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Having my hands around his neck felt divine before. I’m begging the universe to let me finish the job.

Zaiya’s fingers brush my wrist. A warning.

A chamber door opens. Lucian and Tristan drag someone in between them.

Michael.

His face is swollen. Blood on his mouth. His white T-shirt is half torn and hanging off him.

They shove him to the floor at our feet. Michael coughs, spitting blood.

“He confessed,” Tristan says. Then he notices Gregory Sarris in the room. He straightens immediately and takes a step back.

“You questioned him without the Council present?” Sarris asks him.

“They assaulted me,” Michael whines.

“Whatever works,” Lucian says.

Patrick looks down at him with disgust. “You’re fucking worthless, you know that?”

Michael’s eyes widen. “Patrick—”

Patrick cuts him off. “Shut up.”

Liam turns to confer with the two Councilmen who showed up. A few quiet words. A glance at the scale. At Michael. At Patrick standing there with a gun in this sacred space.

The conference is quick. Liam turns back around.

“Mr. Connelly, your title of Sovereign is revoked.”

Patrick’s smile tightens as if nothing can touch him. “You can’t revoke what the Order voted for.”

“You stole it.”

Lucian leans down, grabs Michael by the hair, and yanks his head up. “Tell him.”

Michael’s eyes flash with hate, then resignation. “I adjusted the pivot.” Then he realizes what he has to do to survive. “Patrick told me to. He said it was insurance.”

Patrick’s face twists. “You fucking idiot.”

He aims his gun at Michael.

Liam grabs Patrick’s arm and forces the gun down. “That’s enough.”

Then he takes a breath and turns to us. “Before all witnesses present, I declare the titles of Sovereign and Seraph belong to Edwin Crotavere and Zaiya Zapera.”

My heart swells as I draw in a deep breath. Zaiya looks up at me with big, round eyes and a mouth that wants to smile but won’t let itself.

“This is bullshit.” Patrick raises his arm, his gun aimed at my girl, his finger tightening in slow motion.

I react instantly.

The gun in my bad hand appears out of nowhere. The chamber erupts in sound when I fire.

Patrick’s arm jerks. His gun falls from his hand and clatters on the stone. Blood darkens his sleeve. He staggers, face contorting with disbelief and pain.

Death will not have him that quickly, but neither will he have a single chance to hurt my angel.