My pulse hammered so loudly I was certain they could hear it. The branch beneath my boots felt narrower than it had a moment ago. The wind tugged at my skirts. I could leave. But I wouldn’t be safe. I’d never be safe so long as I had this choker around my neck.

  At any time, she could activate the spell and take my life. Or I could do something to activate it myself. No. Leaving was not an option. I had to get a drop of her blood. But staying—staying meant near-certain death.

  Unless… unless…

  I swallowed hard, not wanting to choose this path but knowing I had no other choice. I was going to have to fall on my knees and ask for forgiveness. Bile rose in my throat at the thought of it. At the humiliation of kneeling in front of Shayla and these wolves and my mother. But if I was close enough to kneel, then I was close enough to grab the shell and slit her hand open.

  Daring to let go of the branch, I set one hand on my stomach and made a silent vow. “I protect you. I protect us.”

  Then I looked at the crowd, at Mama whipping them into a frenzy. If they wanted a spectacle, I would give them a show they’d never forget.

  Head bowed, I stood at the entrance to the fort. Hands shaking. Thick copper-red hair, loose and blowing around my head like flames. The stench of refuse and decaying carcasses filled the air.

  “I’m so sorry, Mama,” I said, sucking in a gulping breath. “For everything.”

  When I lifted my chin and met my mother’s colorless eyes, I could see she was more than surprised. She wanted to know where the coach was. She wanted to know how I escaped the ropes. She wanted to grab me by the root of my hair and drag me through the mud. I could feel it.

  But right now, she wasn’t able to show her true evil. She’d told all these wolves that I was the problem. That I was bad. Yet here I was, ready to come back home.

  I took one step, then another, drawing closer to where she stood beside Shayla at the center of the fort. Bastien’s dagger tucked into the leather belt tied around her waist. She still had protection runes drawn on her face to guard against demonic influence.

  But I was no demon. No. I was consequence.

  “I just wanted to make you proud. But I was deceived.” I wiped away a tear and then the snot from my nose.

  The weres didn’t seem to know how to react. Here I was, the daughter of their leader, a Dark Witch, who was seeking forgiveness. When I reached the center of the fort, I fell to my knees. “I know I wasn’t the daughter you prayed for. And I’m sorry for that.”

  Mama was rarely at a loss for words, but when I glanced up at her through wet lashes, I knew I had her right where I wanted her.

  She set her hand on my head. The same hand that had struck me time and time again and called it my fault. The same one that had secured the choker around my throat. I held my breath, every muscle clenched tight. It was hard not to grab her wrist, reach for my husband’s blade, and end this now. But I knew I had to wait for just the right time.

  “I forgive you, child. For bringing darkness into your heart.”

  The assembled weres grunted and scratched at the ground. The putrid scent of death hung all around me. I kept my head bowed. Let the tears sting. Let them believe I was breaking.

  I hoped that when this was all over, we could find a way to cure them of the disease Shayla had inflicted upon them.

  “But,” Mama continued. “Your fate will be decided by Diana. The moon goddess will choose if you should live or die.”

  I swore the cold mud had just swallowed me whole. Dread churned in my gut. But I forced myself to breathe. Closing my eyes, I let my magick creep out of me and into her. Hate was as good as rot inside the body, and now, I encouraged that rot to spread. To multiply.

  Voices rang out. They wanted my blood. They wanted to see me pay. I waited. A moment longer. Another moment longer. I let the heat inside me build, spreading the sickness to Shayla next. The hate inside her was just as thick and familiar as Mama’s.

  Mama lifted her hands into the air and called to her goddess. “What say you, Great Mother? Should she live, or pay for her crimes with her life?”

  The next thing I knew, the barbs of the choker were back. Pain lanced through me, and warmth began trickling down my neck. I had anticipated this. I knew I was nothing more than a prop in her story. But I’d experienced this pain. I’d known what it was like to smell my own blood and feel it drain from my body. It didn’t cause the blinding panic that it had that night on the balcony.

  The blisters broke out across her brow first. Angry pustules that popped and leaked black blood. Mama reached to touch one, and a sneer formed on her face.

  She grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet, determined to make a show of my death. I faced the crowd of weres with tears in my eyes. “The goddess has spoken! This is what happens to those who disobey!”

  But it wasn’t just me they were watching. No. They saw the way the rot was eating their leaders from the inside out.

  Dizziness from the blood loss set in, but I battled through it, reaching for every drop of dark magick inside my body to push back against the barbs. It came in a rush of heat and power that made me feel alive.

  Mama’s grip on my arm slackened, and when it did, I reached behind me and snatched my husband’s dagger from her belt and slashed it upward in a vicious line, hoping to slice through her arm. My cut met resistance, and Mama screamed. Her grip on me slackened.

  Justice.

  There was only one thing left to do. I lifted the blade to my lips, but Shayla grabbed my wrist before I could collect what I needed. Her golden eyes flashed with light, and she bared her teeth at me. A trail of liquid black rot dribbled between her lips and down her chin. “Stop this, and I’ll let you live.”

  I narrowed my eyes. The pain in my throat made it difficult to speak, but somehow I found the words. “The God of the Underworld has spoken. And he says you will pay for your crimes with your life.”

  Chapter 40

  Arracher

  BASTIEN

  What I had wasn’t bloodlust. It was blood rage. The scent of my wife’s blood unleashed the monster inside of me. The indiscriminate reaper. We’d cut down every guard outside the fort with little resistance. Now it was time to break through the gate.

  “Uncle?” Tyson asked. “Is there a plan?”

  I wiped a spray of blood from my face. “The plan is to kill anyone who gets in our way.”

  “So we’re ignoring what Sera said and walking straight into a trap?”

  I shook my head. “I already told you. The only thing I came for was my wife. And if you’re too scared to stand behind me, then go. I don’t need you.”

  Tyson narrowed his eyes in a way that mimicked his cousin, Natalia. “I am a man of Roselyn.” He banged his fist against his chest. “And I will not leave one of my own to die.”

  I clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

  “Let’s get this door down,” Tyson said. “You get Claire. The wolves will take care of the rest.”

  Together, we dropped our shoulders and slammed into the wooden gate, expecting it to buckle beneath our combined strength. I was angry enough to knock down a castle wall. Wood was child’s play. But the gate had been properly reinforced, as if they’d been expecting us.

  A fine strategy. However, I’d been tearing into forts long before anyone here had been born. The weakest points of these gates were the hinges. I drove my hand into the narrow seam beside the hinge post and wrenched it to the side, trying to rip them from the wood. Tyson saw what I was doing and joined me. With one more shove, the door snapped free.

  We tossed it toward the woods. I drew my blade as an army of weres barreled toward us. Behind their half-transformed limbs, I saw my wife in a crumpled heap on the ground, lying in a puddle of her own blood. Her heart was still faintly beating, and that was all the hope I needed.

  I set my teeth. Let them come. There was no army that could keep me from her.

  Sword raised, I tore through the yard at a sprint. Claws tore at my sleeves, teeth snapped at my neck, but I did not slow. They were only obstacles. Only distance. Only the last cruel seconds between my wife and me.

  But when I cleared the mob, and I saw the true horror before me, I collapsed onto my knees. “No,” I breathed, though the word had no power here. Pain lanced through my heart, like I’d been struck by an arrow. It was so sharp, so horrible, I thought I might die from the agony. Unable to stand, I crawled to her on hands and knees, through the thick mud and blood that surrounded her lifeless body.

  I touched her neck, which was slick with blood, knowing I couldn’t even apply pressure to her wounds, because it would make the barbs sink in harder. There was nothing to do but watch the life drain from her, while magick I could not break stole her from me. And all I could think was how this was my fault. I should have made the deal with Gorrath as soon as he offered it. I should have fallen to my knees and agreed to anything. Anything.

  Had it not been for my jealousy, my possessiveness of her, she could be immortal and alive. I had failed her.

  Tears fell down my face as I wept for her, and for the child we were supposed to have. The one I promised to protect. The one I barely dared to believe I was strong enough to have. It was all slipping away from me.

  Without anything left to do, I pulled her into my arms and cradled her limp body. But as soon as I lifted her, my dagger slipped from her hand. A choking sound tore free from my throat when I saw it tumble into a puddle of her blood. She’d tried. She’d tried to save herself.

  “Claire, I’m here,” I said, smoothing back her hair with my bloodied hands. “I’m here.”

  Beside her, a woman with long white braids, covered in black pustules, began to laugh. She was weak. Near death herself. I hadn’t paid her any attention until now.

  I knew Shayla’s face, and this wasn’t Shayla. Which could only mean this was Angelina Prideaux.

  Beat.

  Beat.

  Beat.

  There was too much space between Claire’s heartbeats. But before me was a gift. If I killed her mother, the originator of the curse on her necklace, then perhaps I could save her life.

  “You,” I snarled at the witch. “You have tortured her for the last time.”

  Carefully, I eased my wife off my lap, but the motion was too much for her injured body, and the beating stopped. I leaned down and pressed my forehead to hers, my body shaking. “No,” I whispered. “You can’t leave. You can’t go.”

  She was gone. And I was… nothing. Not a prince. Not a warrior. Not a general. Not even a vengeful reaper. The only thing left of me… was nothing at all.

  Chapter 41

  Requiem

  CLAIRE

  The moment I opened my eyes, I knew something was wrong. I wasn’t inside the fort, watching Shayla guzzle a potion given to her by one of her witches before transforming into a werewolf. I wasn’t even lying in the cold mud. Face up. I wasn’t even holding Bastien’s dagger.

  I was lying on something soft, and the air was thick with incense smoke. I drew in a deep breath, inhaling the biting scent of frankincense. Above my head, the vaulted ceiling stretched on and on.

  Sitting up too fast, I groaned against the sudden dizziness. What had happened? The last thing I remembered was collapsing onto the ground. Blood was everywhere.

  I lifted trembling fingers to my throat, and I realized the choker was gone. The only thing left behind were the ridges of scars. I was still wearing my bloodstone. I wrapped my hands around it and closed my eyes, hoping to call Bastien to me.

  Maybe I had survived. Maybe Mama’s blood had worked, and I’d been put here to recover. Yes, maybe Bastien was simply in another room.

  "She’s awake," came a gruff, annoyingly familiar voice.

  Even though I didn’t want to, I turned toward the sound, clutching the bloodstone in my palm like it could protect me when Bastien couldn’t. I found myself in an elegant private dining room, lit by red-tapered candles dripping wax from iron candelabras.

  "We were just talking about you, love."

  Sitting at a polished obsidian dining table, set with plates of food and goblets filled with deep red wine, were two men. The first, I recognized instantly. Black curls and a single horn framed a face that looked far too pleased with himself. He still wore no shirt or cravat beneath his black jacket.

  Gorrath.

  But I thought he’d died. Mama had killed him. If that were true, then that meant I was in... the Underworld.

  No. No. No. No. No.

  I couldn’t have died. I clutched my stomach, tears swimming in my eyes. I’d lost everything. Everything. The sounds that came out of my mouth were inhuman. Screeches. Wails. I felt nothing and everything all at once. A loss so profound I could hardly breathe. I went on for what felt like hours. Crying and sobbing and screaming until there was nothing left inside of me. Until, finally, I covered my face with my hands and closed my eyes.

  A chair scraped loudly against the floor. Footsteps. Then I sensed the demon hovering over me.

  “You’re not going to let a little thing like death stop you? Are you?” I pulled my hands away from my face to glare at him. He was clearly amused by my reaction. “Come sit down at the table. I want to introduce you to an ol’ friend of mine.”

  I peered around Gorrath’s frame to see who this friend was. He was a collection of hard edges and sharp lines, including the two black horns that spiraled from his brow.

  "Sit," he said, gesturing to the empty seat across from him with his wine glass. "Eat. Death has a way of making one hungry. Or, at least, that’s what I hear."

  Gorrath offered me his hand. “That’s the God of the Underworld. Damien himself. Best not to keep him waiting.”

  My mouth fell open in shock. I couldn’t believe that was Damien. He hardly looked like a god at all. With mousy brown hair and dark gray eyes, he looked very ordinary, save for the horns. In all of Mama’s stories about the God of the Underworld, he was a monster. With burning pits for eyes. And he ate only the blood of children.

  But here he sat, sipping wine.

  Hesitantly, I let Gorrath help me to my feet and shuffled over to the table. I took the seat directly across from Damien. I sat stiffly, barely touching the edge of the chair, every muscle in my body coiled. The food in front of me smelled delicious, but I had no appetite.

  I was sitting across from a god. One I had only ever prayed to once before, when I asked him to make me unbreakable.

  “What do you want with me?” I asked. Bowing my head. Folding my hands in my lap.

  He considered me for a moment, then said, “You have performed an immortality spell. Have you not?”

  Confused, I glanced at Gorrath, who had taken a seat in the chair beside Damien. He grabbed a knife and a fork and immediately began carving into a piece of rare beef. The way blood oozed from the center made my stomach flip.

  “Yes,” I answered. “But it must not have worked.”

  Damien’s mouth curled into a slow and knowing smile like he had been waiting for this moment. “Every immortal must sacrifice their life. Your husband did. Gorrath did. And so did every demon in my court and every star in Diana’s. It is how immortality begins.”

  A slow, hopeful smile spread across my face. “Are you saying that it worked? That I broke the curse and became immortal?”

  Damien nodded. “That’s what I’m saying.”

  I nearly leapt out of my chair. I was going to go back home. To Bastien. To my life.

  Damien watched me with a quiet, patient amusement as the excitement warmed every place that had gone numb and cold inside me. He propped one arm on the back of Gorrath’s chair. “I can see why she won you over. The want inside of her is endless.”

  Gorrath nodded. “She is a true Dark Witch. Not one of those pretenders. Dressing in black and waving around relics like they know what darkness means.” He lifted his wine glass in appreciation. “She’s got a shard of darkness inside her.”

  The way the two of them beamed back at me stoked the growing pride in my chest. After everything I’d been through… after all of it… I was finally going to keep him. I was going to spend eternity with Bastien.

  “There is one thing you should know,” Damien said. “Immortality comes with a price.”

  I stilled, the excitement slipping out of me. “What kind of price?”

  “First of all,” Damien began, “you would no longer be a Witch of the Darkness.”

  Absently, I twirled a few strands of hair around my fingers. I didn’t know what to say. I’d only just gotten my magick. I’d only just started figuring out my powers. The idea that they would just be gone left me feeling hollow all over again. “What would I be then?”

  Silence settled around the table, and dread crept in. “Well, that’s the thing you could choose,” Damien continued. “You could become a demon of my court. You’d be more than welcome here. However, you’d no longer carry Gorrath’s power. We’d select something new for you.”

  I knew I was sitting across from a god, so I tried to retain a bit of respect, but a demon? He was telling me that I’d done all this—collected Mama’s blood and jumped out of that carriage—just to become a demon?

  “Is there another choice?” I asked.

  Damien expelled a sigh, as if disappointed that I didn’t want to join him in the Underworld for eternity. “Your only other option would be to go back as a vampire. However, all the rules of vampirism would apply to you. Including drinking blood.”

  I let out a breath of relief. There was another way.

  “And you’d be subject to the matebond.”

  “I already have a mate,” I said. “Bastien. You know this.”

  He gave the barest shake of his head. “I’m afraid two vampires cannot be mated to one another. You see, they cannot bear children.”

  I glowered at Gorrath, who was shoving a piece of raw meat in his mouth. “Did you know this would happen when you sold me the idea of becoming immortal? Did you know what I would have to give up?”