“Quiet!” Mildred snaps. “It’s time.”
I clamp my eyes shut, refusing to witness whatever fresh hell this witch is about to unleash, but the moment her cool fingers graze my shoulder and nudge my bra strap aside, dread slams into me so hard my breath stutters, and I can’t help myself.
I have to look.
Striking blue magic coils up her arm, tendrils gathering and tightening, humming like a swarm of angry bees looking for a place to sting.
Me, I’m that place.
I squeeze Cade’s hand tighter, grateful when he doesn’t flinch.
His gaze stays locked on mine, warm enough to melt stone, soft enough to unravel me. “I’m here,” he murmurs.
I nod, or at least I think I do. It’s possible my head just trembled in terror.
Mildred exhales, mutters something in a language that sounds older than this house, and then?—
Fire.
A blaze sears through my shoulder, pure flowing agony, burning straight through skin, muscle, nerve, and bone. And it’s not a pain that hits and fades. Itgrows, roots in, and claws through me like it’s carving its name for me to never forget.
Still, my jaw stays locked down, teeth grinding so hard I swear I hear a molar fracture. A scream claws up my throat, but it can’t escape. I won’t let it. I refuse to give Mildred the satisfaction.
I also physically can’t.
The chokehold this anguish has me in leaves me unable to do anything but blink and hold onto Cade for dear life because I swear that’s what I’m fighting for.
This is far worse than anything I’ve felt before. Worse than Malrik’s magic. Worse than shifting for the first time. Worse than dying in the explosion that forever changed my life.
My vision narrows, the room smears into indistinct colors. Cade’s hand is the lone point of clarity in a universe igniting with torment.
He winces. Though I doubt it’s from the magic, because I’m fully aware that I’m disrupting the circulationin his fingers. His knuckles are likely turning blue. Maybe purple, possibly chartreuse. Doesn’t really matter to me right now. He has healing.
“Just breathe,” he manages, even as I crush his hand like a hydraulic press.
I attempt a breath, but it comes out as more of a wheezing death cough. Still, the effort counts.
Mildred’s spell rips through me again—sharper this time, spiraling outward from the branding point. It feels like someone is tattooing my soul with an iron prod that’s been dipped in the sun.
The smell hits next. Burning flesh,myburning flesh, crackling in the air as magic sizzles like wet lightning.
My eyes water, but I’m not crying—reflexive pain hydration.
And just when I think I can’t take anymore, when the black spots in my vision grow more intense, the heat finally eases, from an inferno to sweltering rays until I can sense a cooling sensation.
Mildred steps back with a grunt. “You survived,” she says, as if she didn’t just set me on fire for recreational purposes, and maybe like she’s disappointed.
Cade gently releases my hand, flexing his fingers like he’s checking whether they still work. They might not.
My vision clears enough that I can look down.
And…Oh.
The tattoo—which feels like a laughably inadequate word—is breathtaking. A crescent of molten gold arcs across my shoulder, its surface filled with luminous runes so fine they look etched by starlight. Flowing lines curl around the crescent in elegant spirals, rippling like living currentsof magic that refuse to stay still beneath the skin. The entire design shifts subtly, as though someone trappedlight itselfunder a glassy surface and it’s still trying to breathe.
Power hums through me—new, steady, familiar in a way that bypasses logic and goes straight to instinct. One that my inner being recognizes and claims without second thought.
Another puzzle piece of becoming who I’m meant to be slides into place.
