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“No!” the White Lady screeched, more animal than woman, scrambling toward her spell. Her shawl fell into the flaming liquid, catching fire. Screaming, she turned back to Evelyn.

And laughed.

“You still have no clue what is at play, Daughter of the Goddess and Son of the God!”

No, they didn’t. But it didn’t matter. The White Lady was wicked and wretched and lost to the darkness. Whatever she had planned would end, too, with her death.

“This is for Aster. For McKenna, Tessa, Fiona, and Sheila.”

Evelyn flicked her wrist, feeding her flame to the end of the White Lady’s shawl. Shock fell over the dark witch’s features.

“Wait,” she cried as the fire climbed up her body, eating at her darkness. “Stop! You don’t understand! No!”

The White Lady rolled and writhed as Evelyn’s flame consumed her.

Evelyn looked away, the sight jarring and sickening.

“Wait! My Dark Prince! Please!” she cried over the flames.

Before Evelyn could think more of the desperate ramblings, the tomb shook around them. Kade grabbed her hand, and she found the pads of his paws plush and soft.

They pushed toward the entrance, Evelyn’s flame rising and falling over the darkness as they retreated from the tomb. Assured her magic would hold—the White Lady lay unmoving, one arm dangling in the potion—Evelyn continued on.

Down the hallway, the tomb shook again, knocking the two of them apart and into the stone walls. Kade hoisted Evelyn into his arms and ran.

They exited into the evening light, their eyes meeting for the first time. Hope and triumph soared in Evelyn’s chest, but then the center mound concaved inward. Dust and debris blew past them. Kade knelt, held Evelyn close, and shielded her from the debris. She gripped his fur, holding on as the world seemed to quake all around them.

The grassy ground trembled, the tomb collapsing into a pile of rubble with a final boom. Kade still held Evelyn for a few breaths, the only sound against the quiet backdrop.

No screams from the White Lady. No hissing from the potion. Her flame had been snuffed out, and so had the ancient power of the tomb.

Nothing but the evening wind, awakening stars, the swaying grass, and their triumph.

“Fucking flames, we did it,” Evelyn breathed.

We did.

Startled, Evelyn jumped and gripped the fur on his chest tighter. Kade’s voice had sounded in her mind.

A snort came from his snout, and his muzzle tightened and exposed his canines into what Evelyn imagined as a smile. It was a terrifying and hilarious sight.

“Is this a werewolf thing?” she asked, heart still racing with adrenaline.

We call it mind-linking.

Whatever it was, Evelyn liked it almost as much as she enjoyed being in Kade’s arms. His hold on her granted a comfort she’d not known she needed.

My brave mate, he said.

Goddess, when he looked at her with those eyes, even in his werewolf form, she believed those words. They were sweet, and she appreciated them. Didn’t mind hearing them one bit. And what made it sweeter: Evelyn agreed.

Because Evelyn did believe. Instead of believing in her flame, she’d believed in herself. Her Goddess-given gift no longer controlled or defined her. She controlled her power, possessed its strength and potential all herself.

Protector. Defender. Daughter of the Goddess.

She was brave. And she’d defeated the White Lady.

Chapter Fifty-Five