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ERYSS

T he magic coils around my fingertips, soft tendrils of power that whisper against my skin, teasing me with what could be.

It’s not enough. Not even close.

A single strand of thread when I need a blade. A flicker of flame when I need an inferno. The tiniest glimpse of what was stolen from me.

The only way to truly reclaim it is to kill him.

I pace my chambers, the sanctuary’s ancient walls pressing in on me. How the hell am I supposed to do that? How?

Naranus saved me. Over and over again. And despite everything, despite knowing he was my mission, my enemy, I can’t look at him without remembering the way he leapt after me, the way his arms locked around me as we crashed into the river, the way he shattered every instinct I had, making me question who the real enemy is.

I press my palm to my forehead, willing myself to think.

This isn’t just about me. It never has been.

I think of Catalina, still weak but recovering. I think of the gargoyles who have nothing left, whose leader is fighting tooth and nail. I think of Amelia, her cruel, taunting smile as she revealed just how deep her betrayal ran.

Naranus needs me. Whether he wants to or not.

Decision made, I storm out of the chambers, weaving through the winding corridors of the sanctuary until I reach the war chamber.

He’s standing in the center, his massive form radiating power despite his obvious exhaustion. His warriors are gathered around a crude stone table, studying a map of the region.

More have arrived. More survivors. Some barely alive, their wings torn, their bodies bandaged. But their eyes… they blaze with the kind of fury that only comes from loss.

They see me and stiffen.

Naranus speaks first. “Leave us.”

The warriors hesitate, exchanging wary glances. He doesn’t repeat himself. They clear out.

He doesn’t look at me until the last one is gone, the door slamming shut behind them.

His gaze locks onto mine. “Did you come to kill me?”

I steel my spine. “No.”

His jaw tightens. His wings flare slightly, the veins along his forearms pulsing. “Wrong answer.”

A growl rumbles deep in his chest, and before I can move, he’s on me.

His claws wrap around my arms, dragging me close. His heat surrounds me, his scent, smoky, dark, dangerous, a lure and a warning.

“You should kill me,” he grits out, his voice low, dark. “You should have killed me the moment you had the chance.”

I try to wrench free. His grip tightens. “Let me go.”

“Make me.”

I snarl and shove against him with everything I have. It does nothing.

He shakes me, his frustration a tangible thing, his claws pressing into my skin just enough to make me feel it. “You’re supposed to end me, Eryss. That’s why you’re here.”

I glare at him. “I. Won’t.”

“Then you’re a coward.”

I see red. My hand flies up, slamming into his chest with a jolt of magic. The pulse of energy rocks through him, enough to make him stumble.

His lips pull back, exposing the sharp gleam of his fangs. “There it is.”

I clutch my wrist, the residual magic humming in my veins. His eyes track the movement, narrowing. “Your power is returning.”

I exhale, forcing myself to calm down. “Catalina unbound some of it.”

A sharp exhale. A slow nod. “But not all.”

I hesitate. “No.”

“And the only way to free the rest?” His voice turns into a whisper. A dare.

I swallow hard.

I don’t have to answer. He already knows.

His laugh is bitter. “Then do it.”

I snap. “Why do you want to die so damn badly?!”

He stills.

The silence is thick, suffocating.

Quietly, “Because I don’t have much time left.”

A chill crawls down my spine. “What are you talking about?”

He exhales roughly, his hand rising to brush his own chest. His claws scrape against the cracks in his skin.

Not just battle wounds. Something deeper. Something worse.

I step closer, the pieces clicking into place.

“The curse,” I whisper.

His lips press together.

I stare at him. “You’re dying.”

He tilts his head, unreadable. “And you’re only figuring that out now?”

A hollow laugh escapes me. “You’re an ass.”

One brow arches. “And?”

I shove him. Hard. “You should have told me!”

“What difference would it have made?” His voice is low, dangerous. Exhausted. “You’d still have to kill me.”

“No.” I shake my head violently, stepping away, my heartbeat pounding against my ribs. “I won’t. There has to be another way?—”

“There isn’t.”

I refuse to accept that.

I can’t.

“You’re lying,” I breathe. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

His eyes darken. “Does it matter?”

“Yes!”

The word slams into the space between us, sharp and raw.

Because it does. It matters.

I hate him.

I don’t.

He’s my enemy.

He isn’t.

I should kill him but I can’t.

His gaze locks onto mine, his breathing uneven, his muscles coiled with something unspoken.

I don’t understand this. I don’t understand him.

But the thought of him dying, of losing him, is a fist closing around my heart.

I can’t stop it.

How do I let him go?