FOURTEEN
DARKNESS RUSHED IN around the periphery of my vision—the same darkness that had claimed me when Guthrie drank me to death so he could turn me into a vampire. I fell to my knees, my gun slipping from nerveless fingers. At the edges of my tunneling awareness, I saw Nigellus stagger to one knee, clutching his chest.
Rans, I thought desperately, as my connection to my body stretched like an unraveling thread. Rans, oh god, I’m so sorry. Wait for me... I’m coming...
Energy that didn’t belong to me poured into my magical core, pushing back the tide of darkness. I regained awareness to find that I was lying facedown in the grass and damp loam of the clearing. My fingers twitched—I could feel them again, for some reason. With no understanding of what was happening, I pushed against the ground, making it to a crouch and bracing myself there with one hand.
In the background, I could hear Fae magic colliding again. A dark form blurred past me.
“You fucking... bastard piece of shit!” Guthrie growled, launching himself at Myrial without strategy or finesse, his salt dagger in hand.
She caught him around the throat, lifting him one-handed. The haft of her scythe knocked the dagger out of his hand, and she laughed gaily. “Oh, now, this is absolutely priceless. Nigellus, you two-faced cur...you do surprise me!” she said, sounding genuinely delighted.
Her hand clenched, and something in Guthrie’s neck crunched. She let him go, and he collapsed to the ground next to the motionless, black-clad figure that I could barely bring myself to look at.
“Nooo,” I moaned, dizzy with the impossibility of Rans lying there on his back with a silver blade through his heart.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I wasn’t supposed to be alive while Rans was dead, not when it was real. Not when it wasn’t a mistake, like the time we’d been on the boat and he’d been shot in the head. That time had nearly destroyed me. And now... this...
I just... couldn’t.
My eyes slid to Nigellus, who was still bracing himself on a hand and a knee. The demon’s expression had twisted in a grimace, his breath coming in harsh gasps. Meanwhile, Albigard’s battle with Reefe continued to rage at the other end of the clearing.
Nothing made sense. Not when Caspian stalked into view, and not when Myrial said, “Well now—this is going to be even more satisfying than I originally thought. Kill the girl, my bloodthirsty little Fae general, and then kill Nigellus’ pet butler. If he brings them back, we’ll just have to keep at it until he gets tired of the power drain, I suppose. I wonder how long it will take?”
I staggered to my feet, puzzle pieces whirling in my head. Caspian bared his teeth in an expression distantly related to glee. He leveled his gun at my heart, the bullets inside no doubt cast from the purest silver. I stared into the circular black void of the revolver’s barrel, wondering if this would be the thing that would let me follow Rans to wherever he was now.
Someone lunged in front of me at the same instant the gunshot echoed. My father collapsed at my feet with a gurgling gasp, and my grip on reality slipped a little further as fresh denial clawed at me. Across from me, Nigellus grunted and doubled over.
I dove forward, landing on my knees next to my dad and rolling him onto his back. He had an arm clamped around his stomach. The smell of blood was overpowering; it welled around his forearm and dribbled from the side of his mouth.
“Dad,” I said in a wavering voice, my hands hovering uselessly over him before settling over his arm to put more pressure on the wound.
“This just gets better and better,” Myrial purred.
My gaze flew to her, burning with hatred, but she was looking at Nigellus, not me.
Wait—Nigellus! My father was bound to him. He could save—
He could—
My thoughts narrowed down to a shining point as the puzzle pieces fell into place. “Oh, my god...” I breathed. In the background, the clash of arcing magic fell silent, but I couldn’t even turn my head to see who had won the fight—Reefe or Albigard.
“Edward,” Nigellus called hoarsely. “As we discussed earlier. Now.”
A shimmering wall of magic sprang up in front of Caspian and Myrial. Nigellus let out a choked noise of effort as Edward drew from his demon master’s power to shove the barrier into them. It slid effortlessly over Rans and Guthrie, but sent the Fae and the succubus stumbling backward. Guthrie stirred, his hand going to his freshly healed throat.
“Someone get the knife out,” Nigellus rasped.
I gaped at him, uncomprehending, my hands still pressed against my father’s wound. Fortunately, Guthrie seemed to have a few more brain cells knocking together than I did. He rolled into a crouch and jerked the silver dagger free of Rans’ chest.
“The barrier won’t hold them, sir,” Edward said, his old voice shaking with strain.
Guthrie’s amethyst-lit gaze flew from Rans, to Nigellus, to me, piecing together the same thing I had. “You asshole. You’ve got Rans bound to you,” he said. “You’re pouring power through him to keep his and Zorah’s souls tethered.”
My grandfather’s glowing eyes moved to Myrial next, hatred twisting his dark-skinned features. The succubus stepped forward, her aura pressing against Edward’s magic, distorting it. A hint of worry touched her expression, though it didn’t enter her voice.
“Put the knife down, Leonides.” The order cracked like a whip.
“Oh, I’ll put it somewhere, you piece of shit,” he said,
