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REGAN

The rest of the world felt far away. There was only Viktor and me.

My former archon lay on his back in the mud. For the first time, he looked small to me. He was panting, his chest heaving. Blood poured from the wound across his ribs that Nyxaris had given him. Yet still he lived. Never harmless.

I looked down at him. His red eyes lifted to mine, still filled with the same old hate. How could my father ever have agreed to give me to such a man?

I smiled slightly. “Did you ever think this day would come?”

His mouth curled. Blood stained his fangs. “I see a little girl playing a dangerous game that is going to get her killed.”

The words were meant to make me feel small and weak. And in the past, that had always worked. Now I looked at him. “I’m not the one lying on my back in the mud.” Beside me, Kage growled, while Lysander silently held out a blade. I took it, the hilt still warm from his hand.

Viktor’s eyes tracked the movement, and for the first time I saw true unease pass over his face. Then he looked at us—first me, then Kage and Lysander, and gave an ugly smile. “So this is how low you’ve fallen. The little whore rutting with unnatural filth.”

Beside me, my consorts held very, very still. I lifted the blade. “Do you know what I think, old man? You don’t deserve any more of my words or another breath of fresh air. But there is one thing I wish you to know before you die.” I paused. I knew he was expecting a tirade of contempt. “The world will change for the better as soon as you’re gone from it.”

I didn’t drag things out. I didn’t torture him or put on a show. Because this wasn’t about him—not anymore. It was about me and Florence and every person he’d touched and twisted.

One clean stroke was all it took. Then that was it.

Viktor Drakharrow died in the mud.

He would not be honored in death. He would not be missed. His grave, if we gave him the decency of one, would be unmarked. May his name be forgotten.

I turned away, a heavy exhaustion settling upon me. Lysander had already taken the blade. He wiped it clean on a patch of grass, then sheathed it.

A little ways off, Nyxaris stood in highblood form. He was dressed again. I studied him for a moment: a tall, imposing high-blood man who reeked of menace. Like Viktor, his hair was a silver-white—marking him as something ancient. Yet when he held Florence, gathering her up in his arms like a delicate, precious jewel, I knew there was nothing the same about them. Viktor simply wanted possession, while Nyxaris knew how to love.

I watched the way Florence looked up at him, weary and weak but so obviously bolstered by his mere presence. The way his head bent down toward hers, reassuring and shielding her. They made a stunning pair. So terribly, wonderfully in love.

I turned and looked at my own consorts. Kage’s shirt hung open. His chest was marked with dirt and scratches. He looked like a god of war dragged back down into a mortal form. Beside him, Lysander’s blue eyes studied me with careful intensity. For a moment, none of us moved. Then Kage stepped toward me, cupping my face with strong, warm fingers, as if assuring himself I was safe. Lysander’s hand found the back of my neck, touching me tenderly. I pulled them around me, embracing them both, leaning into their strength and warmth.

“Regan,” Nyxaris said, his voice cool. He and Florence came over to us.

Now that they were closer, I could see Nyxaris’s long silver hair was darkened with blood in places. His jaw was tight, and his face was hard. It was clear the two of them had been speaking about something dangerous.

“Shall we assess?” Nyxaris said, his voice clipped. He reminded me of one of our professors. “Viktor Drakharrow is dead. Elowyn Wispwood is dead. Most of the guards are dead. Some have fled, and I don’t expect them to return.”

I shuddered. “Let’s leave this place as soon as we can.” I looked at Lysander. “The archway?”

“We’re not quite finished, I’m afraid,” Nyxaris said. “I saw Catherine Mortis briefly. She fled toward the Bonewood on horseback.”

“Surely the Veil is no longer in any danger,” Kage said slowly.

“No, but we should eliminate all threats,” Nyxaris said.

Kage nodded. “Catherine is alone?”

Nyxaris hesitated. “I’ll let Florence speak more to that.” He looked down at her.

The dark-haired girl took a small step, face frightened but determined. “When I was bound to Viktor …” She swallowed hard, then tried again. “When I was bound to Viktor, I was able to keep one thing from him. I’ll never know how, exactly.” She looked up at the tall man beside her. “He never knew Nyxaris could shift into highblood form.”

“That secret probably saved your life,” Kage said quietly.

Florence nodded. “But there’s more to it than that. The information didn’t only flow one way.” She touched a hand to her chest, then briefly closed her eyes, as if the rotten memory of Viktor still lingered somewhere. “He tried to shut me out and most of the time he succeeded. But when he felt some strong emotion—mostly anger, but sometimes triumph—things slipped through.”

Kage looked interested. “What sorts of things?”