Page 246 of Burn of the Everflame

Their warnings went unheard by us both. Hesitantly, I lifted a hand and set it on Ophiucae’s chest, my palm against his heart. He gazed down at it, brows drawing low.

Choose me, I pleaded internally. Show me I’m more important to you than revenge.

Though the mob grew closer and louder, Ophiucae didn’t pull his eyes from where I touched him, and I didn’t pull my eyes from him.

Everything hung on this moment. This choice.

I held my breath.

He met my gaze.

His lips parted to speak.

And the point of an arrow came slicing through his neck.

We stilled in mirrored shock. Sorrow’s Edge slipped from his hand as night-black blood oozed from his wound. He reached up to touch it—and a second arrow speared into his shoulder.

The force of it knocked him forward, crashing against me. I yanked the arrow from his flesh, staring in horror at its crimson-smeared, glittering black tip.

“Leave it in him,” Teller yelled, running out from the shadows. He slid another arrow from his quiver and set it into the crossbow’s shaft.

I frantically shook my head. “Teller, no!”

Ophiucae let out a thunderous roar. He shoved me away and turned to my brother just as a third arrow sank into his ribs. Waves of wrath trembled through his aura, making the air itself seem to ignite. Whips of sizzling light thrashed around him, and lightning crackled in a web across the sky.

“You will pay for that,” he snarled.

Teller set his jaw and reached for another arrow.

I lunged to grab Ophiucae’s arm, only to slam against his shield. Luther, Taran, and Doriel were still locked in his compulsion. Even the mortals had skidded to a stop, frozen in terror at the explosion of magic.

Teller raised his crossbow, aligning the arrow’s point with Ophiucae’s chest.

“Stop!” I yelled.

“Stay the fuck away from my sister,” Teller said.

He let the arrow fly. It soared for its target, the godstone tip piercing Ophiucae’s shield and sinking deep into his shimmering skin.

Ophiucae smiled.

He strode toward Teller. I screamed, straining against the magical binds that kept me on my knees.

Henri ran past me in a blur. He flew up the steps and collided into Teller, yanking the crossbow from his hands. “Get Diem and run. I’ll cover y⁠—”

Teller’s fist cracked against his jaw.

Henri’s head jolted sideways, and he careened to the ground. Ophiucae let out a rumbling laugh and slowed to a lazy, indulgent gait, as if to savor the moment, even as Teller snatched his bow back and took aim again.

Ophiucae spread his arms wide. “Go ahead, boy. Use them all.”

Teller fired another arrow, then another, then another. With each one that hit its aim, a crease deepened between his brows. “Come on,” he murmured, heel bouncing against the ground. His hand reached for his quiver—and came back empty. He swore and dropped the crossbow, then pulled a dagger from his hip, shifting one leg back into the fighting stance our father had taught us.

Henri wobbled to his feet. “Gods-damned Bellators,” he mumbled, rubbing his cheek. He stepped into Ophiucae’s path. “If you want to hurt him, you’ll have to go through m⁠—”

Ophiucae twitched a finger, and Henri took flight. His body soared past Teller and slammed into a column on the library’s facade, then crumpled to the ground.

“Any more surprises?” Ophiucae asked.