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Magic rolled off of him. Shadow hands left his body and touched the corpses at his feet. I stared at his face, horror consuming me as the power poured off of him, forming into shadows that fell to his feet.

The horror started at the top of his head, a gleaming silver crown appearing as the air itself shifted, parting to reveal something new. Or something very old. The silver crown bled darkness, the black ink of it dripping down the metal and into the top of his hair. What had once been an ashy blond brightened to ashen silver as it grew to a slightly longer, shaggier style where it ended above his shoulders.

His features shifted, becoming sharper and even more stunning, as his ears elongated and his eyes gleamed a bright, frosty blue. He grew taller, his features more brutal, and his beautiful face twisted with cruelty as his tunic and cloak transformed into a mix of pale-blue fabric and black armor and leather coverings. He was enormous, a formidable figure who made the Caelum I’d known look like a weakling as he cut through the Mist Guard that tried to stand in his way.

The swirling black ink of the Mark on his neck writhed with power as he pushed his sword back into the sheath across his back and raised his hands. A dark compulsion flowed from them, black tendrils of inky magic coiling as the corpses of the men he’d killed rose once again.

The ground beneath me shook, a skeletal hand emerging from the dirt next to my head. I screamed, watching as the skeleton pulled itself out of the ground, but I couldn’t move, pinned to the spot as it reassembled its broken pieces into the shape of the man it had been and turned on the Mist Guard standing over me. It attacked, launching its entire body at the man and tackling him to the ground.

Finally freed from my paralysis, I scrambled backward on my hands and feet until my back touched the wall of the building behind me. Curling my knees into my chest, I watched on in horror as Caelum and his army of the dead made their way toward me.

He thrust his hand into the chest of a man who tried to fight him, wrapping his fingers around his heart and yanking it out while the organ still pumped blood between his fingers. He dropped it to the ground, stepping over the corpse that rose again behind him to fight off the remaining Mist Guard, who had been stupid enough to think they could ever stand a chance against the monster who strode straight for me.

The man I’d fallen in love with had never really existed; Caelum wasn’t real—nothing but a deception. I’d seen the likeness of his true form before. Seen drawings and statues of that beautiful, terrifying face and the horror of his power over the dead.

Caldris.

More skeletons rose all around me as I forced myself to my feet, using my hands on the stone wall at my back to pull myself up, even when everything in me felt like giving up.

Beyond the skeletons that surrounded me, I was vaguely aware of more fighting, and of people emerging from the rubble to run from Caldris’s army of the dead as he stalked toward me.

The skeletal corpses formed a circle of protection around me, cutting off any chance I had of escape. They parted slowly as he emerged in front of me, letting him enter the bubble they’d formed.

This close, he seemed larger than humanly possible. His form was taller than any of the skeleton’s remains, towering over all of them as he stopped in front of me. The Mark on my neck burned, sensing the power of the Fae so near.

I shook my head when he reached out one of those perfect, strong hands to touch me. With his glamour gone, every line of his body was feral; the sharp lines of his face were as animalistic as the way he moved.

I backed into the wall, my hand brushing against the finger bone of one of the skeletons guarding me and drawing a terrified squeal from my lungs.

My God was nothing but pure, brutal beauty, and I wanted absolutely nothing to do with him; not ever again.

“They won’t hurt you, Little One,” he said, tilting his head to the side as he stared down at me. Even his voice was deeper, something ancient resting within it as those blue eyes gleamed.

I looked away from him, staring between the skeletons to where the corpses of the dead Mist Guard fought with the Marked who’d emerged from the rubble to escape. We’d found the people we’d come to save, and in doing so, I had led the Fae right to them.

The army of the dead disarmed them, forcing them to their knees and restraining them in groups as I watched in horror.

“Stop this,” I pleaded, turning my attention back to Caldris where he waited for me, that hand of his still outstretched, as if he couldn’t quite believe I wouldn’t sink into his embrace again.

I wouldn’t allow him to touch me, ever, after what he’d done, and the way he’d lied to me at every turn.

I hadn’t even known his name. He wasn’t even fucking human.

“You know I can’t do that,” he said, something probably not regret shadowing his face as he stared down at me intently. His attention never even so much as twitched off of me, completely unconcerned with the battle waging around us.

“Let them go, and I’ll go with you. That’s what you want, right? That’s what the purpose of all of this was? Just let them go.” I begged, swallowing down my terror at the thought of being brought to Alfheimr, and of what might wait for me there.

“Oh, my star,” he said sadly, sympathy filling his gaze as his hand dropped to the iron chain wrapped around my neck. He unraveled it slowly, the flesh of his fingertips burning against the touch of the warded metal until he flung it to the side. “You’ll come with me anyway.”

38

My knees almost collapsed with the rush of power returning to my body. My Mark glowed as white as freshly fallen snow, the inky shadows twirling within it in tandem with the moving Mark on his neck.

I slapped his hands away, wanting nothing to do with them on my skin, knowing that it must have all been a lie. His claim of love. His desire for me. I’d been stupid enough to fall for all of it, while he’d played me like a fool and used me to get to the Resistance.

He grabbed me by the chin with unyielding fingers, tilting my head to the side as he inspected the burn marks on my throat from where the iron had scorched my skin. His brow furrowed momentarily, and then he released me as suddenly as he’d caught me.

Lifting his dagger to his wrist, he slid the sharp edge of the blade against his skin. Blood welled from the wound, flowing over his skin and dripping on the ground as he raised it toward me. He placed his wrist at my mouth, wincing as I drew back from the pressure of his arm against my lips. “Drink,” he ordered, his lips twisting into a snarl when I shook my head and pressed back farther into the wall.