Page 41

“There’s no point in running,” he says. “The exits are sealed. Heathborne’s defenses have activated.”

Then I’ll make my own exit. I summon shadow energy to my fingertips, surprised at how easily it flows now, responding to my will with barely a thought.

I hurl a concentrated blast at the wall beside me.

Stone cracks and splinters, creating a jagged opening into an adjacent corridor.

Without hesitation, I dive through, rolling to my feet on the other side.

“Clever,” Dayn mutters, his voice following me.

I sprint down the unfamiliar hallway, my enhanced senses mapping the layout as I go. Darkblood signatures pulse above me like beacons, drawing me upward. I need to find a staircase, anything to get me closer to my people.

The corridor splits ahead. I take the right fork, sensing it curves back toward the central part of the building.

I race around a corner and find what I’ve been searching for—a narrow staircase leading upward.

I take the steps two at a time, the sounds of battle growing louder with each flight of stairs.

I burst through a door onto the next level, only to find my path blocked by a wall of amber light—one of Dayn’s barriers. Before I can find another route, he materializes behind me.

We clash in a blur of movement, light against shadow. I land a solid kick to his abdomen that forces him three steps backward. The building shudders again as another explosion rocks the higher floors. The momentary distraction costs me—Dayn pins me against the wall, his forearm across my throat.

Before he can open his mouth, I headbutt him, the impact sending stars across my vision but forcing him to loosen his hold. I slip free, rolling away and coming up in a crouch.

Dayn wipes a trickle of blood from his lip. “Your grandmother’s using you, Esme. Just like Heathborne used Mazrov.”

His words almost freeze me. “Don’t you dare speak about my grandmother!” I hurl compressed shadow at him like a javelin.

He deflects it with a sweep of his arm, the shadow dissipating against his barrier. “Why do you think she was so insistent that you drink my blood? It wasn’t to protect you. You didn’t need to drink it to survive the ritual. I swear my life on it.”

I refuse to let his words penetrate. Instead, I feint left, then dive right, rolling through an open doorway into what appears to be.

.. a laboratory. Glass cases line the walls, filled with strange specimens and artifacts.

I scan the room quickly, looking for anything I can use against Dayn.

My eyes lock on a collection of runed objects under a protective barrier—experimental magical items, if I had to guess.

Dayn stalks into the room after me, his movements controlled and predatory. “I suggest you stop running. It only delays the inevitable.”

I back away, circling the central workbench to keep it between us. “Here’s a fun fact: you lost the right to dictate my life the second that binding snapped. You’re not my keeper—or even my problem, anymore.”

“It’s more… complicated than that.” His gaze locks onto mine, and I see something in his eyes that makes my blood run cold.

It’s not anger, not even the predatory gleam I’ve come to expect from him.

No, this is something deeper, more primal—a raw, unfiltered intensity that feels like staring into the heart of a storm.

“Esme,” he says, his voice low and gravelly, laced with a warning that reverberates through my bones. “You don’t understand what’s at stake here.”

I hold his gaze, refusing to back down despite the unease coiling in my gut. “Enlighten me then. Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re breaking your end of the deal. You were supposed to leave me the hell alone after all this!”

He takes a step closer, and the air between us seems to thicken. “You don’t understand,” he says again, his voice low and guttural, resonating with a power that almost makes the room vibrate. “This isn’t about deals or agreements. It hasn’t ever been. And especially not now you’ve drunk my blood.”

My heart pounds faster. What does he mean?

I leap onto the workbench, kicking a tray of instruments at his face before flipping backward. Dayn deflects most of the projectiles, but a scalpel catches his cheek, drawing a thin line of that strange dark blood.

“Eager for more of me?” he asks quietly, touching the wound.

I fight to ignore the sensation that floods through me at the memory from the ritual chamber; of the press of his chest flush against mine; of his warm mouth sucking my skin, his slick tongue tracing my pulse; of the taste of his blood, rich and dark as a curse, overwhelming my nerves and senses; of my desperate, primal need to drink more of it.

It lives under my skin. My body still trembles for it… for him.

With a growl, I summon shadows to my fingertips, condensing them into razor-sharp blades that extend from my hands like claws. This new control over shadows feels instinctive, as if I’ve always been able to shape darkness itself.

Dayn’s eyes narrow at the display. He moves with blinding speed, and the next thing I know, his hand closes around my throat. The shadow blades dissipate as my concentration breaks.

“Stop fighting me,” he growls, his face inches from mine. “I’m trying to protect you.”

I knee him in the stomach, then bring my elbow down on his forearm, breaking his grip. As I drop to my feet, I sweep his legs, sending him backward into a display case. Glass shatters, specimens and preservation fluid spilling across the floor.

“I don’t need your ‘protection,’” I gasp, rubbing my throat. “I need to get to my people.”

Dayn rises from the wreckage, glass shards falling from his shoulders. His eyes burn gold now, pupils contracted to vertical slits. The air around him shimmers with heat.

“Your people,” he says, his voice dropping to dangerous levels, “are here to use you. Why else would they send an entire army just to collect one operative? Has that ever happened in the history of your coven? Darkbirch is large for a darkblood sanctuary, but not large enough to risk many for few.”

I throw a compressed ball of shadow energy at him, anger pulsing through my veins. He catches it in his palm, the darkness sizzling against his skin before he crushes it to nothing.

“My grandmother wouldn’t?—”

“Your grandmother,” he interrupts, advancing, “knew exactly what drinking my blood would do to you. She wanted you transformed. More powerful. More valuable to your coven.”

I back away, gathering more power. The shadows in the room respond to my emotions, writhing against the walls in response to my disturbance. The laboratory is a maze of equipment and specimens, giving me an idea.

I back toward a heavy metal door at the far end of the lab, while he advances steadily. “She wanted me transformed into what?” I ask, continuing to retreat.

“A weapon.” His eyes track my movements. “A hybrid creature with both darkblood abilities and dragon attributes. Useful. Controllable. Precisely what your coven needs in their ongoing war.”

The next explosion is close enough to shake dust from the ceiling. I need to end this now.

“You know what, Dayn?” I say, shifting my weight to my back foot. “Maybe you’re right.”

His step stalls for a moment—clearly not the response he expected.

I use that second of surprise to strike. I hurl a concentrated blast of shadow energy not at him, but at the ceiling above him. Stone and metal crash down, forcing him to dive forward. I leap backward through the doorway, slamming my palm against the control panel beside it.

The heavy metal door hisses shut just as Dayn reaches it, his hand slamming against the reinforced surface.

I press my hand against the door, feeling the cool metal beneath my palm. Power surges through me, a strange fusion of darkblood magic and whatever has awakened within me from his blood. The runes on my wrist pulse in response, and suddenly I know what needs to be done.

I don’t think—I act. My fingers trace an unfamiliar pattern across the door’s surface, the motion instinctive yet precise.

Shadows pool at my fingertips, flowing like ink as they follow the path I draw.

Runes form beneath my touch, ancient and complex, their meaning incomprehensible to me but their purpose clear: containment.

The barrier builds and the runes flare to life as I complete the final stroke, their dark glow pulsing with power. The shadows deepen around them, solidifying into a barrier that seals the doorway.

Dayn punches the other side, the impact reverberating through the metal.

His eyes burn molten gold through the small observation window.

He steps back from the window, his form beginning to shimmer—attempting manifestation.

But as his body starts to dissolve into golden motes of light, the runes on my barrier blaze brighter.

The air around him thickens, resisting his transformation with visible force.

The golden particles that should carry him elsewhere instead scatter and fade, reforming into his solid form.

His eyes widen slightly in a mixture of surprise and something like dark admiration. I see him murmur to himself through the glass, his mouth forming the words, “Good girl.”