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I feel her laughter bubble in my chest.

This—will—be—fun.

As soon as the soldier swings her weapon, I move, my body bending and dipping to avoid the hits. My movements feel fluid, like water rolling down a river.

I duck, spin, and with a swift thrust, shove my daggers up into her belly. It’s an impossible strike, one that even a week ago I wouldn’t have been able to make. And now I have to wonder if, along with long life and a sense for magic, the lilac wine gave me other fae attributes, such as agility and precision.

I yank my blades up her torso, cutting through flesh and other, softer things, before I draw back.

The soldier staggers back as I withdraw. But not even the wounds I inflict are enough to stop her. She attacks me again. I block the first blow, but I’m not quick enough to entirely avoid the second one. I feel the blade of one sink into my leathers, then bite into my skin. I cry out and spin, my dagger pointed out. The weapon cleanly slices open the woman’s neck.

Yessss. My siren laps up the carnage.

I’m opponent-less for all of five seconds, and then another woman is on me, her curving blades glinting wickedly beneath the light of the giant bronze chandelier above us.

Bending my knees, I spring into the air, the thick strokes of my wings forcing me up. Several feet off the ground I tuck my wings tight against my back and drop onto the soldier, burying my dagger in her neck.

Her curved blade arcs through the air, the point skewering me in the thigh before she falls limp onto the floor. I collapse on top of her, hissing at the wound.

A shaky hand goes to my thigh. I grind my teeth against the sharp pain.

I think it’s deep—definitely deep enough to make walking a problem.

I push myself off the dead fairy, nearly crying out when I place weight on my leg. But just as soon as I feel the full force of the injury, it begins to close, the blood trickling off.

Fae magic at work. Another perk of the lilac wine.

Once my wound heals, I jump back in the melee.

Across the room I spot Malaki and Temper—the latter with a crazy smile on her face—as they fight the sleeping soldiers. And far above us Des fights in midair, his enemies dropping from the sky.

The soldiers keep coming, and it takes all my focus to fight them off.

By the time I reach the main entrance of the castle, the smell of magic and blood coats the air like perfume. I’m dappled in the liquid, wearing it like another layer of armor.

Hard to believe that I agonized over one single death for years. By the end of the night—if I’m still alive—my death count will be in the double digits.

The fighting spills into the courtyard, and bursts of fae magic light up the night as fairies draw on their power.

I briefly sheath my daggers as my gaze moves over the landscape. The human part of me is trying not to heave. The grounds are strewn with glassy eyes and gutted bodies.

Soldiers are killing soldiers. Civilians are getting cut down. And the formerly sleeping women are out there in droves alongside their spawn.

Now that the time has come, those creepy casket children have cast off all pretenses of innocence. Their tiny bodies feast on prone fairies, their eyes glowing with unholy malice.

It’s madness I can’t make sense of.

Des lands next to me and grabs my hand. He looks like a savage, his battle leathers bloodstained, and his pale hair speckled with the fluid. It’s unnerving just how much the look suits him.

“You good?” he asks, his eyes bright with concern, and ironically fae delight.

Fairies and their feral hearts,the siren whispers.He’s enjoying this almost as much as we are.

His gaze drops to my lips, his other hand reaching for my shining skin.

I wet my dry mouth and nod. “I’m fine.”

To emphasize my point, I will my wings away. They don’t disappear immediately, and even once they do, it’s a struggle to keep them concealed.