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“Callypso.”

I turn at the echoing sound of Temper’s voice. Her eyes burn with her power. At her feet is Malaki, his body lying prone. Not too far away Janus lays, his form similarly stupefied. Victims of the Thief’s dark magic.

“We’re leaving,” Temper says.

The sorceress’s gaze, her fiery gaze, is focused on Galleghar’s still form.

Her vengeance matches ours …

The former Night King lies sprawled on the ground, unconscious from her last hit.

Temper raises her hand, her palm outstretched.

She means to kill him.

“No,” I say, my voice vibrating with my power. “His death ismineto claim.”

Temper’s eyes narrow on Galleghar, even as her lips curve up just the slightest. The smile is nothing but cruel. “Fine.”

She turns her attention to a sleeping soldier. “You fucked with the wrong humans,” she says, her voice resonating with her own magic.

From her feet, fire flares to life. It races out along the ground in a dozen different directions, heading for the sleeping soldiers. First one alights, then another and another. One by one, the Thief’s minions get swept up by flame.

They shriek as their bodies blacken and burn, and I feel nothing at all.

The fires rage for only a few minutes, and when it’s extinguished, all that remains of the soldiers are blackened bones and ash.

The only people left in the room are me, Temper, Malaki, and Janus—the last two of whom are still unmoving, the Thief’s magic clinging to their skin. And then there’s Galleghar Nyx.

The root of all my suffering.

I rise from the ground, my wings fanning wide behind me. Slowly, I pace to him.

I feel so cold. Even my rage burns like ice. The only things left inside me are pain and vengeance.

Des’s father is beginning to stir, moaning a little.

Temper steps up to him, laughing low in her throat. “You’re going to wish you were dead.” Her voice is inhuman, possessed by her wicked nature. For once, I wholly embrace it.

This is why no one crosses us. We are fearsomely wrought.

I close in on Galleghar, pulling out the iron shackles from my back pocket. I ignore the way the metal sizzles against my skin as I grab the former king’s wrists. Dragging them behind his back, I slap on one cuff, then the other, pinning his arms behind him.

Slit his throat. Rip his heart out and make him eat it. Disembowel him and dance on his innards.

I want it all.

Make him pay for what he did to our mate.

Galleghar’s moans get louder and his eyes begin to flutter.

Crouching next to him, I whisper a single promise—

“Your will is mine.”

All those years I’d been under the yoke of my conscience I’d been running from this single, sobering truth: I can do more than bend others to my will; I can utterlyenslavethem to it.

All this time I’d hidden from my true nature.