Page 77 of Lord of Ruin (The Age of Blood #2)

It still filled her stomach with butterflies—she had spent so much of her life fighting to be seen, and everyone she had given even a sliver of her heart to had only abandoned her in the end.

But she still had this, the esteem of the Eternal King himself, and she would drape herself in that honor, build herself a suit of armor so she would never be hurt again.

The King was already moving towards the entrance, Mel hurrying after him, but Shan paused, laid her hand on Strickland’s arm, the sharp tips of her claws against the thin cloth of the Guard’s robes more threatening than comforting.

But Strickland still raised her brown eyes up, meeting the Royal Blood Worker’s gaze without fear, the little twitch at the corner of her left eye the only sign of her discomfort.

And for that, Shan offered her a kindness. “Whatever happens, do not follow us in. Do not let anyone in, except for the Councillor of Law, should he arrive. We will handle this threat.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Strickland replied, breathless with relief. “I will send Lord Aberforth upon his arrival.”

She said it like a given, and perhaps it was—this was his concern as well, and not just for his position. Isaac had become a problem of their own making, mistake after mistake leading to this moment, and no matter how much she tried to deny it, the blood spilt this day would forever follow her.

Regardless of where they stood with each other, this was something she had to fix, and, with his too bleeding heart and his unshakeable righteousness, she prayed he would stand with her.

He owed her that much, at least.

It was worse, inside, than Shan could have ever imagined.

She had seen horror, in her time—wrapped in pageantry on the first day of spring, as the King pressed his mouth to some poor fool’s throat.

In ruthless efficiency as she stood in the heart of the first Blood Factory, and after as she had spread it to the rest of Dameral.

In primal brutality as Mel demonstrated the power she had gained.

But nothing on this scale.

The bodies lay where they had fallen, torn apart in a gruesome display of power.

There were gouges in the corpses, made by teeth that Shan was ashamed to say she was intimately familiar with.

Isaac had torn through the flesh, the blood arcing from lacerated arteries to spray against the wall where it dripped down the wallpaper.

They moved cautiously through the Treasury, the only sound the soft claps of their steps on the marble and the occasional caught breath, a gasp lodged in the back of a throat before it escaped out into the air.

Shan raised her scarf, holding it in front of her nose, the air pungent with gore as she stepped around another set of corpses, watching as the King swiftly dismantled yet another ward—intact and pristine.

Whatever Isaac had become, he had still been aware enough to fish out one of the bracelets that let the Guard pass through the protective wards.

Which meant that the transformation hadn’t broken him, hadn’t rendered him into something terrifying and primal—he knew what he was doing with this massacre.

It should have disgusted her, but something dark and proud curled around her heart. He had finally found his true power, and she would always regret the way their paths had diverged just as he embraced it.

What he could have achieved if he had only trusted her—if they had only been the team they always should have been.

The last ward fizzled out, the magic releasing with a great rush of energy that washed over them, raising all the hairs on Shan’s arm. Mel darted through the doorway with a low growl, pulling at the tether like a hound scenting prey.

Shan didn’t bother forcing her back—this was precisely what they had brought her for, the only tool in their arsenal that could match Isaac’s threat, and the further they got into the Treasury, the more Shan was sure they would need to unleash her.

The King followed after her, his pace measured and careful.

Shan thought the King should be more concerned, given the clear trajectory of Isaac’s attack, but the wards below were even more intense than the ones above, and there was no simple trick of the blood bound in jewelry that would work on the advanced wards below.

She prayed it would be enough.

They emerged into final room before the grand lift that descended into the bowels of the Treasury, where the vaults containing all the blood of the Blood Workers were kept.

Bodies lay around them, brutalized and ruined, but Shan didn’t have it in her to be shocked anymore.

She just stepped past them to where the lift had been, glancing down to the shaft to where the grand cage had crashed, the chains and pulleys that held it aloft ripped from their hinges.

Isaac had been quite thorough, and the King only sighed. “The stairs, then. Mel, scout ahead.”

Mel’s cloak slipped from her shoulders, fluttering to land at Shan’s feet, dipping into the pool of blood that leaked from the remains of a young man.

His empty eyes stared up at the ceiling, glassy and bloodshot, and Shan was struck by how young he was.

Blood and steel, he must have been fresh out of the Academy, but any joy or success his life could have had was ripped away from him, reduced to this empty sack of wasted potential.

Mel stepped forward, pulling at the lacing of her bodice so that her dress loosened, slipping down her shoulders before she pushed it off completely, revealing that she was bare beneath.

Smooth, unblemished skin shone pale and perfect under the witch light, and it was so easy to forget what she was.

What the King, and Shan, had made of her.

Mel kicked the dress aside, where it landed over the gory remains of a woman, her torso shredded open and weeping the ruined remains of her intestines.

Mel did not notice or did not mind, slipping off her shoes, bare feet on cold marble as she shivered in anticipation.

Such concerns were for those who still had a care for their humanity, and Shan could taste the anticipation in the back of her own throat.

The bones cracked under Mel’s skin as she shifted, her spine hunching over as the talons sprung forth, wings surging from her shoulders as her shriek echoed to the ceilings above. It was quicker, now. Easier each time Shan saw it, Mel shedding her skin as easily as Shan shifted masks.

There was jealousy burning deep inside, so deep that Shan could almost convince herself that it wasn’t real. But as Mel turned, gracing both her handler and her liege with what could only be described as a feral smile, Shan had to admit it.

She was envious of Mel, of the power that they had gifted her and the freedom that she had found.

Mel took one step back, falling over the edge and plunging towards the darkness below. Flying ahead in a way that neither she nor the King could follow, and Shan hoped that whatever Mel found in the vaults was something that the vampire could handle.

Swallowing hard, Shan shifted her attention back to the King. “Stairs, you said?”

“Yes,” the King replied, “from before the lift was installed, for when it’s in repair.”

There was a great groaning from below, the sound of Mel ripping through the sheet metal that was the cage of the elevator. What a sight that must have been, but it was followed up by a great shriek.

Not Mel, the voice deeper, more resonant, the sounds reverberating up the shaft, so loud that Shan had to clap her hands over her ears. Even from this distance, Shan could feel it rumbling through her chest, something in her soul recognizing the sound instantly.

It was Isaac—found at last. Screaming in rage with a rawness that nearly had Shan crashing to her knees.

The King caught her shoulder, looked deep into her eyes—steadying her with a touch. Only to have the ground shake beneath them as power exploded below, a chain reaction as entire vaults detonated with a force that had the very foundations of the building trembling.

“What have you done?” Shan whispered, her mind catching up seconds later as she recognized what was happening.

As power roared beneath her, the unmistakable wave of witch fire burning below.

He had taken the blood they had stored, the blood they had needed, and turned into fuel for a fire that would burn until there was nothing left.

There was no stopping it, not now that it had begun.

The sheer power required to ignite that much witch fire was staggering, far beyond what she had considered even possible. But Isaac had made himself into something out of myth, and with that power, he ruined everything she had done.

He had ruined Aeravin, and quite possibly her along with it.