Cassandra’s dagger bobbed at Alexei’s hip, and Xenia folded her arm behind her, caressing the shard and buttressing her courage to use it.
Alexei led her into the fortress’s great hall. Richelle and Maksym were in the midst of a heated conversation in front of the large map of Ethyrios, whispers hissing as flickers of lightning flashed down Maksym’s wings. Color rose on Richelle’s cheeks, her raven curls in disarray as if she’d been running nervous hands through them.
She slammed her finger onto a point on the map several times as Maksym flung his hands up in an exasperated gesture and turned away from her.
Several Deathstalker guards slumped in chairs around the long stone table, pointedly ignoring the argument taking place beside them.
One of them was missing. Zakariah. The ash-blond male who’d served her and Maksym’s dinner.
The one Richelle had sent to retrieve the necklace.
“…toldyou not to underestimate her, Richelle,” Maksym growled. “What were you thinking, sending Zakariah to deal with Roeki alone?”
Richelle’s turquoise eyes dropped to the floor. “An honest mistake, Maksym,” she murmured. “He assured me he could handle her.”
Maksym rounded on her, cuffed her throat and slammed her against the map. Richelle didn’t bother fighting back. She was a trembling fawn, caught in an angry predator’s snare with none of her previous oily confidence on show. “I’m sorry, Maksym. I will do better.”
Maksym barked a laugh so full of venom, it chilled Xenia’s blood. He lowered his face to Richelle’s, his grip tightening on her neck. “And what in the name of the Creator makes you think I will give you that chance?”
Richelle opened her mouth to respond but only a strangled sound came out as glowing green snakes of lighting twined up Maksym’s forearm. Richelle’s teeth clamped closed as tremors wracked her body, and her eyes rolled back, exposing white. Wisps of smoke floated off her skin.
The unmistakable scent of cooked flesh filled the room as Richelle’s cheeks and exposed arms began to blister.
Xenia wanted to look away from the gruesome spectacle, but she was frozen in place, awestruck by Maksym’s dreadful power.
Richelle’s legs gave a final, jerking twitch, a dark spot blooming down the leg of her pants, and Maksym released her with a disgusted grunt.
Her body crumpled to the floor, small sparks still popping from her flesh, as her corpse spasmed with aftershocks.
Maksym turned on Xenia, his face a mask of unhinged rage. The face of a male who’s carefully laid plans were all coming crashing down.
Xenia bit her lip to keep from smiling, but couldn’t help a small snicker.
Maksym snapped. Stalked to her in three long strides and wrapped his hands around her throat, shoving her against the stone wall.
“You think this is funny?” he snarled, his fingers popping with sparks that coursed through her, seizing her muscles. She grabbed his wrist with one hand and snaked the other behind her back, trying to pry the stone shard from her waistband. Difficult as Maksym slammed her against the wall again.
Xenia gritted her teeth as another shockwave of Maksym’s power blazed through her. “I think it’s fucking hilarious,” she bit out. “Your little fly-by-night operation isdone, isn’t it?”
Maksym squeezed her throat harder, and the lack of breath combined with her weakness from hunger made her head swim.
Still, she couldn’t help taunting him.
She marveled that she’d ever been afraid of him at all. He was a small male with small plans. Just a petulant, powerless bully.
Uncontrollable laughter bubbled up her throat, forced past Maksym’s vise-like grip, and burst from her parted lips.
“Stop fucking laughing!” he roared.
Her hilarity pitched higher, her body juddering as she felt his power building. He was about to strike, about to end her, but she couldn’t help herself. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of begging for a life she’d almost thrown away in that bathing chamber.
Her fingers finally pried the stone shard free of her waistband.
Maksym’s eyes widened as she jammed it into the side of his throat, and he let out a burbling groan, but didn’t release her neck.
Green blood streamed down her wrist, loosening her grip on the shard as she attempted to force it in deeper.
The shock of the blow shuttered Maskym’s lightning. “Youbitch,” he snarled, low and wet.
