Page 57 of Eternal Light (Fated in the Stars #5)

“Your pack has done nothing but thwart me every step of the way. Can’t a guy enjoy his symbiotic relationship with a psychopathic narcissist in peace? Can’t he suck a few hundred souls dry to gain the power he needs to rule the world? Can’t he just catch a fucking break?”

Withers smooths his two remaining strands of hair before tucking his shirt into his jorts. He turns and points a bony finger at Jay.

“No, I can’t. Why? Because of you. You’re like a fucking cat—nine lives and counting. I thought for sure Carnell had you this last time. Why can’t you just die?”

Withers throws a small ball of fire right at Jay’s face.

Jay doesn’t have to dodge as it goes wide because he’s already focused on throwing another at Gideon, who pulls Luca out of its trajectory just in time.

“And you. You killed Carnell just now, didn’t you?” Withers shakes his finger at Gideon. “Fucking figures. All this time, and you choose today to finally grow a pair. Well, fuck you and your sassy little sidekick, too.”

“You wish, pencil-dick. I’m no sidekick; I am pure main character energy.”

Withers is beyond hearing as he turns, fixated on the others by the wall; they’ve all scrambled to their feet, with Leo in front, one arm out protectively in front of Finn and Rowan-wolf, the other holding a drained Grayson on his feet.

Grayson’s hands spark faintly, at the ready even through his fatigue.

“And you. Where did you come from? A Were magic-user that is so untrained, it’s laughable. But still…I gotta admit, in a few years you might just be able to kick my ass.” His macabre face contorts into a rictus of a grin. “But that day is not today.”

With both hands, he flings a large bolt of lightning. Grayson throws up a shield to protect them just in time, groaning as he diverts that much dark magic—it drops him to his knees, still poised for action and every muscle taut despite the hollow exhaustion in his eyes.

Nix’s growl is menacing and draws Withers’s attention back to him.

“And last but not least, Little Novice. Such an anomaly. No real power, but able to block some of my best party tricks.”

He squints, tapping his forehead as if his central processor just needs a shake to process what has him so confused by Nix’s immunity.

The act causes his eye to pop out. It’s really not like the movies, because instead of rolling away, it makes a sickening plop on the stone floor instead.

He stares at it for a moment before sighing. “Well. Fucking dammit all to hell. Time to end this so I can put my feet up; these dogs are barking.”

Raising his hands high above his head, he summons a churning vortex of darkness—the cyclone swirling with oily black tendrils, crackling with veins of lightning and streaks of searing fire as it rises into the sky like a vengeful storm.

The wind surges, tearing through the patio with a ferocity that shakes Jay on his feet and forces his mates backward into the wall.

“Nix!” Jay shouts, but there’s no way he can be heard over the howling winds and loud, booming thunder.

But Nix isn’t looking at him.

His gaze is locked on the swirling black mass above, his expression unreadable, as if he alone knows how to weather the storm.

The cyclone churns with Withers’s malice—a force so vile it seems to devour the very air—yet Nix remains untouched.

Not a single strand of his hair stirs in the swirling wind.

Not a drop of the searing, acid-like rain dares to mar his skin.

And his skin—is it glowing?

He is. Every freckle is a point of light, his eyes a brilliant white as he raises his hands and whispers, “Stop.”

The single word echoes in the space, cutting through the cacophony.

It’s enough that Withers actually stops. He drops his arms as the swirling black vortex is sucked up, dissipating with a pop, leaving only a look of stupefaction on Withers’s face.

“Aleksander,” Nix says, voice layered and vibrating along Jay’s nerve endings, as if it’s not just one voice but many—all the voices, all at once, and like nothing Jay could ever imagine.

“It is time for you to return to The Plain.”

Withers shakes his head, like he’s shaking off a buzzing insect. “Listen, you little bi—”

Nix holds a hand up.

“We have heard enough. Seen enough. We regret Our decision to allow you to continue to tip the balance of Life in this time, as you have done every time, throughout time.”

Jay gasps as thousands of images fly by in front of them with a wave of Nix’s hand, and when they stop, some are burned into his mind.

Casualties of war, famine, death, disease…unimaginable suffering; and always Withers’s face—different but the same, and always at the scene of every crime.

Withers looks surprised, but not shocked. Instead, he looks proud.

“I changed history. I am important,” he crows, making it sound like a twisted list of personal affirmations. “I made things happen. That was greatness. Where is the good without the evil?”

Nix glides closer, shaking his head and appearing remorseful, even if Withers has done nothing in his life—lives—but cause pain and suffering.

“Your soul is corrupt, and We cannot permit it to continue. We regret that We have given you so many chances to atone, but now you will be returned to The Plain.”

“What the fuck does that mean? The Plain is already my bitch. I am the master of this universe, and if your slide show is anything to go by, I will be again.”

Nix frowns and raises a single finger, laying it gently on the burnt flesh of Withers’s forehead.

Jay is shocked that Withers lets him, but he seems mesmerized by Nix’s glowing white eyes.

Drawing out a single oily black thread, he stretches it, pulling until it’s free, releasing it and watching it float away.

In no time at all, Withers’s remaining eye goes wide.

“No, that’s mine. I earned it. It’s mine!”

He’s held immobile by an unseen force as Nix pulls thread after thread from Withers’s soul.

Jay follows them up as they leave a trail of twisting black strands, rising until they fade from black to gray to white, until they are every color of the rainbow.

“We unravel your corrupted soul, Aleksander Withers. You are Unmade.”

Withers begins to scream as the many threads join to become ropes, and then streams, and then the streams become rivers.

He’s still standing, but his body is breaking down into its smallest pieces, his remaining flesh disintegrating in front of their eyes until finally he’s gone, nothing remaining but his clothes, size ten Vans, and the echo of his screams in the wind.

There’s a pause, as if the world is heaving a sigh of relief, as Nix turns toward him and smiles.

The layered voice echoes in Jay’s head, but Nix’s lips aren’t moving.

James, take care of him…take care of all of them. They are my gift to you. We are proud of who you have always been.

It’s a reminder that the life Jay lives is blessed, and all he can do is nod as tears course down his cheeks.

He catches Nix when he collapses, a marionette with his strings cut, while whispering his own thanks into his beloved’s soft hair.