Page 27

27

LIORA

I can’t feel him anymore.

Not fully.

There’s still a... scar, maybe. A ghost of something that once connected us. A thread that’s been burned away, leaving only smoke and memory.

But the bond? Gone. And gods, it feels like part of me went with it.

The worst part is—I did this.

I erased myself from his mind like I was some damn curse to be exorcised. And maybe I was. Maybe I still am. But I’d rather be forgotten than watch Seraphiel rip Dante apart piece by piece. Or worse, watch Dante throw himself into the fire to protect me like I’m worth saving.

He wouldn’t have stopped.

That’s what terrifies me the most.

He would’ve burned the world to keep me safe. So I burned myself out of his.

The abandoned theater sits like a broken cathedral in the heart of the dead zone—part of the city swallowed by time and superstition. Humans stay out. Supernaturals only enter when they want to disappear.

It used to be my safe place. Before Thorne. Before Dante. Before the whole damn prophecy carved itself into my chest like a brand.

It still smells like dust and phantom applause. Like perfume and blood. The heavy red curtains hang limp, moth-eaten. The stage is cracked, but the bones of it are still beautiful.

I walk slowly across the warped wood floor, trailing my fingers along the velvet-covered seats. I don’t use glamor here. There’s no one left to lie to.

I’m so fucking tired of lying.

I drop my bag near the front row, sit on the edge of the stage, and pull out the crumpled notes I scribbled after the council meeting. There’s gotta be a loophole. A counter-spell. Something to sever Seraphiel’s claim without binding me to someone else.

If the union completes, everything unravels—magic, time, reality. But if I kill him before the ritual, then maybe…. But how do I kill an immortal? There has to be a weak point, some sort of weakness–

I freeze.

Because I’m not alone.

The air changes. Not like a breeze. More like a presence crawling in under my skin.

“You always did love the dramatic,” a voice purrs from the darkness beyond the wings of the stage.

I don’t need to look to know who it is.

Riven.

One of Seraphiel’s enforcers. Loyal lapdog and sadist wrapped in silk and shadow. A creature carved from desire and delusion, with eyes that gleam like oil and teeth too sharp when he smiles.

I stand slowly, shoving the notes back into my bag.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” I say, voice flat.

“Neither are you,” he replies, stepping into the light like a scene-stealing villain. He’s beautiful, in that eerie, polished way that makes mortals trust monsters. Tall. Elegant. Dressed in black and bone-white, his shirt unbuttoned at the throat, revealing the faint runes scrawled across his collarbone—Seraphiel’s mark of ownership.

“Get out,” I snap.

He doesn’t move. “You’re empty,” he says, cocking his head like he’s surprised. “He’s gone from you.”

My blood runs cold.

He smirks, licking his bottom lip like the taste of my grief is delicious.

“Do you know what that does to you?” he murmurs. “To be half of a bond with no anchor? You’re unraveling, little fae. And you didn’t even notice.”

I reach for the dagger in my boot.

He tuts. “Temper, temper. I’m not here to fight.”

“Then why are you here? I did what your master wanted. There’s no need to threaten Dante or me right now.”

He steps closer, movements slow, deliberate.

“Because he’s ready,” Riven whispers. “Seraphiel’s done waiting. The altar’s prepared. The blood spells are cast. He just needs you. Willing or not.”

“I’m not coming.”

His expression sharpens. “Then he’ll take you.”

“Over my dead body.”

His eyes flash. “That’s the plan.”

Before I can strike, he moves faster than I remember.

He’s in front of me in a blink, one hand curling around my wrist, the other brushing the side of my face like he owns it. Like he’s already imagining what I’ll look like bound and broken.

“You smell like him,” he murmurs. “Even now. But it’s fading. Which means I can touch you again without him knowing. Without that Guardian dog searing through your skin.”

I jerk back, but his grip tightens.

“You’re his, ” he breathes, voice reverent and twisted. “And soon, you’ll be ours. ”

“I’d rather die.”

He leans in, lips brushing my ear.

“Oh, love. You will.”

That’s when I let go.

Let the shadows pour out of me.

They rip across the theater like a storm, crashing into him and throwing him backward with enough force to crack the stage. The wooden boards splinter beneath him as he slams into the floor, breath knocked from his lungs.

I don’t wait.

I run.

Out in the alley, under the bruised twilight sky, I collapse against the wall and gasp for breath. My magic still churns, barely under control, coiled and wild and hungry.

Riven’s touch lingers like rot on my skin.

I wipe it off, furious and shaking.

I miss Dante so much it physically hurts. I want his voice. His steadiness. His arms around me telling me I’m not some weapon waiting to explode.

But all I have is this fucking emptiness. And a war I have to win alone. Because he doesn’t remember me.

And that’s exactly what I asked for.

I stumble through the alleyway, breathing hard, already thinking about where I’ll run next. The river tunnels. Maybe the East Wards. Anywhere far from here. Somewhere I can regroup, hide, think .

My shadows slither along the walls like they’re scouting ahead, trying to clear a path.

One more street. I tell myself. One more corner and I’ll disappear.

But then I hear it.

The whisper.

A voice like silk soaked in blood.

“Leaving so soon?”

A hand slams me against the wall before I can blink.

Riven.

He’s behind me.

Faster this time. Stronger.

I thrash, shadows snapping, but he’s already drenched in a warded shimmer. It burns when I touch it, repelling my power like oil on water.

He grabs my face, too rough, too intimate.

“You didn’t think I came alone, did you?” he breathes, his thumb tracing the edge of my jaw like he’s savoring it.

“Don’t touch me,” I spit, twisting in his grip.

He smiles. “Too late.”

The world behind him warps.

Like the air’s folding in on itself.

And then everything—light, sound, space— shatters.

I land hard on stone, knees cracking against a floor colder than death.

The scent hits me first—incense and decay, roses dipped in blood. Then the stillness. Like time’s holding its breath.

I don’t need to look to know where I am.

Seraphiel’s court.

The shadows here don’t obey me.

They belong to him.

Riven kneels beside me, brushing hair from my face, reverent and sickening.

“You should never have left,” he whispers, like it’s a prayer. “You belong here.”

I shove him off me, fury boiling in my throat, but it’s hollow. I’m hollow.

Because there’s no warmth in me anymore.

No thread to Dante. No bond to anchor me.

Just emptiness.

Just silence where his name should be.

Riven stands and smiles down at me like I’m already wearing chains.

“You look like something precious with the light torn out,” comes Seraphiel’s voice from behind me and everything in me turns cold, despite the burn of hell..