Page 180

“Try me,” she hisses.

“I already have,” I whisper, just as Istep into her shadow.

And claim it.

The cathedral groans, every light dimming as my power floods the space, seizing the architecture, the stone, the veins of this cursed place. I take everything I can reach. AndI hold it.

Beside me, Caspian draws closer, his power thrumming in waves now, seductive and terrifying, drawn from the same core of betrayal that pulses in me. And between us—Branwen finallystaggers.

“You’re outnumbered,” I murmur. “Outclassed.”

“And out of time,” Caspian finishes, his voice a quiet death knell.

Behind us, the pillar looms—tall, ancient, the source of her invincibility. The others are still fighting, still giving us the seconds we need.

She lunges, snarling, hurling magic at us.

But this time—we don’t dodge.

Weownit.

Branwen’s power slams into me like a tidal wave, but I don’t flinch. I’ve survived worse storms. Worse monsters.

And I’vealwayswalked away.

The black coils of her magic unfurl like serpents, snapping toward me, but I watch her hands—not the magic. Because it’s nothers.She’s leeching it from the men she puppeteered, like a starving thing gnawing on the bones of something better.

Lucien’s ice threads sharp through the air, a spear aimed for my throat. Orin’s sigils pulse against the marble floor, a silent trap meant to drag me under. It’s elegant, vicious—exactly the way Branwen likes to fight. Not with her own teeth, but with ours.

And I fuckingsmile.

Because she’s draining them dry to do it.

"You’re really burning through your toys fast, darling," I murmur, ducking the frost spear and letting it shatter againstthe pillar behind me. I shift left, stepping deliberately into the radius of Orin’s glyphs and feel the scrape of them licking at my skin, trying to pull me under.

And Itakethem.

My magic sinks deep into the sigils, infecting them like venom in a vein. Possession is a whisper in my blood, something dark and bottomless, and I watch Orin’s marks unravel beneath me, twisting against his will as I turn his poweragainsther.

Branwen’s eyes flare, sharp and furious.

"You think you can outmaneuver me?" she hisses, her voice cracking at the edges, hair wild around her hollowed-out face. She looks brittle now, desperate, something sharp breaking apart beneath her carefully layered performance.

I tilt my head, lazy. Controlled.

"I’m not maneuvering you," I say softly. "I’mundoingyou."

She throws Lucien’s magic next—a wall of black flame that splits the floor—but I don’t bother dodging. I lift my hand, palm open, and the flame freezes mid-air, siphoned into the curve of my fingers. Lucien’s strength flickers behind it, fractured. I taste the edges of it like a bitter burn.

"Stop using them," I tell her, voice colder now, slicing through the chaos. Caspian’s whips crack beside me again, carving space through the smoke and ruin, each strike surgically aimed, methodical. He’s been quiet, but I can feel him now—a slow, inevitable storm gathering behind me. This is his kill. I’m just cutting the path.

Branwen screams, throwing everything she has left. The cathedral shudders. Pillars groan and the roof splinters under the weight of her collapse. And still, I step through it, slipping her strikes like they’re nothing but whispers, drawing her deeper into her own unraveling.

"You’re running on borrowed power," I murmur as I close the last bit of distance, my voice pitched low, cruel. "And I’ve always known how to collect a debt."

Her eyes flick to Caspian—just once—but it’s enough.

"You want her dead, Ambrose," she spits. "You want her out of the way as much as I do."