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“Ah, here you are,” it said, its grinding voice like the cries of millions. “I see you had quite the powerful assistance in your concealment.”

The beast was sorely mistaken if it thought to draw a helpful response from him.

A chuckle like pained screams. “So like you mortals to dub a thing you don’t understand as beast. Have you ever considered that you might be the beastly one?”

Every damned day of his life. He was a beast when he needed to be. Gladly and without reservation. Thus, Brand was fine with the moniker, unperturbed by the implications.

This thing knew only its monstrous nature, and that was the problem.

And the fact that it was reading his thoughts.

Brand emptied his mind of everything until he was numb. Neutral. Nothing. Merely an observer.

“It won’t help you.”

Couldn’t hurt, either.

“Come now. Give in,” it crooned. “Do you really wish to continue with the farce? This ends one way, darling—with your downfall and my consummation.”

The beast was getting better, Brand would give it that. Their battles for dominance were no longer external. Ever since Lunara found her way into his mind and stirred its curiosity, they’d quietly taken place in this dwindling pocket. Sure, it took a while for the beast to get its bearings, to understand what the Oracle had done and truly find him, but it was always a matter of time.

“And already I’ve siphoned enough of you, learned enough of your ways, to cozen your beloved from time to time.”

True. Brand wasn’t above admitting it, though it rankled. One moment, the movements, the choices and actions and words, were his Lesser. The next, it was the beast. So seamless, even Luna seemed to be fooled, thinking it him all the while. Then again…

“She’s oft been underestimated,” Brand said. “Even by me. Especially by me. Careful you don’t do the same.”

He couldn’t help taunting it, just a little, for his own satisfaction.

“Mmm, satisfaction indeed.” It brushed up against the barrier with a lewd groan. “You know, my first offspring proved a failure, but I’m willing to try again. And again. And again. I wonder how numb neutral nothing you’ll be able to remain when she’s screaming your name, but I’m the one who’s buried sack deep in her dripping cunt. When it’s my seed running down her reddened thighs, my spawn growing in her rounded belly, my future tearing from her fruited womb. She is but a vessel for the one I truly want, but this arrangement will indeed satisfy me for a time. All while you watch helplessly from your prison, as I have done these many eons.”

Against all odds, Brand laughed. “She’s going to eat you alive.”

There wasn’t a single particle in his entire being that doubted it.

“We’re going to see, aren’t we?” It laid both hands on the golden line between them and pushed. “Sooner than later, I think.”

A memory rippled by. Brand drew a fortifying breath as he watched the scene—he and Luna on the riverbank in Thodelebor, the moment he plucked a wayward curl from her moon-drenched, opal skin and whispered a piece of his soul into the minuscule space between them—and wrapped himself in its peace like armor.

The barrier cracked, a single shard of light tinkling down, and Brand matched the beast’s stance. Fist to fist. Eye to eye. Grin to grin. “Shall we?”

“Indeed.”

And so, the final battle between Brand and the beast began.

Once again, like she was stuck in the loop of an endless curse, Lunara woke up to find most of the Imperial Family gathered at the end of her and Fern’s bed.

Nine pairs of eyes stared back at her, expectant. Fern and Hedda were perched on the mattress at her feet, Magnus and Faldir standing behind them. Amun and Vann rose from the settee, and Amal stood guard at the door. And Lyriat was practically glued to Araxis in front of the cold fireplace.

She was barely conscious, but her heart railed against its confines as she scrambled up and back, banging her already sore head against the frame. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

He was clad head-to-toe in black leather armor, blending seamlessly into the agitated fog that clung to him. With his inky hair and broody look, those jeweled daggers glinting at his hips, he was every inch the Blessed Nightmare of the Endless Dark.

And Lunara did not trust him or his presence.

To absolutely no one’s surprise.

“Calm, my friend,” Lyriat said, his lithe body half-blocking the Sorcerit Son from view. “He’s not here for any reason other than to offer his gift and leave. Isn’t that right, Araxis?”