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“Nothing to say, my prodigal son?” Magnus said as he pressed the tip of the syphen to Elias’ bare chest. A single drop of blood trickled from where the blade broke his skin.

Elias gasped, unable to even get a wisp of air.

“What was that?” Magnus pressed the blade further into his chest.

Half an inch.

One inch.

Pain sliced through the panic consuming his senses, desperate for air. The syphen was one of the things that could kill him. If the blade even nicked his heart, he would cease to exist.

As Magnus pressed it in with agonizing slowness, it felt like Elias’ skin was being seared by a metal pulled from flames. Unable to heal around the syphen, blood poured from the wound.

Just as Elias was about to pass out from a lack of oxygen, Magnus released the pressure around his neck—the band of air dissipating. A pitiful croaking sound escaped his lips as Elias sucked in one breath after another.

Suddenly, Elias realized one of his ankles was free. Had he broken free in his desperation to breathe? His hands were still bound, as was his other ankle. But if he wasn’t fully bound to the X, he could use his magic.

“Touch your power,” Magnus said as something sharp sliced into Elias’ mind.

The syphen’s will, he realized.

Unbidden, Elias reached for the essence swirling at his core, knowing if he used too much of it, he’d succumb to the demon within.

Heat flared behind his eyes as the room came into focus. Every time he wielded essence, his eyes burned and turned a bright blue. He focused that energy before his chest, allowing the essence to form into an orb of the same blue hue as his eyes. It grew larger between him and Magnus, but the sorcerer didn’t pull back, didn’t step away. Instead, he watched, transfixed as Elias’ power blossomed between them.

“Hold,” Magnus said, not releasing the syphen’s hilt where it remained in Elias’ chest.

Instantly, Elias stopped, and the orb of power hovered between them.

In his years of being tortured beneath the mountain, he’d become all too familiar with Magnus’ manipulation with the syphen. He’d retreated far into himself, locking the shreds of himself far away where Magnus couldn’t reach. But as he tried to protect what remained of him now, he felt himself slipping—as if shards of himself were falling through.

Into Magnus’ waiting hand.

Minutes passed as Elias held on to his power, sweat trickling down his face.

All the muscles in his body strained, fighting to cling to the magic. It felt like he held a boulder thrice his size atop his shoulders. He was so weak that even this display of magic depleted his strength swiftly.

A pulling sensation came from his chest.

For a moment, he thought it was the mating bond, thought Arabella had gotten closer to him somehow. When he’d prevented Magnus from going after her, the bond disappeared hours later. Or nearly so. The tugging sensation had faded, and he could no longer sense her emotions or nearness.

He wondered if she’d escaped with Breckett through the gateway to the fae realm.

Even though he longed to feel her, he felt relief that she was far from here.

Far from Magnus.

The pulling sensation in his chest now was unlike the mating bond.

It was a deep part of him. A place he’d never journeyed. It was the well of energy at the center of his core—the very fabric that wove his being together. All that made him an erox.

My magic,he realized.

“There you are,” Magnus purred. “The core of an erox’s magic is in different places in each male’s body. And it would appear yours is in your…”

Disbelief and then fury crossed Magnus’ features as he shook his head, taking a step back. Though he never released the syphen.

“No,” Magnus hissed. Then a laugh bubbled up his throat and tore through the silence in the tent. “Of course, my most sentimental erox stores his magic in the one place I can’t access with the syphen.”