying the weight of everything that depends on this plan.
“Then let’s end this. The faster we take out our enemy, the quicker I can get back to my wife and daughter.” Malix looks over his shoulder at a purple dragon lying in wait. He nods once, but clearly it’s a signal because the large dragon rises, stretching its powerful wings.
“Evangeline must be protected at all costs,” Zephyr says, his voice unwavering.
“I’ll stay by her side,” Finnick volunteers immediately as he lands on my shoulder. “We will get through this. Together.” I feel safer having Finnick with me.
I’m not sure how confident Zephyris. There’s a hard line to his jaw, but he nods nonetheless, doing little to ease the nerves brewing in my stomach. “Then let’s begin. This ends today.”
And he’s right. This can’t be patched over or delayed any longer. This isn’t a wound that needs a bandage. It’s a curse that must be cut out at the root.
The kings and I exchange a nod, a silent agreement passing between us. But deep down, I know we’re not aligned. We each have our own vision of what “the end” looks like, and none of these men will like what I might be forced to do. Still, one truth binds us together: I have the power to stop this.
And I will.
Like Zephyr said—this ends today. One way or another. I just hope it doesn’t come down to death. Mine, specifically.
Chapter 37
Zephyr
Magic surges through me like wildfire, searing my veins. It isn’t the usual cool touch of ice, but rather a wild, unrelenting fire. It fills me with a singular, primal need: protect what’s mine and destroy anything that threatens it. I haven’t felt this much of my magic in a long time, but something about this battle is giving me an extra dose of energy.
Niko flashes through my mind—still at home, still deteriorating by the minute. I can feel him slipping further away with each passing day, no matter how many times he tries to deny it. I’m doing this for him. To save my mate. To make sure I don’t lose him forever.
But I’m also doing this for her. Evangeline walks beside me, silent but trembling with quiet strength. I can feel her fear, even while she’s putting on a brave front. She hasn’t faltered once since we left. And I’ll be damned if I let her face this alone. I’m proud of her, but I’m also filled with dread at facing what lies before us. If I couldhave done this without bringing her into harm's way, I would have.
Finnick hasn’t stopped talking since we left our camp. Normally, it would bother me, but he’s bringing comfort to Evangeline, so I don’t dare stop him. It drowns out the sound of Rip’s people stalking through the forest, flanking us. The dragons have already taken to the sky. We aren’t subtle in our approach—can’t be with massive winged lizards flying overhead. The Nephilim will know we’re close and be expecting a fight, and we must be prepared for battle.
As a trained soldier, I’ve never feared battle, always knowing my life was on the line. But this time, it feels different. This time, there’s so much more at stake, and the thought of anything happening to Evangeline fills me with dread. Not only because she holds the key to our survival, but because losing her would rip my heart from my chest and leave me with an open wound that could never be healed.
Because the truth is, I’m in love with Evangeline. I can’t deny that any longer. I want a life with her and Niko, my parents be damned. Maybe I’m not like them. Maybe I can make this work, but I have to live long enough to see it through.
The moment the thought forms, the battlefield roars to life in front of us.
Winds whip through the blackened trees as we emerge from the forest’s edge. I zone in immediately on the cursed well, remembering the faded picture Lady Thalia showed us. Jagged stone rising like the ribcage of some long-dead god is encircled in roiling fog. The magicflowing from it is neither good nor bad, just power, but power that can destroy. Power that is currently in the hands of our enemies. The sand around it is soaked with what feels like death.
The earth here is wrong. Twisted. Even the dragons flying overhead keep their distance at first, wings slicing through air thick with rot.
And standing between us and salvation is a small army of the Nephilim, but even one Nephilim is dangerous. There’s at least a dozen or more present.
My breath catches. Even knowing what we’d face didn’t prepare me for the sheer horror of them. They’re towering beasts, each one a unique abomination. Some stretch fifteen feet tall, their skin black and cracked like scorched earth. Others have hollow eyes that glow like dying stars. All of them radiate power. Hunger. Rage.
It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve seen one, these creatures will always unsettle me. They watch us like predators, lips curled back, revealing too many teeth. There’s no time for strategy, because the moment they see us, they charge.
The first clash is a collision of pent-up fury. One of the wolves lunges at a Nephilim, only to be caught mid-air and slammed into the sand hard enough to crater it. Bones crunch, followed by a whimper. Rip lets out a feral roar and leaps over the wreckage, claws swiping deep gashes into the beast’s throat. Blood—thick, black, and steaming—splashes across his chest.
More of his wolves follow, descending upon Nephilim in vicious packs. It takes five wolves to bring down a single Nephilim. The fae follow inpursuit, bending the earth to their will. Sink holes open, catching unsuspecting Nephilim mid-charge. The wind fae trap Nephilim in a storm of wind, allowing enough time for the wolves to pounce on them.
Above us, the dragons descend. A rush of air and heat blasts behind us as they strike. One Nephilim is engulfed in flames, but even as it burns, it laughs, shambling forward through the fire like it’s a lover’s embrace. It doesn’t stop until it’s nothing more than charred remains. Still, the laugh lingers with me, but I don’t have time to flinch. No time to hesitate. Hesitation means death, and I have too much on the line.
My magic surges through me, ice trailing from my fingertips in jagged shards. It’s weak, but it’s there, even if not at full strength. I leap forward and unleash it, the frozen energy slicing clean through a Nephilim’s kneecap. It collapses with a bellow, and a few wolves attack, tearing the creature limb from limb. It’s a bloody, messy scene that paints the sand in red. The air is pungent with a distinctive metallic smell.
Another one rushes me. I duck low, barely avoiding the swing of a twisted spear. Since when did the Nephilim use weapons? Fucking dickheads.
