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‘Don’t you want the Argent power off him?’ Corvin said. ‘Sounded like you did. Don’t tell me you’ve chickened out after telling him the truth.’

Joan flushed. So they’d overheard all of it, then.

Eleanor wants it off him.

Why? Why would Eleanor want that? Was she trying to turn Nick into the hero again? Joan glanced back. Nick was watching Corvin narrowly. And Joan hated that he was on his knees, on the bare wooden floor of the library. She hated that he was shackled by a chain—and by the Argent power.

Joan forced herself to step aside, and Nick flicked her a reassuring smile. Joan tried to smile back, but she couldn’t hold it. ‘We’ll be okay,’ Nick murmured to her. ‘You and me. You’ll see.’ Joan knew that wasn’t true. This would be the last time Nick smiled at her. The last moment he trusted her. When Corvin was done, they’d be done.

‘Frankly,’ Corvin said to Joan, ‘I doubt that power’s still active. The boy’s been in here three weeks.’ He stalked over to Nick and gazed down at him. ‘Huh,’ he said, sounding surprised. ‘Well,’ he said to Nick, ‘it is still on you. I can see it in your eyes. What were you told to do?’

Nick’s expression glazed slightly. ‘I’m fine with monsters,’ he said obediently. ‘I don’t want to hurt monsters.’

‘Crude,’ Corvin said. ‘Well, your former compulsions are undone. You’re free of the Argent power.’ He sounded almost bored.

We’ll be okay, Nick had said. You and me. Joan waited now for horror to bloom on his face as he took in the truth. She waited for his dark eyes to fill with betrayal and anger. But his expression didn’t change.

‘Nick?’ Joan whispered. And then she saw that Corvin was frowning. ‘The power’s still active!’ she said to Corvin.

‘So I gather,’ Corvin told her irritably. To Nick, he said, ‘You’re free of the Argent power! There are no restrictions on how you feel or act toward monsters!’ Corvin waited expectantly, and then with slow-building bewilderment and frustration. ‘Who put this compulsion on you?’ he demanded.

‘Someone stronger than you?’ Nick suggested.

Corvin’s jaw tightened. ‘I very much doubt that.’ He glared down at Nick. ‘I’ll have to try something else, I think.’ He turned as if to leave, and then seemed to change his mind. Before Joan could stop him—before Nick could even flinch—Corvin closed the gap between them and kicked hard at Nick’s upturned face.

Nick’s head cracked back against the hearth’s stone wall, and he gasped in pain and shock. Blood smeared his mouth.

Joan threw herself at Corvin, furious. Corvin shoved her with both hands, and Joan fell backward. She started to scramble up. ‘Stay down!’ Corvin told her, and Joan clenched her teeth in frustration as the cuff activated with a familiar jolt around her joints, trapping her on her knees. She’d landed right beside Nick, in front of the fireplace, but she couldn’t help him. She couldn’t move.

She still had her voice, though. ‘Don’t!’ she screamed as Corvin slammed his foot into Nick’s chest. Nick grunted in pain.

‘Hurt me back!’ Corvin ordered Nick. ‘Fight back!’ Joan could practically feel his power now—like the warmth of a fire. He seemed to be throwing everything he had at Nick.

‘I …’ Nick flinched back. ‘I can’t.’

Joan struggled, but she could barely move. ‘Stop!’ she begged Corvin.

Corvin growled at Nick. ‘Hit me!’ he ordered. ‘Hurt me! I just hurt you! Hurt me back!’ When Nick didn’t move, Corvin turned to Joan. ‘Who the hell put this power on him? It shouldn’t have lasted three weeks! It shouldn’t be resisting me.’

Had Owen been that strong? Joan hadn’t sensed anything like the heat of Corvin’s power from him. Corvin threw a punch, connecting with Nick’s jaw. Nick made a short sound, guttural and pained.

‘You’re just beating up someone who can’t touch you!’ Joan screamed at Corvin.

Corvin punched Nick in the face again. ‘Hit me!’ Another punch. ‘Hit me! Just—’ Corvin drew his hand back, and he was really going to hurt Nick this time—Joan could see it. But instead of throwing the punch at Nick, Corvin changed his aim and swung hard at Joan.

Joan cringed back, but Nick moved faster than she could take in, hand shooting out to catch Corvin’s fist.

For a long moment, the library felt strangely silent—the last sound the impact of Corvin’s fist against Nick’s palm. Joan could hear her own gasping breaths. Pinned with the cuff, she’d only been able to flinch. Now she replayed the moment in her mind—Corvin changing his aim, and Nick intercepting the punch.

Nick had reacted fast—as fast as the hero would have.

‘Nick?’ Joan whispered. She could hear how tentative she sounded. She met his eyes, and they were his eyes. Her Nick’s—serious and dangerous.

‘Let me go!’ Corvin said. Joan was beginning to recognise the intense note in his voice as the Argent note—the way Argents spoke when they used their power.

Nick seemed to recognise it too. But he didn’t let Corvin’s hand go. Instead, his face hardened, and his knuckles whitened around Corvin’s fist.

‘Stop!’ Corvin said. ‘Stop!’ His voice turned panicked, losing the Argent note. ‘You’re going to break my hand!’