Page 46

He stared down at her, knuckles turning white.

She was an older woman. Valen’s age, but unlike his father, she looked so frail. Breakable. Blood trickled from her nose, and tears brimmed the edges of her eyes. The purple of the Wraith wasn’t dark like a vapor of poison. It was light—a flowery lilac.

Forcefully, through blue lips, she uttered, “Please.”

Something about that word rattled him to his core. A reaper didn’t plead for mercy, most certainly not an Evelian gifted with the god of death itself. They were ruthless. Hell-bent on causing destruction.

Then why am I still here? He asked himself again. Why?

Another part of him answered. Does that matter? Look around you! Look at what she’s done! She destroyed an entire village and desecrated their corpses. There is no redemption for her! End it!

Except—Draven's grip loosened as he noticed the green of her fear and the orange of her pain. She'd only done it to stand against his family, a force she had no hope of winning against now that Valen’s First Incarnation had succeeded in imprisoning two of the three Dusk Flares. What she did was out of desperation after having been backed into a corner.

Valen seceded from the other Flares. Valen started the war. Valen was responsible for the deaths of thousands of innocents while Keara only defended them.

The Guardian had become darker than the Wraith itself.

Keara kicked herself away from him, dragging herself backward while she gasped for air and struggled to her feet. Draven crumpled, one hand holding himself upright, the other on his chest as he fought to control the stolen gods racing under his skin.

“I did this,” he gasped.

“You can… stop,” Keara choked out. “Stop this.”

“I can’t.”

“You already are.”

Draven shook his head. “I can’t take back what’s already been done.”

“No. But you can decide what happens next.”

“I’m not strong enough. I never should have existed in the first place.” Draven lifted his gaze to Keara caressing her neck. “You have to kill me.” She blinked down at him, assessing. “Don’t leave me like this…”

Slowly, she backed away into the cloud of ash.“You will not die by my hand.”

“You can’t leave me like this!”

But she was already gone.

Draven remained. Defeated. Roaring with power and haunted by the Wraith’s restraint.

What should I do? He clenched his fists, fingers digging into his skin. What should I do!

He pushed to his feet then trudged through the dilapidated village, finding his father surrounded by the now still bodies of the people that once lived there. Alister and Caine were nowhere to be found. Only a single guard stood by his side.

Valen turned around, spying Draven. His expression, at first relieved that the dead had ended their assault, quickly dropped as he realized why.

“Where is the Wraith?” he asked.

Draven said nothing. He couldn’t. He wasn’t even sure he made a conscious decision to be here. He just was. It took everything in him to keep the power pulsing through his veins restrained enough to keep his mind intact now that he had it back.

The thunder of Valen’s voice startled him back to his father. “Where is she!”

“Gone.”

Colors lifted from Valen as he met his gaze—fearful greens of the Serpent and pained oranges from the Gnaw. Deep in his chest, a golden light glimmered against the pale palette of death all around.

“Life eternal,” Draven gritted between his teeth. “Is this what it looks like? What you wanted?” Surely Valen knew Draven could see his emotions, but his patience wore thin. “Is it?” he yelled, voice distorted and unfamiliar.