Page 5 of Awakened Destiny (The Dark Ascendant #3)

Marius

The scent of burnt sage from whatever Tiernan is doing in the other room assaults my senses as I step into Lochan ’ s space. He doesn ’ t retreat. Never does. Just plants those tree-trunk legs wider, arms crossed over a chest that could double as a battering ram. His nostrils flare when I smirk.

“ You ’ ve never trusted her,” I say. The words taste like rusted nails. “ Not really. All that time training Brigid, and what was it? A leash disguised as lessons?”

His hazel eyes darken to swamp mud. “ Says the bastard who ’ s about to let an immortal shadow mage hitchhike in his skull.” A muscle twitches near his temple—the only tell in that carved-stone face. “ Tell me, Marius. When the Raven King starts peeling your mind apart, which memory dies first? The one where you lied to Brigid about who you really were? Or the one where you—”

I ’ m already moving. My forearm slams against his throat, pinning him to the wall. “ Careful, fae. You don ’ t know what claws through my blood after dark.”

He doesn ’ t choke. Doesn ’ t even blink. Just rasps, “ Prove me wrong.”

Footsteps smack the floorboards like gunshots. "Boys!" Fiona ’ s voice slices through the room, all sugar-coated arsenic. She leans against the doorframe, picking at chipped fuchsia nail polish, scarves swallowing her tiny frame whole. A silver nose ring glints when she tilts her head. "You done measuring dicks? Or should I grab popcorn and enjoy the show?"

Fiona—or Sirona, rather—waltzes between us, reeking of incense. Her necklaces clatter—a pentacle nestled between carnelian and rose quartz. When she grins, it doesn ’ t touch her eyes. "Marius, sweetheart." She pats my cheek. Her palm leaves heat. "It ’ s time to stop playing chicken with your great-great granddaddy ’ s ghost."

I catch her wrist.

"Potion." She whips a vial from her skirt pocket, liquid inside swirling like molten mercury. "Auntie Sirona ’ s special blend. Blocks possession better than whiskey blocks feelings." Her laugh dies quick. "Turns your mind into a fortress."

Lochan snorts. "Even fortresses have weaknesses."

Fiona spins the vial, light catching runes etched into the glass. "Two-hour window. Enough time for you to do the deed and let him take over your body. He won ’ t know until it ’ s too late."

The vial burns cold against my palm. Frost patterns bloom beneath my fingertips. "What ’ s the catch?"

"Ever had your synapses deep-fried?" She adjusts her glasses. "Imagine that, but with more screaming."

Behind us, Lochan ’ s dagger scrapes against its sheath. "What if it doesn ’ t work and the Raven King is able to take control? He ’ s weak now, but when he takes his new vessel, he ’ ll be strong again."

"It will work." Fiona pops a stick of gum. She leans in, peppermint carried on her whisper. "Drink it and be prepared for things to get interesting. You ’ ll have to try to keep your wits about you. It can ’ t do the job on its own. If you decide to give in to the Raven King, he ’ ll have you, and this potion won ’ t stop it. Free will and all that—it ’ s stronger than anyone ever realizes."

Lochan stomps closer. "You ’ re betting Brigid ’ s life on this? On her?" He jabs a thumb in Sirona ’ s direction.

I thumb the vial ’ s stopper. The smell hits first, and I make a face. "Better odds than whatever you ’ d come up with, fae."

Fiona ’ s rings click as she squeezes my shoulder. "Tick-tock, boy. Your parasite ’ s not big on patience." Her gaze flicks to the tattoos peeking under my collar, and I wonder if she knows how they feel to me. Each one is a connection to my shadow magic, but also to the Raven King. Right now they ’ re humming intensely. He must sense that the Morrigan has taken her vessel, and he ’ s done waiting.

The potion sloshes. I count the heartbeat pounding in my temples. If this doesn ’ t work, Brigid ’ s going to be gone forever. And so will I. But the vial ’ s already chilling my throat before I can think twice, bitter winter flooding my veins.

Lochan ’ s glare carves into me. "If you turn—"

"Shiv me yourself," I rasp, wiping my mouth. Metal tang coats my tongue. "Bring flowers for my funeral."

Fiona ’ s laugh follows me into the shadows as they gather at the corners of my eyes.

My fingers close around the silver stone in my pocket before I can lose consciousness from the potion. It's cool, but as I draw it out, heat pulses through it like alive. The stone catches what little light there is, its surface moving as if liquid silver were running all over it.

The stone throbs in my palm, its energy seeping into my flesh. I close my eyes, focusing on its rhythm. The world falls away, leaving only the pulsing connection between the stone and my consciousness.

And then I feel him.

The Raven King's presence crashes against the edges of my mind. Dark, relentless, seeking any crack to slip through.

"Marius?" Fiona's voice sounds distant, underwater.

I grit my teeth. "He's here."

The pressure builds, a screeching static filling my head. I dig my nails into my palm, using the pain to anchor myself.

"Remember," Fiona's words cut through the chaos, "you're in control. Don't let him—"

Her voice fades as the Raven King's influence surges. Images flash behind my eyelids of blood-soaked battlefields, armies made of shadows, Brigid's—no, the Morrigan ’ s—eyes glowing with frightening power.

I force my eyes open, meeting Lochan's wary gaze. "If this goes sideways," I growl, "go after Brigid. Save her."

He nods, jaw tight. "Just don't make me regret trusting you."

I manage to get out a laugh. "Wouldn't dream of it."

The stone pulses once more, and I let the darkness in.

The room plunges into darkness, as if the very light is being consumed. But I know it ’ s just me. My muscles seize, every fiber straining against the invasion. The Raven King's presence floods my mind, a torrent of power and bitter rage.

I fight to keep my thoughts clear, grasping at the lingering warmth of Fiona's potion. It burns in my veins, a lifeline against the crushing darkness.

"Marius?" Lochan's voice.

I can't answer. My throat constricts, choking back a scream. The Raven King's memories assault me with images of war, betrayal, exile, and death. His fury becomes mine, threatening to sweep away everything I am.

No. I have to fight him. Have to fight against everything I was born to be.

For her.

Brigid's face flashes in my mind. Her smile, her courage, the way she looked at me when—

The darkness recedes, just a fraction. I cling to that image, using it to carve out a space in my own mind. Brigid ’ s body, under my hands, my mouth on hers. Her taste. Her scent.

"I'm still here." My vision clears and the room is bright again.

Lochan moves closer, his massive frame tensed for action. "You better be."

I want to snap back, but it takes all my concentration just to breathe. The Raven King's presence winds around my thoughts, probing for weakness.

"Tell me," Lochan demands, "what do you see? Do you know where she is?"

I open my mouth to answer Lochan, but the words die on my tongue. A rush of sensation overwhelms my thoughts. It's like being submerged in an ocean of memories that aren't my own.

The Raven King's consciousness presses against mine, and I can ‘ see ’ what he ’ s feeling and thinking. Images flash before my eyes, too fast to process at first. Then, suddenly, everything snaps into focus.

I see through eyes that aren't mine, yet are. The world takes on a vague quality, reality overlaid with a gauzy veil, and I see a green-painted wooden sign with white letters.

The letters burn themselves into my mind.

“Brigid’s in a place called ‘Newton.’