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23

EVANGELINE

A tonement.

I thought about that word as we’d flown here, about how I’d been—unsuccessfully—atoning my entire life. First, for having magic. Though that trick of fate hadn’t been my fault, I was the reason we’d gone on the run, and after that, the guilt had never stopped.

Then, for Mom dying. Because I could have stopped Silas that night. I had the training and the skills to face my father down, but I’d been afraid, and I’d cost Angel her mother.

Then I’d lost Angel, and… well, look where that fuckup had gotten me.

Now I would atone again, to Blake and Riordan.

Providing I survived.

The Silverwood compound was half hidden by a faint mist, a fortress of hand-hewn stone, hiding a multitude of dark secrets. Covered in his glamour, Malachi and I moved like ghosts, my magic curling around us in tendrils of shadowy flame and the occasional screaming, ghastly face.

I’d tried keeping them under wraps, but control was a lost cause, my nerves fraying by the second.

Malachi had armed me, but I wanted my own knives back. I liked relying on cold steel, since my flames weren’t exactly…reliable. And I was woefully under-weaponed right now. I had exactly one measly blade tucked into each boot, two in a thigh sheath, and my empty palms were sweating since my comrade in arms wasn’t exactly inspiring confidence on the intimidation front.

Dressed in a flowing dark green coat and his usual silky shirt, Malachi wasn’t looking very threatening, and an incursion like this required a solid, well thought out plan, but so far, he wasn’t exactly forthcoming.

What was I supposed to do?

Just let my magic go and hope the resulting carnage decimated Ravok? My newfound power pulsed beneath my skin, necromantic energy woven with shadowy flames that almost felt alive, and the closer we got to the building, the harder everything shoved at my ribcage.

“We need to be decisive,” Malachi murmured, his pale amber eyes flicking to mine. “He knows we're coming.”

I nodded, clenching my fists. Of course, Ravok knew. He always knew. His sight stretched beyond time, ensuring he remained two steps ahead. How could we ever hope to beat someone with that kind of power?

The blue spiderweb of protective witch wards was gone, there was no sign of the expected trip wires or land mines or heat signatures my family usually employed. Almost like they were rolling out the welcome mat.

But we still had to cross hallowed ground, and my first step onto the grass sent a shockwave tingling through me, my magic ricocheting wildly before the effect faded, my roiling power dampening down more and more, the further in we went.

“Steady.” Malachi’s hand brushed across mine. “Your magic will rise again once we’re across. My guess is, this used to be the church’s graveyard, and your power is simply reacting to all the souls buried beneath our feet.”

Was he fucking serious ? “Why would they react to me?” I froze in place as realization hit me.

Necromancy.

Raising the dead . Oh, fuck.

Malachi slid me a half smile. “That takes intent, Vicious, something that you don’t yet have the skill for. Focus on getting across, and I’ll get you close.”

“And then what?” I hissed out of the side of my mouth, treading carefully, because I sure as shit didn’t want a bunch of skeletons exploding from the dirt.

“Then you wait for my word,” Malachi murmured, as calm as if we were going for a stroll around his garden. “You can do this, and everything is going to turn out okay.”

The twin metal doors of the compound swung open before we reached them. A chill slithered down my spine as the flickering fluorescent lights illuminated two figures waiting for us just inside.

Silas and Alistair, Dante nowhere in sight. My father and my uncle—once powerful, once proud—now reduced to something unholy.

Something wrong .

Silas tilted his head, a sliver of drool forming at the corner of his sagging mouth. “Evangeline. You are right on time.” His skin, once golden and warm, was ashen, stretched too thin over his bones. His eyes—God, his eyes—were black pits, empty but for the faintest flicker of red that made my stomach twist.

Alistair's expression remained cold, that same red flecked gaze coolly assessing me, “Down to the second, just like the Master said. He said you couldn’t stay away, that you’d come back to end him before he regained his full strength.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up, both from their deferential, almost reverent tones, and from the fact Ravok knew our arrival time, down to the minute. But did he? Or was this just another ploy to keep his reputation intact?

I swallowed hard, stepping forward, “What has he done to you?” I whispered.

Alistair chuckled; the sound hollow. “He has freed us.”

“No,” I retorted, my pulse pounding. “He enslaved you. And the men I knew would never have allowed this.” We were close enough to see their damaged throats, the way the skin had barely knit back together, as if they’d been mauled by a wild animal.

Malachi moved closer, his stance ready for battle, my magic coiling around me instinctively. The air was thick with the scent of decay, like something foul was rotting beneath the surface of this place.

“You can’t help them, Vicious, they are too far gone.” His tone was soft, his hand brushing over mine once more, but his eyes…they were flint, glittering with hate as he focused on my father and uncle. “Best not to think of them as human anymore.”

Darkness billowed within me, responding to the threat, but as I prepared to unleash my shadows, Ravok’s voice rang out from the depths of the compound, rich with amusement.

“Come, Evangeline. Join us, be my queen.”

Silas tilted his head, watching me with an almost curious expression. “You should obey. Ravok has shown us the truth. There is no need to fight anymore. There is only obedience now. Only purpose .”

I clenched my fists, trying to control the icy dread slithering down my spine. My father—Silas Silverwood—had been an evil tyrant, a cruel, brutal man, but he had been alive . Now, he was something else. Something dead but still moving. Something owned .

I was going to vomit.

Silas stepped closer and beside me, Malachi tensed, one hand wrapping around my waist, about to yank me away. “Evangeline, you should kneel for the Master. It’s easier that way.”

“Never.”

For the first time, something flickered behind his expression—a crack in the mask. His jaw tightened, his fingers twitching at his sides. Beneath his stained shirt, something glowed softly through the material, and then, so softly I almost missed it, his cracked lips parted.

“ Help me .” My breath caught in my throat, horror rolling through me in sick waves.

He blinked rapidly, his sunken body shuddering. Clawlike hands clenched into desperate fists, his muscles straining as if he was fighting some unseen power. For one awful, heart-wrenching moment, I saw him again.

The real Silas. The real monster. My father.

“Please,” he rasped, barely above a whisper. “The pain is unbearable. Kill me. Please. Please. ”

Alistair’s head snapped toward him, his black eyes narrowing. “Silas. Obey .” His voice was a sharp warning and my father gasped, his body convulsing as though an invisible hand had just clenched around his throat. And then—just like that—the moment was gone. His body stilled, his face smoothing into cold detachment. When he looked at me again, there was nothing mortal left.

“That was disappointing.” Ravok’s voice slithered out of the darkness, the shadows too dense for even my eyes to penetrate. “Now obey or die.”

The next thing I knew, Silas’s hands were wrapped around my throat, his madness-filled eyes inches away from mine.