Page 31

The black stains on my fingertips crawled higher, tracing delicate patterns up my arms like ink in water. I stared at them, fascinated and horrified in equal measure. They didn’t hurt, not exactly, but they burned with a cold fire that reminded me of Lucian’s touch.

His power—now mine—pulsed through every vein, every capillary, rewriting who I was with each heartbeat.

I tore my gaze away from my transformed skin and tried to make sense of the devastation around me. The chamber looked as though a hurricane had swept through it.

My memory of the battle was foggy—and I struggled to recall what had truly happened. I hadn’t been the one in control. The ornate wardrobe lay in splintered ruins against the far wall, its carved doors reduced to kindling.

The floor was littered with the detritus of our battle—fragments of the orb glittered like stars across the stone, lifeless and dull, without Lucian’s power.

The candles that had survived our confrontation flickered with unsteady light and cast ghoulish shadows that seemed to bow in my direction. Chunks of the bed’s carved posts had been blasted away, and dark splotches of blood that would never wash out stained the rich coverlet.

Yet most grotesque of all was Lucian himself—his body deflated and withered like fruit left too long in the sun, the hilt of the grimoire’s blackened silver dagger still protruded from his chest, a triumphant marker of his demise.

A scream tore through the air, distant yet clear as crystal to my newly enhanced hearing. Then another. And another.

They echoed through my mind. Sharp and painful, and I let out a choked cry as I covered my ears to muffle the sound, but it only seemed to amplify it.

The Necromi didn’t know what had happened—but they knew that something had gone terribly wrong. I could sense the frantic rustle of expensive fabrics as people in the gardens sought out the truth of what had happened. I could sense how they pushed past each other in their haste to understand—or to flee.

I took a breath and closed my eyes, focusing on the sound.

The screams steadied, and then diminished, and I pulled my hands away from my ears.

I tilted my head, listening.

I could distinguish individual voices now, picking them out of the pandemonium as easily as plucking ripe fruit from a branch.

“—did you feel that—”

“—explosion of some kind—”

“—find Lucian immediately—”

My ears caught every whisper, every gasp, even the rapid drumming of hearts accelerated by fear. The cackling laughter of a woman who understood exactly what had happened cut through the chaos like a knife. One of the Elders, perhaps? Someone who had been waiting for Lucian’s fall?

The air tasted strange, and I ran my tongue across my teeth, surprised to find them sharper than before. Everything was different. I was different. My skin felt too tight, too sensitive, as though I’d been flayed and hastily re-sewn back into my own body.

I looked down at the puddle of black lace on the stone floor, but I couldn’t bear the thought of having it touch my skin.

But I had to.

I bent to pick it up and reluctantly stepped into it.

The fine lace whispered over my skin and clung to my curves and I shuddered at the feel of it wrapping around me like a lover’s embrace.

Under the black lace, the dark stains continued their inexorable crawl up my arms, past my elbows now, spreading in elegant whorls and spirals that reminded me of Valen’s tattoos, but darker, more primal.

They didn’t move randomly but followed the paths of veins and muscle, accentuating rather than obscuring my form. Where they touched, my flesh tingled with new awareness, as though previously dormant parts of me were waking for the first time.

A tremor ran through the stones beneath me, and for a wild moment, I thought we were experiencing an earthquake. Then I realized—it was responding to me.

To my power.

To my presence.

Withermarsh itself recognized its new mistress.

I flexed my fingers and watched with morbid fascination as the shadows in the room bent toward me, drawn to my command like obedient pets.

The very air seemed to thicken and part around my movements, deferential to my will.

My thoughts raced with newfound clarity. Knowledge that wasn’t mine—couldn’t have been mine—flooded my consciousness.

Rituals forgotten for centuries.

The secret names of the founding Sages who had been banished from Messana. The hidden weaknesses of every family in Messana’s dark elite. Lucian had hoarded these secrets like a dragon with its treasure, and now they were mine to wield or withhold as I saw fit.

The implications were dizzying.

I was something else now—something more powerful and more dangerous than I’d ever imagined becoming.

I pressed my palm against the stone floor and felt each microscopic crack and imperfection.

The texture was overwhelming. Each grain of mineral was distinct beneath my fingertips. I could feel the history of the stone—where it had been quarried, how long it had lain in this place, the blood it had absorbed over centuries of Romano rule.

The women he had brought to this room—the women who had never left.

Another wave of awareness crashed over me, and I gasped as my vision sharpened further. The darkness retreated, colors intensified, and I could see motes of dust suspended in the air, frozen like stars in a midnight sky.

And I could see something else—threads of light connecting me to distant points beyond the walls. Three threads in particular pulsed with vitality, and tugged at something deep within my chest. Titus. Valen. Bastian.

The blood bond I’d created had transformed as well, strengthened by Lucian’s death rather than weakened by it.

They were coming. I could feel them drawing nearer. Their fury and confusion mingled across our connection—and so did their worry.

What would they think when they found me like this?

Would they see a monster where their Avril had once stood?

Would they recognize me at all?

I pushed myself to my knees, my legs unsteady beneath me. The black patterns had reached my shoulders and crept across my collarbones in delicate tendrils that felt like cool fingertips against my feverish skin.

“You’re ok— you’re alive,” I whispered, but my voice sounded strange to my ears—layered with harmonic undertones that hadn’t been there before.

The room was silent, vibrating with it.

I had become what I needed to be.

What they needed me to be.

Maybe it was what I was meant to be all along. Maybe this was what my father had intended—

Now I was the one with all the power.

Powerful enough to protect. Powerful enough to take control of the Necromi.

Powerful enough that no one would look at me with pity or concern ever again.

I staggered to my feet, swaying slightly as my body adjusted to its new reality. Lucian’s power continued to integrate with mine, like rivers merging—violent at first, then settling into an alternative course that was neither purely his nor purely mine, but something altogether unique.

The blood bond thrummed in my chest and a small smile curved over my lips.

I could hear footsteps approaching—three pairs, moving with urgency. My stepbrothers, coming to find what remained of their father.

Coming to find what remained of me.

I gripped the bedpost to steady myself as my legs refused to cooperate.

My body felt alien—too strong yet impossibly weak, like a newborn colt with the potential strength of a warhorse. I stumbled, caught myself, and then crumpled to the floor in an ungraceful heap.

Frustration surged through me, and with it came power—raw and unfiltered.

My muscles responded instantly, lifting me to my feet with a fluid grace I’d never possessed before, just as the door exploded inward with a crash that shook dust from the ceiling.

They burst into the chamber like avenging angels, my three stepbrothers, each armed and radiating fury. Titus led the charge, his massive frame filling the doorway, a wicked blade clutched in his white-knuckled grip. Valen slipped in beside him, hands already wreathed in the ethereal blue smoke of his magic. Bastian brought up the rear, a feral grin splitting his face, twin daggers twirling between his fingers like a nervous habit more than conscious thought.

Their battle-ready postures froze as they took in the scene before them—Lucian’s withered corpse splayed across the bed, the dagger still protruding from his chest, and me standing amidst the destruction.

“Avril?” Titus’s voice cracked, the syllables fractured by disbelief.

His expression twisted through a rapid succession of emotions—shock giving way to protective fury that burned hot enough to scorch, then cooling rapidly to something more measured as understanding dawned. His eyes darted between me and his father’s corpse, putting together the pieces of what had transpired.

What had they expected to find here? Me violated, murdered? Lucian triumphant?

The reality was something entirely unexpected.

“What have you done?” he breathed.

“I told you to trust me,” I said.

Valen’s reaction was altogether different. His magic dissipated from his fingertips and he took a hesitant step forward, drawn by fascination rather than repulsion. His deep blue eyes widened as he looked at me.

“The grimoire,” he murmured, making connections faster than the others. His gaze flicked to Lucian, then back to me. “You took his power.”

There was awe in his voice, but his reaction was conflicted and complex.

Through our bond, I sensed his internal struggle—revulsion at my methods warred with pride in how I had taken control.

Bastian’s reaction was the most unsettling.

His initial shock melted away like ice in summer heat and was replaced by a gleaming interest that bordered on hunger. He pushed past his brothers and circled around me, maintaining a cautious distance but taking in my transformation from every angle, like an art collector assessing a controversial masterpiece.

“Fuck me sideways,” he whispered, and a laugh bubbled from his throat—not mocking but genuine, almost delighted. “Little Avril killed the big bad wolf and stole all his teeth. Greedy little thing.”

There was no disgust in him, no moral outrage, just a fascination that bordered on the morbid.

Through our bond, I caught flashes of his thoughts—calculations of how this changed the game, what opportunities had just opened, what new dangers might lurk.

“Did it hurt?” he asked, gesturing at the black tendrils that snaked over my collarbones and down between my breasts.

“Bastian,” Titus growled in warning, but I could hear the curiosity in his tone, too.

I flexed my fingers and watched the patterns shift with my movements. “Yes,” I answered simply. “And no.”

The blood bond hummed between us, stronger than before.

With Lucian’s death, something had changed in the magic—it no longer felt like a chain binding us together, where I held their leads like dogs, but like arteries connecting vital organs, each of us essential to the survival of the whole. Through this connection, I sensed their thoughts more clearly than ever before—not specific words, but intentions, emotions, reactions.

Titus was cautious, but there was a newfound respect that mingled with his uncertainty.

I had proven myself in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

Now he wondered what this meant for the hierarchy he’d taken for granted his entire life.

Valen was curious, and I could sense the way his mind raced to understand the implications of what I’d done. He saw possibilities where Titus saw complications, and potential where his elder brother saw risk. Yet beneath his intellectual fascination lurked something more personal—a deep-seated relief that Lucian was gone.

Bastian’s thoughts were the most chaotic—a swirling mess of excitement and opportunism. Yet there was something else there too, something that surprised me—a fierce, possessive pride.

I’d done what none of them had managed. I’d freed them all.

“You can hear us, can’t you?” Valen asked suddenly, his eyes narrowing. “Not just our voices—our thoughts.”

I nodded slowly, unwilling to lie to them. “Not words exactly. But your feelings. Your intentions.”

“The blood bond,” Titus muttered. “It’s stronger.”

“Because of what I took from him,” I confirmed, gesturing toward Lucian’s corpse. “His power... it enhanced everything.”

I could feel the weight of their gazes as they assessed this new version of me, trying to determine if I was still their Avril or if I had become something else entirely—something dangerous? Maybe. But not to them.

But I was both, wasn’t I?

Still me, but more.

Still theirs, but something beyond that, too.

“Why?” Titus asked finally. “Why didn’t you wait for us?”

“Because it was necessary,” I said, echoing my father’s words.

Silence fell between us, heavy and charged like the air before a lightning strike.

No one moved.

Lucian’s corpse was a grotesque centerpiece to our tableau—four figures frozen in a moment of terrible transformation. The candles sputtered in their holders, flames stretching toward.

The room itself seemed to awaken to my presence, responding to the new power that thrummed through my veins. Shadows peeled themselves from the corners and slithered across the floor to pool at my feet like loyal hounds.

Titus’s jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving mine despite the supernatural display unfolding around us. Something passed across his face—doubt, perhaps, or fear—before it was carefully tucked away behind a mask of stoicism. “So, it’s done. You’re Mistress of Withermarsh now.”

The title felt simultaneously too grand and too limiting for what I had become.

More than Lucian’s replacement—less than the monster I feared I might turn into.

Bastian’s pale eyes narrowed as they returned to me, and his head tilted in that curious, predatory way he had. “Your eyes,” he blurted out. “They’re different.”

“How?”

“Paler,” Valen supplied, analytical even now. “Like his. But not completely. There’s still you in there. Green at the edges.”

The description sent a chill through me. How much of Lucian had I taken into myself?

How much of me remained?

“What are you thinking?” I asked them directly, unable to bear the uncertainty any longer. Through our blood bond, I caught fragments of their emotions—caution, awe, curiosity—but not the clarity I needed. “Tell me.”

Titus spoke first. “I’m thinking that nothing will ever be the same.” His gaze flickered to his father’s corpse before returning to me. “And I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“Both,” Valen said quietly. He hesitated, then added, “What you’ve done shouldn’t be possible. The transfer of power of this magnitude... It should have killed you.”

“Perhaps it did,” Bastian interjected, his tone somewhere between joke and genuine theory. “Perhaps what we’re looking at isn’t Avril at all, but something wearing her skin.” His eyes glittered with morbid fascination as he raised one of his daggers at me. “Are you still in there, little bird?”

“I’m still me,” I insisted, though even to my own ears the words sounded hollow. My voice carried new undertones and harmonic resonances that hadn’t been there before. “Just... more.”

“More powerful,” Titus said flatly. “More dangerous.”

“More free ,” I countered.

“Did he touch you?” Bastian asked suddenly, the question blunt and raw. “Before you killed him. Did he—” He couldn’t finish the sentence, but his meaning was clear enough.

I realized with a start that beneath their caution and fear; they were concerned for me. Even now, faced with the monster I might become, they worried about what had been done to me.

Something warm unfurled in my chest, a feeling so human and familiar that it was almost jarring against the supernatural power that coursed through my body.

“No,” I murmured. “He tried. But my father stopped him.”

Three pairs of eyes widened in perfect synchronicity.

“Your father?” Valen echoed in confusion.

Bastian’s laugh was sharp. “Dario Velez came back from the dead to help you ?”

“He’s been trapped in the grimoire,” I explained. “I— performed a spell. A willing possession. I didn’t— I hadn’t meant to do it. But I was desperate. He took control long enough to protect me. Long enough to get me to this moment.”

Understanding dawned on Titus’s face. “The binding spell. It wasn’t you?”

“It was,” I admitted. “And it wasn’t. He guided my hand, but I wanted you safe. I knew what Lucian would do if you intervened too soon.”

“So you planned this?” Bastian asked. “All of it?”

I shook my head. “Not all. I didn’t know I would absorb his power. That was...” I searched for the right word. “Unexpected.”

Valen stepped forward, the first of them to come close enough to touch and I reached for him instinctively. He drew back just a little and his fingers hovered just above my arm.

“May I?” he asked.

I nodded, and his touch was gentle as he set his palm under mine and used his other hand to trace the black whorls and tendrils that marked my transformation. His skin was warm against mine. I’d missed his touch.

“Fascinating,” he murmured. “Your body is adapting to contain power it was never meant to hold.”

“Will it kill her?” Titus asked sharply from where he still stood, unwilling or unable to come closer.

Valen’s eyes met mine, searching. “I don’t think so. Not if she can control it.”

“Can you?” Bastian asked, as he joined Valen within my circle. His gaze was intense, probing. “Control it?”

I flexed my fingers and deep violet smoke twined around my fingers. My pale magic mingled with Lucian’s deep red. “It’ll take time, but I’ll get the hang of it,” I answered truthfully. “It’s... different from before. Hungrier.”

The candlelight flickered, and for a moment, all four of us glanced at Lucian’s corpse.

“We won’t let that happen,” Titus said firmly, as though he could read my thoughts. Finally, he stepped forward to join his brothers. “We won’t let you become him.”

I looked at the three of them standing within my circle of power, the last men in Messana who might oppose me, and felt a strange vulnerability despite the magic that coursed through my veins.

Power wasn’t the same as belonging.

Strength wasn’t the same as loyalty— real loyalty.

And ruling wasn’t the same as being loved.

“I need to ask something of you,” I said in a voice that sounded steadier than I felt.

They waited, these three men who had become more than stepbrothers to me—who had become essential in ways I was only beginning to understand.

“I’ve taken Lucian’s power,” I continued. “The power he stole from every Sage and Necromi. Everyone who betrayed him or stood against him… That power is now mine. Withermarsh recognizes me as its mistress. The Necromi will follow whoever holds this position, at least initially.” I paused as I tried to process what was happening. The words were coming to me easily, as though I had rehearsed them. “But I don’t want to rule alone.”

Bastian’s eyebrows rose. “You’re asking for our help? After all this? You don’t need us.”

“Yes. I do.” I met his gaze directly. “I’m asking for your loyalty. Your guidance. Your... presence.” My fingers twisted nervously in the fabric of my ruined wedding gown. “This wasn’t just about freedom for me. It was about freedom for all of us. From him .”

Titus’s expression remained guarded. “Bastian is right to ask,” he said. “Do you even need us anymore?”

His question struck deeper than he could know. Was he right? With Lucian’s power flowing through me, with Withermarsh itself responding to my command, did I actually need them?

The truth was simpler and more complex than that.

“I don’t need you,” I admitted, and saw something flinch behind his eyes. I reached out and my fingers hovered just short of touching his face. “But I want you. All of you. Not as servants or subjects, but as equals.”

Bastian’s chin lifted and his pale eyes sharpened, eyes of a predator assessing not prey, but a potential mate—dangerous, but intrigued. “You could rule alone. You could cast us out and take revenge for how we treated you. And we’d deserve it.”

I had a feeling he wanted to be punished.

“Is that what you think I want?” I asked, genuinely surprised.

“Isn’t it? After everything?” Bastian’s smile was sharp and appraising. “Power corrupts, little sister. And you’re swimming in it now.”

I shook my head, and a laugh bubbled up in my throat. “If I wanted vengeance, I would have let Lucian live and made him watch as I took everything from him. I’m sure my father would have enjoyed it. But this wasn’t about revenge. Not really. It was about survival. For all of us.”

The brothers exchanged glances, a silent communication passed between them that years of navigating Lucian’s fluctuating moods had perfected.

“What exactly are you asking for?” Titus demanded, practical as always. “In specific terms.”

“Stand with me,” I said simply. “Help me lead the Necromi. Help me understand the power I’ve taken before it consumes me. Help me build something better than what he left behind.” I took a deep breath. “Be my counsel. My confidants. My partners .”

“Partners,” Valen echoed, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Not subjects.”

“Never subjects,” I confirmed.

Titus stepped closer. His massive frame blocked the candlelight and cast his angular face in shadow. “And if we disagree with your decisions? If we challenge you?”

“Then we’ll find a way forward,” I promised. “I don’t want blind obedience. I want... collaboration.”

“Lucian would never have allowed dissent,” Bastian observed. His tone was neutral, but his eyes were sharp with interest.

“I’m not Lucian.” The words emerged with more power than I intended and the candle flames flared briefly. “Despite what I’ve taken from him.”

Bastian chuckled softly, but he said nothing in response.

I was asking for more than loyalty. I wanted a partnership.

Finally, Titus nodded, a single decisive movement. “You’ll have my counsel for what it’s worth.”

Valen’s head inclined in agreement. “And mine.”

Bastian was the last to speak. “They won’t say it. But you have our loyalty,” he said soberly. “All of us. Until the stars burn out.”

Relief washed through me, so powerful it made my knees weak.

“Thank you,” I whispered. The words were inadequate, but they were all I had to offer in that moment.

Valen reached out and took my hand and cradled it gently. “We should move quickly,” he advised. “The Necromi will be in chaos with Lucian’s death. They all felt it. They know something is wrong.”

I knew it. I’d heard their screams.

“You cut the head off the snake. We need to move quickly before another springs up in his place.” Bastian’s voice was grim.

“Bastian’s right. We need to establish your authority before anyone can challenge it,” Titus said. “The wedding guests. They’ll need to be addressed.”

“And contained,” Bastian finished.

Witnesses would need to be managed, stories controlled, allegiances secured.

I nodded, suddenly exhausted despite the power that hummed beneath my skin. “Soon,” I agreed. “But first...” I gestured to Lucian’s body, the blackened silver dagger still protruded from his chest like a grotesque ornament. “We need to dispose of him. Properly.”

“I know just the place,” Bastian said with grim satisfaction. “The family crypt has a special section for traitors and failures. He’ll fit right in.”

Titus moved to the bed and his face hardened as he looked down at his father’s corpse. Without ceremony, he yanked the dagger free of Lucian’s chest and offered it to me, hilt first. “It belongs to the grimoire.”

I accepted the blackened blade, its weight familiar now. Blood—Lucian’s blood—had seeped into the metal, darkening it further still. It was a grim keepsake, but a necessary reminder of what I’d done. What I’d become.

“Let’s go,” I said as I slipped the dagger into the hidden pocket of my wedding gown. “There’s much to be done.”

As we moved toward the door, Lucian’s corpse already forgotten behind us, I felt a strange sense of peace settle over me. The blood bond thrummed between us, stronger than ever—a connection that ensured they could never betray me. But in my heart, I knew they wouldn’t. Bond or no bond.

We had chosen each other, these three damaged men and I.

Chosen to build something new from the ashes of Lucian’s reign.

His power, all the magic he’d stolen in his cursed lifetime. It was mine… and it thrummed beneath my skin in a strange rhythm that left me breathless. But with my stepbrothers at my side, I was confident I could control it rather than be controlled by it.

Mistress of Withermarsh.

A wicked heir for the Necromi.

But most importantly, not alone.

Never again alone.

THE END