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He had feared coming into this room, knowing he might have to take down his own men, his own brethren. He wasn’t worried or apprehensive about removing men from this earth who had once fought beside him in the hunt; no, he was worried about how Emara would look at him after it. After he had slaughtered every single one of them for assisting in this, he was worried about what she would see him as.

A killer. A slayer.

He could never deny that part of himself—violent, uncompromising, and brutal—and he never would need to if she were his. What shook him to his very core was that she had not looked away as he had taken each life. She had wanted him to win. She had been there to make sure he survived, and because of that, he found her so much more extraordinarily brilliant. She was beautiful, powerful, and lethal, and she accepted him for who he was. Not just for one night, not just for passion or lust. She accepted the darkest, most ferocious parts of him.

And she was his.

An overpowering wave of something so unfamiliar to him rocked Torin where he stood, threatening to take him to his knees more than any man or beast ever had.

But a gurgling noise sounded through the room, drawing his attention to the other witch.

The Supreme’s mouth snagged open in the effort to say something, but instead of words, she let out a terrifying scream that sent a blast of magic out from her body. The explosion hit Emara first, and before he could run to help her or stop it, he, too, was flung back. His shoulder connected with the hard, cold floor, and with a little momentum, he was able to roll backwards to try and reduce injury. The magic buzzed in his ears, but he managed to get to his feet, crouching. Looking down at the ground, he steadied himself. He glanced behind him to his brethren; they had also been blasted back from the impact of Deleine’s magic. Kellen was down, but as Artem steadied himself, Marcus and Gideon were already on their feet, moving in the direction of the Empress of Air.

Torin found himself running towards Emara’s lifeless body.

“Emara...” A strangled sound escaped his mouth as his boots pounded the floor. He got there first, sliding to his knees beside her body and flinging his swords to the ground. He looked over her, checking her body for any fatal injuries.

Head, heart, torso, neck…

Torin didn’t know what injuries she’d had before, but she was bleeding, and it looked like she was covered in dried blood too. Her poor neck bruisedwhere that chain had been.

Her head. He could see the blood pouring out of her skull already.

“Fuck!” he screamed as Marcus and Gideon arrived by his side.

Gideon dropped to his knees beside her and put his ear to her mouth. “It’s okay, brother,” Gideon said. “She’s still breathing.”

He blinked, looking for a pulse or a rise in her chest, but an unbearable feeling froze him solid.

“She needs a healer,” Marcus barked at Artem, who was already running from the room. “Now. Get Sybil—anyone.”

Undiluted rage soared through Torin, burning away the fear.

He should have known the Supreme was sinful enough to take Emara with her to the Otherside as she passed over.

A long, rage-filled breath poured from him.

He turned back to Emara and kissed her forehead. “It’s going to be okay. You are going to be okay, angel.” He cupped her face, and even though she wasn’t looking at him, he could feel the air charge around them. “I am going to make sure of it,” he promised her.

Torin turned, looking over his shoulder to see that the Supreme’s body was lying lifeless, surrounded by her own blood.

But then her wretched body twitched.

He ran, reaching her body in no time.

Deleine was still alive—barely, but breath still entered her lungs as his boots met her blood on the ground. Torin leaned down, withdrawing the sword that Emara had shoved into her torso. Her body jolted, but no remorse crossed his heart. He knew that by removing the weapon, the blood from the wounds would spill faster into every part of her, swarming her ruptured organs.

Death would come quicker now.

“Immortality?” He laughed. He leaned down lower, holding the weapon in his hands. “All the efforts you have put into becoming immortal have been in vain. Every betrayal, every time you sold a little part of you, every effort, every plan, every deal you have struck,” he said, grinding his teeth, “have not been worth it. You have not won. Good always prevails.”

It wasn’t that he was good—he certainly wasn’t—but Emara and everyone else who had been slaughtered at the Supreme’s hands were. And he was more than ready to deliver justice. Her eyes glazed a little more as a deceitful tear ran down her pale cheek, making its way through the splattered blood on her face.

“There is nothing immortal about you now. The darkness is coming for you as you lay dying on the cold ground like the rest of the treacherous monsters in this room. No dark magic is here to save you. The Dark God seems to have left you unprotected, after all.” He gripped the back of her head and yanked her towards him. “This is what happens when someone tries to take the thing I love most in this world,” he whispered into her ear so that no one else could hear him. She made a whimpering sound. “This is what happens when you cross a Blacksteel. I only wish I could tell your king the same fucking thing. But I guess that will have to wait for now.” He smiled down at her with everything that was dark and uncompromising. “You will die an dishonourable death, and when the insects feed on your corpse in the shallow ground, no one will whisper your name. No one will want to remember a witch who picked the darkness over the light of her own Gods. No one.”

The Supreme let out one last pitiful cry before he stepped back, swinging the sword. Her head came off before her body had the chance to hit the ground.

Hercrown of deceit and ruin flew across the space, tumbling to the floor, and Torin watched it roll down the granite stairs all the way to Emara’s feet.