“Elena—” My voice cracked, raw with grief and rage.
Her hand rose to my cheek, cupping it boldly, her thumb brushing against the edge of darkness curling there. Her touch seared me in a way no fire ever could. “Look at me, Dario. Not him. Not the shadows. Me.”
For the first time in a century, I obeyed.
The mage struggled in my grip, choking, shadows squeezing—but my gaze locked with hers, and the storm within me began tostill.
Her golden eyes filled my world. They reflected no disgust, no hatred—only fierce, aching compassion, the kind I hadn’t seen since… since before the curse.
I wanted to weep. I wanted to crush her against me and never let go.
Instead, I let the shadows fall.
They recoiled slowly, slithering back into the cracks of the street, releasing the mage. He collapsed to the ground, gasping, his body trembling with exhaustion and terror.
My chest heaved, the silence afterward deafening. The street lay in ruin, cobblestones split, walls cracked, lanterns shattered. Villagers huddled in doorways, too afraid to speak, their eyes wide with horror.
And Elena still stood before me, her hands on my chest, her touch steady, her light holding me together when my rage would have torn me apart.
“Better,” she whispered softly, as though to a wounded beast. “You’re better than that.”
The words nearly undid me.
I bowed my head, forehead brushing hers for the briefest, unguarded moment. My voice came rough, broken. “He hurt her. He hurt the only one I had left.”
“I know.” Her breath fanned against my lips, her tone gentler than sunlight. “And we’ll make him pay. But not like this. Not by losing yourself.”
Her courage, her closeness—it burned and soothed all at once. I didn’t know how to hold both.
Slowly, she lowered her hands, though I felt the absence of her touch like a wound.
The mage moaned, crawling weakly to his knees. I wanted to strike again, to finish what I started. But Elena’s voice lingered in my head:You’ll lose me too.
And I couldn’t bear that.
I straightened, shadows curling obediently back into my frame. My fury did not abate, but it was caged now, chained by her light. I turned my gaze to the mage, and my lips curled into a promise sharp as steel.
“You live,” I said darkly, my voice carrying like thunder down the ruined street. “For now. But when I am finished with you, you will beg me for the mercy you showed my owl.”
Meryn stirred weakly from where she had fallen. Relief surged through me so violently I nearly staggered. She lived.
Elena caught the flicker in my gaze and offered the faintest smile. “She’s strong. Like her master.”
The words, meant lightly, gutted me. No one had called me strong in so long. Not without fear in their voice.
And for a moment, the rage receded completely, leaving only a hollow ache, filled slowly—terrifyingly—by the warmth of her presence.
The mage coughed, spitting blood onto the stones. His body trembled, but I saw the flicker of magic still writhing at his fingertips. Stubborn. Desperate.
“Elena,” I warned, stepping in front of her, but she shook her head and moved closer to my side.
“We face him together,” she said. Her voice was calm, but there was steel in it. I didn’t argue. I couldn’t.
The mage rose shakily, his mismatched eyes blazing. “You think you’ve won?” His voice rasped. “You knownothing.”
His words snapped through me like lightning. I had suspected, but to hear it aloud—confirmation.
Beside me, Elena stiffened. She had heard too.
