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Clayson’s hands slowly rose to his neck, his fingers clawing at the fatal wound as he gasped for breath that wouldn’t come.

I ripped my dagger the rest of the way out in one swift motion and plunged it into the base of his neck between his vertebrae. Blood coated my own face as I twisted the dagger and yanked it out, internally severing his head from his body.

He hit the floor with a loud thud as I turned back to face Alexi who was barely clinging onto life, blood pouring from his mouth as his head slumped against his chest.

My feet were moving before I could command them too, stalking toward him as a growl ripped from my lungs. A single one of my fingers tapped the end of the metal nailing him to the chair, and another agonizing shriek fell from his lips.

I slid my bloody dagger under his chin, forcing him up to look at me. “Painful isn’t it?”

A whimper was the only response I received.

A tear fell from my chin and I watched it drop onto him, the grimy fabric of his clothes soaking it up as my hand shot to my cheek. I didn’t know when I’d started crying—when the dam had opened—but I let the tears come.

Let them come as a scream burst from my lungs and my dagger plunged into his chest.

Another wail tore from the depths of my soul as I sunk the blade into him over and over and over again, ripping through muscle and flesh and bone until his blood was dripping from every inch of me.

Every stab, every puncture, was for me.

Was for the women he and his friends had accosted, had assaulted, had raped.

This was for us.

This was for the part of us they stole that we would eternally mourn. The part of us that would forever wonder if it was our fault. The part of us that would be haunted by the shame of not fighting harder.

This was for us.

Finally, I stopped, my skin shifting back to my own, my lungs gasping for air as I turned to look at Andrues, blood still strewn across his features. I could feel it, the frenzied expression on my face as he pushed from the wall and walked toward me.

He slipped one hand into mine, pulling the dagger from between my fingers and letting it clatter to the floor as his other hand slipped around the back of my neck.

“Tell me, Ataliia,” he whispered, his eyes searching mine. “How does the blood of your demons taste?”

A crimson grin spread across my lips as the tears flowed steadily down my cheeks.

“Sweet.”

Chapter thirty-six

ATALIIA

Staticwasbuzzinginmy head like a frantic hive of bees.

They were dead.

They were all dead and I was free of them.

The tears still streaming from my eyes were those of relief, of sheer fucking joy that those men could no longer hurt another soul. I knew that the buzzing, the rigidness of my muscles, was from shock. A symptom of the memories that still haunted me, even after their creators were snuffed out.

Those would never leave, but eventually, I think they would fade. Or maybe I would just find peace with them as a new part of who I am.

“Ataliia.” Andrues’s voice echoed from behind me, his hands sliding down my arms as I leaned into his warmth. “You should get this blood off of you.”

I nodded, stepping from the threshold where I stood between rooms. I didn’t remember coming home. Didn’t remembermaking my way up the stairs and past my library into my bedchamber.

Andrues slid into the lavatory behind me, flicking his fingers toward the hearth in the corner and I watched as the flames danced to life, casting an autumn glow over the grey marble surfaces.

My fingers worked to strip the blood-soaked leathers from my body, a metallic scent wafting through the room as I tore them from my limbs. Steam lifted from the surface of the freshly-filled tub and my fingers caught around Andrues’s wrist as he turned to step from the room.