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He moves with terrifying calm and composure. He crosses to the necromancer he threw and twists his neck. The crunch sends a shiver through me.

The first necromancer rises from the floor, bruises still blooming across his face from my power. Another black knife glints in his hand. Shadows spill from his fingers, stretching into the room like tentacles, rushing for both of us.

I try to move, but the darkness catches me first.

It slams me against the wall and lifts me off the ground. Cold pressure wraps around my waist, then crawls up toward my throat. More shadows twist around Nero, binding his legs, his arms, his chest. Black ropes coil over muscle and ink.

Nero roars.

The sound tears through the bathroom.

He moves anyway.

Pain should stop him. It doesn’t. Resistance should slow him. Barely. He pushes through the shadows, one brutal step at a time, as darkness cuts his skin deep. He reaches the necromancer and grabs his head. The man covers himself in darkness, trying to slip free, but Nero holds him there and smashes his skull into the sink.

Once.

Then again.

Porcelain cracks. Blood sprays across the mirror. By the time Nero lets him fall, the necromancer’s head is no longer whole.

The shadows vanish, leaving fresh cuts across Nero’s skin. They close almost immediately.

My feet hit the floor, but I don’t move. I can’t. My whole body shakes. I touch my cheek with trembling fingers and look down.

Blood.

Not mine.

Nero approaches me like an angel of death. As he moves closer, I want to pull away but behind me is a wall. He takes my shaking hand in his. His eyes drop to the blood on my fingertips, and then he brings them to his lips. My breath stops as he licks them clean, his tongue warm under my fingers, slow and deliberate. When he releases them, he kisses my knuckles, then my wrist, soft enough to feel impossible after what he just did.

Two dead necromancers lie on the floor, and all I see is the blue of his eyes.

I don’t know if he saved me or if I only changed predators.

Nero steps closer and runs his hands over my face and neck. “Are you hurt?”

I don’t answer. I only shake my head.

“You still think you don’t need me in your life?” he says.

He places my hands against his chest. His heart pounds hard beneath my palms. Then he cups my face in both hands, palms gentle and rough at the same time. I have nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide. He feels inevitable.

He hovers over me, his face inches from mine. “I told you, I decide when we’re done.” Then he kisses me. But it’s different this time. His lips feel softer. Too soft for a man built like a mountain. His mouth brushes my lower lip, gentle and teasing. When I part them, he pushes his tongue inside, and I feel his exhale as a relief. That he was waiting for that. His hands slide down to my waist while mine lock around his biceps. The veins in his arms make me lose my mind. He pulls back just enough to breathe, but his mouth stays close to mine.

“How long do I have to chase you?” he says and kisses me again. This time, deeper and hungrier. My lips already miss him the second he pulls away. My hips arch toward him before I can pretend they don’t. His fingers dig into my back like he’s afraid I’ll disappear into thin air.

Then I feel it.

Blood.

The necromancer’s blood he licked from my fingers.

Red magic can whisper to me. But it's the dead souls that scream in my mind once I touch them.

The vision slams into me.

Julian sits tied to a chair with silver chains. His skin looks gray. His head hangs forward. His chest doesn’t move. Large windows rise behind him, covered in film. Raw concrete floor. Midnight City beyond the glass windows. High up, with river view. This must be a new building, right by Westwood Bridge.