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The Eye of Time’s power pulsed in red as Lucienne rammed it into Seraphen’s chest where his heart would be—if he had one—and all the way through, just before he was able to get his hands around her throat. A blazing light radiated from her, lit her like the goddess of wrath, savagely beautiful. “Die, Seraphen!” Lucienne shouted.

The Eye of Time seared a hole through the mutant’s chest as Ashburn dropped his lightning. The shock on Seraphen’s face was more than any reward to Lucienne. Thick, dark smoke sprouted from him. The air smelled of scorched flesh, but it was the sweetest scent Lucienne had ever known.

Seraphen crumpled to the ground, staring up at Lucienne, who towered over him with a honeyed smile. “It has begun,” the mutant murmured in grief. “I failed, twice.” His eyes were murky glass.

“And there’ll be no third time, Seraphen,” Lucienne said, “though they say the third time’s the charm.”

Ashburn lurched forward, looking at Seraphen in horror. Shock still lingering on his face, he faltered like a drunkard and threw his hands up to grasp his head in agony. Lucienne realized the Eye was now going after Ashburn. She slammed the locket shut, despite the Eye’s growl.

Ashburn calmed, and then his eyes brimmed with sorrow. He dropped to his knees beside Seraphen, holding the mutant’s hand in his. “Seraphen, I’m sorry. Why couldn’t you just leave her alone?”

“You chose her. The Exiles will win this time. The Exiles are the most formidable enemy. They have more power than you can imagine.” Seraphen let out a ragged breath.

“What do they want?” asked Ashburn.

“Earth. They want it back. They need you two to erase time so that they can return. Once time is removed, so is every species.”

“No one can erase time. You’re absolutely crazy,” Lucienne rebuked.

“If you two are together, it will happen,” Seraphen said.

“We won’t allow it to happen,” Ashburn said.

“Then kill her.” Seraphen breathed out his last vicious words.

Ashburn turned to Lucienne, who stared back. Revenge had left her brown phoenix eyes; in its wake were desolation and grief for her men.

“I can’t. I won’t,” Ashburn said. When he turned back to the mutant again, Seraphen’s unseeing eyes stared up at the sky.

“Seraphen?” he called.

“He’s gone,” Lucienne said.

“He came to protect me,” Ashburn said, weeping, “and I killed him.”

“No, I killed him. He and I can’t coexist, and you saved me again.”

But they both knew without Ashburn’s lightning, she’d never have put down Seraphen.

Ashburn looked at Lucienne, then his protector, and back to her again. A blur of emotions ripped across his face—fear, enchantment, remorse, self-loathing, desire, and then pain. She had never seen him so vulnerable, and in such pain. She’d lost people she loved over the course of her life, but she knew it was the first time he had lost someone. Even though that someone was her fatal enemy, she respected his sadness.

She owed him her life. This boy believed she would be his ultimate demise, and yet he let her see into his dark memories. He had exposed his weakness to her. Choosing her cost the life of his only protector, the one who could shield him from any danger, from the world itself. From everyone but her. At the brink of life and death, he put her above himself. And he called himself a monster.

Lucienne sat on her heels beside Ashburn. All her walls tumbled down. She leaned toward him, reaching for him. “Ash,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Ashburn dropped his resistance and pulled Lucienne into his arms. The magnetic forces finally pulled them together.

Her body arched and curved toward him, responding to his touch like a fiddle under its masterful fingers. Wind, light, and heat pushed through her, and then the world, the battlefield, her wounded soldiers, her fear and responsibilities fell behind her. Right here, right now, Lucienne saw only Ashburn Fury.

“I feel I’ve been waiting for you my whole life,” Ashburn said as he leaned down to kiss her.

Fear and desire seized Lucienne. She remembered another kiss, the kiss of disaster. “No, I can’t . . . you can’t,” she said, but she wanted that kiss more than anything—at that moment she wanted it more than her life and his life together.

“Trust me,” Ashburn said. His lips met hers, pressed hard. There was little tenderness, only raw passion. His mouth scorched hers, demanding, powerful, and desperate, amid the smoke and fire and bodies that littered the battlefield around them.

Lucienne slid a hand through Ashburn’s silvery hair. A bridge of light flew across the wild river, connecting the two sides. Lucienne sensed what Ashburn sensed, and his wanting and needing became hers. Everything was clear now—he had always wanted her, from first sight, from the beginning. Ashburn’s kiss deepened; his desire ignited hers. It was the kiss of the fires from heaven and hell, and with it, she felt all the rightness, and at the same time, all the wrongness of it.

Lucienne felt she was going to go up in flames. Still, she clung to him. She had lost herself and didn’t care. All she ever wanted was to want Ashburn, and that unleashed want, so intense and unnatural, made her every nerve begin to burn and ache.