She rattled her feathers, trying to activate each one like Tristan had told her.
It didn’t work.
The Koenig barreled toward her again.
She swore under her breath and barely pivoted away in time to avoid his path. His fingers invaded her invisible feathers, coming close enough to her face for her to bite down on them—hard.He barked out a yelp, then jumped back.
She re-arranged her wings, shook her feathers to reactivate the camouflage, but even less obeyed this time. Many were askew due to the Koenig’s assault.
Her entire torso was visible—she could tell by where the Koenig was staring, waiting patiently across the floor as if trying to discern her next move.
This was useless. If she couldn’t activate all her feathers, she’d never be able to hide from him.
She took the chance, whipped open her wings, and faced down Aedelmar.
Tristan and Silas barked out protests from the cage, but she ignored them. This was her fight. Her choice.
The Brethren, Wormwood included, erupted into gleeful bellows as the Koenig stalked toward her.
She didn’t back down, ran directly for him—hoping to surprise him—but before she could pivot, he wrapped an arm around her waist and slammed her to the ground.
Her skull hit the black stone, her vision swirling. The Koenig attempted to pounce on her, but she rolled away and popped to her feet. She darted behind him and raked her fingernails across the scars on his back.
The Koenig released a half-mad roar, then whirled, swinging out with his fists. Cassandra ducked out of the way, though not easily.
HighGods,this fucker was fast.
The fight stretched for long minutes, Cassandra getting in a few choice blows—mostly kicks to the Koenig’s back, ribs, and legs—that had the male wincing in visible pain and had Cassandra’s hope soaring. But for every strike she landed, Aedelmar landed three.
Elbows to her chest, chops to the back of her neck, a fist across her jaw. The blows felt like running full speed into a brick wall.
After each one, the Koenig would back away, smirking down at her. Expecting her to give up.
And every time, she’d lurch to her feet, lift her fists, and beckon him forward.
Again.
For Ana.
And again.
For Xenia.
And again.
For Mama.
And again.
For the woman Cassandra had been at the Temple. A rebel wolf in sheep’s clothing, waiting to tear her enemies apart with her teeth.
She wouldn’t give up. She couldn’t. No matter how broken she felt, no matter how disoriented, she would never let a male like Aedelmar Burkhardt—a male who thrived on violence and subjugation—defeat her.
She glanced toward the window as the last golden rays of dusk slipped away.
If she could keep this up, could justsurvive, until Cael and Signys arrived, then she, Tristan, Mireille, and Silas would regain their elemental magics and?—
The Koenig’s fist connected with the side of her face and her brain rattled in her skull. Searing pain radiated up her cheek and down her neck.
