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“Who the fuck are you?”
“Aidan’s Sorrow is genius!” he yelled at me. “Not something I would want to use much of, but it kicked down so many pesky barriers. It’s better than anything I’ve made before.” He frowned, displeased. “But I digress.”
A mumble of intent, and a bolt of orange energy struck Silvanus. He flew backward, crashing into a booth with a sickening thud.
I ran to him, heart performing a backflip. The dagger screamed away as I reached him, the intensity forcing my arse to the tiled floor.
Dammit!
“A pity this is a fleeting hello,” Aidan said to Marie.
I looked up to see him break her neck.
Oh. Shit.
Chapter Seven
Silvanus
Magic fizzed against my chest, a series of vicious bites trying to burrow deep into my flesh.
Curse it!
With the wind knocked out of me, my limbs required a moment to regain their momentum. But never mind that. My mind wouldn’t let go of the revelation about the Knife of Fractured Rapture.
It revealed true love.
Paris. Paris Raine was my one true love. Not just because I wanted him, but because he wanted me too. We were meant to be. Entwined by fate, destined to meet, to fall, and to be destroyed by the knife.
The elf is the love of your life. Your eternal spark in the dark.
This went beyond infatuation, beyond my past obsession with Aidan. The real thing, living and breathing beside me. Love vibrating through my veins, my heart swelling, his beautiful voice ringing in my head.
There was no time to dwell on this, not with the elevated voices and the sound of Aidan’s laughter permeating my eardrums. The mermaid was dead, meaning the curse may well be broken, leaving Paris vulnerable to true death.
Absolutely not.
I reached for him, fingers brushing his arm. His eyes turned in my direction for a millisecond before the deity’s magic yanked him off the floor, dragging Paris toward him.
“Bastard!” I roared.
Summoning all my strength, I got to my feet. I was unsteady, the magic on my chest unrelenting. It fizzled and stung like a swarm of magical insects desperate to burrow inside me.
He would not have my elf.
He would not have my elf.
The magic broke suddenly, giving up as Aidan drove a knife into Paris’s jugular. He withdrew it, Paris’s honeyed blood spraying as he went down to join the mer corpse on the floor.
“Done!” Aidan cried. “At last!”
I ran, sliding to my knees beside him.
Not my spark.
Please, not my spark.
I held my hand against his wound. “It will be alright.”
