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Strolguil handed her the same dagger from before, and Rurik shook his head when she grabbed it with both hands and began to raise it above her head.

She will really do this.Death had finally come for him, and he wasn’t satisfied with how he was dying. He couldn’t think of a more shameful way to meet his end.

Not at the hands of Witches he’d fought with fierceness, but with a dagger plunged into his chest while his cock was still inside the wielder.

She lifted the blade higher, her knees rising to give her extra strength for when she came back down. She was sliding up his shaft. The higher she went, the more her hair pushed back.

With a growl, he met her eyes as she finally held his gaze.

Eyes of determination and will power. Eyes that screamed they wouldn’t stray from their path, wouldn’t back down no matter what they faced. She was going to plunge the blade, her resolve was set on doing this.

He flinched when it came down, his body tensing at the impact.

Chapter 32

Amalia knew when she climbed onto the Dragon’s body that she wouldn’t stray. She was determined for power, wanted it,neededit. She knew she was going to take his seed and plunge her blade. Nothing was going to stop her.

Strolguil had taken her to this main room sitting at the end of the hall not long after he’d taken her to the dungeon to taunt the Dragon. He’d pointed to the ground, to the symbols, and explained they had been prepared so that when she stabbed him in the chest and took his heart, they would be able to force his body back to its scaly state while he was fresh of death so they could extract him.

After that, she’d been taken care of by one of the female coven Witches who helped to prepare her, had fed and then bathed her. She gave Amalia teas to increase her fertility. She was a grovelling woman who wanted to appease and pamper Strolguil’s chosen woman.

At multiple times throughout the afternoon, Amalia could have run, could have escaped. She didn’t want to. She wanted to stay here and was set on the path she was taking.

Then night fell. She’d been told to undress and to wear a black cloak to make things easier, quicker. She made no complaint, her shy self gone after everything she’d learned... everything she knew she was about to do to the Dragon.

Amalia didn’t hesitate to climb onto that altar to be with him, regardless that she was being viewed. She no longer cared.

The mention of burning did make her memories of the stake plague her, but it wasn’t enough to get her to back down. The Dragon could say what he wanted but, she wouldn’t falter.

And once she had ridden him and held that dagger, she pointed the tip of the blade hanging in the air towards his chest. She kept her eyes focused on him, her mind refusing to stray from her target.

Her hands didn’t shake, her arms didn’t feel weak.

Then she brought her hands down with all of her strength and she watched him flinch, watched him tense. She watched his eyes widen when that blade cut through flesh and muscle.

But it had not been sunk into him. Amalia had sunk that blade into herself.

Her back bowed upon impact and crumbled around the blade. She reefed it forward and dropped it onto the Dragon’s chest with shaking hands. It made a metal clunking sound as it fell to the stone altar and then bounced to the ground.

She looked down at her aching stomach. She could feel blood running over her fingers where she touched the wound with trembling hands. Her heart was racing, her breathing shallow and short.

“What have you done?!” Strolguil yelled, taking a step forward.

Snapping out of her shock, Amalia raised her blood-covered hands and immediately began to chant.

She’d seen the symbols on the ground and knew she could use them to her advantage. She had known what she needed to do when she saw this room, this altar, those gouged marks.

A gust of wind circled around her between the inner and outer rings around those symbols. It pushed all those who were outside away when they tried to enter.

Blue flickers of lightning sparked throughout the wind that seemed to have picked up dust and dirt, and it grew stronger by the second. They also made certain symbols on the ground flicker to life with blue fire as she called out.

Her head was tilted up as she desperately tried to remember the words she needed. She shouted the chant, pouring all her strength, all her will, all of the magic she possessed inside her into the spell.

Blood was running down her wrists. She felt pain, but she refused to stop. She didn’t stop screaming those words, didn’t end her chant until that gust of wind broke into fire and blasted outwards.

It slammed everyone on the outside against the walls.

For a single moment, they were down, the force of the impact making them immobile.