Page 39 of We Were Meant to Burn (Ashes and Ruin Saga #1)

You did this for them.

The words repeated over and over in my mind, a hollow chant against the gnawing ache in my chest. I kept my head down as I moved through the darkened alleyways of Puerto de Zadiz, my body slipping into the rhythm of the hunt. Step. Shadow. Breathe. Again.

The city was alive, pulsing with movement and sound. Too many voices shouting over one another. Too many bodies moving in the same small spaces. Every alley stank of salt and rot, the sharp tang of fish guts clinging to the humid air. The wooden pathways groaned beneath the weight of the city, the stilts that held it above the shifting mud below swaying with the evening tide.

I pulled the hood of my cloak lower, ignoring the ache in my chest as I slipped through the throng of people.

I couldn’t afford to think about Malakai.

Not about the look in his eyes when I told him he was my mistake.

Not about the way his voice had broken when he said he had thought he’d found love in me.

Not about how I had wanted so desperately to tell him the truth, to beg him to believe that I wasn’t leaving because I didn’t love him, but because I loved him so very much.

Too much.

I couldn’t think about any of that because I had a mission to complete. Failure was not an option.

The queen had told me exactly where the Malditas were.

They wouldn’t expect me to walk right into their midst. They were waiting for a chase, for a battle. For me to run, to be hunted, to be dragged back to Rojas in chains.

They would never expect me to come to them.

That was my advantage.

My fingers brushed over the pocket of my cloak, where the coral tree flower was tucked safely away. I was grateful for my lessons with Eliás. It was thanks to him that I’d get my revenge. Just one nut would be enough.

Danixtl had spent my entire life training me to be her weapon. It was only fitting that her own blade would be the one to strike her down.

If I could get close enough—if I could slip it into her drink, into her food, press it into a wound—she would never see it coming.

The perfect assassination.

I wouldn’t get out alive.

That was fine.

I had already lost everything.

But at least the others would be safe. Malakai. Dom. Lian. Eliás. Kerun. They would be free. Of me. And of her. Danixtl.

That was worth any price.

My fingers curled into a fist.

It had to be.

The streets of Puerto de Zadiz were alive with the stink of oil, sewage, and rot. A thick haze clung to the city like a curse, pressing against my skin, smothering the air in my lungs. The sharp tang of rusting metal mixed with the sour scent of unwashed bodies, a cocktail of decay that made my stomach churn.

I moved through the alleyways, keeping to the deepest shadows, each step deliberate, each breath measured. Despite the veil of darkness that wrapped around me like an old companion, a prickle of unease crawled up my spine. I wasn’t alone.

Someone’s watching.

I forced my breathing to steady, to slow. My fingers twitched at my sides, aching for the weight of a blade.

At the next intersection, I stole a glance upward. There, in the crook of two crumbling buildings, a black sphere hovered, its smooth surface gleaming dully in the dim lamplight. It rotated slowly, scanning the alley with eerie precision.

I didn’t know exactly what it was, but I had seen enough of Aguatitlan’s tech to understand that it was something dangerous. Something meant to track, to report, to hunt.

I ducked my head and stepped back into the shadows, my body instinctively molding to the darkness. My hood slipped lower over my face as I pressed against the damp stone wall, waiting.

The sphere swept its gaze over the alley, humming softly as it moved. I counted the beats between its rotations, tracking its pattern.

One.

Two.

Three.

A pause.

Then again.

Carefully, silently, I slipped past it.

The moment I was clear, I exhaled slowly and pulled the night tighter around me. It welcomed me like an old friend.

For the first time since my capture, since I had been dragged from the shadows and into the gilded cages of the Aguatitlan king, I embraced it.

I had spent too long in the light. Too long pretending to be someone I could never be.

But the truth was simple.

I wasn’t meant for the light.

I was born for the dark.

And tonight, I would prove it.

I crouched at the mouth of a narrow alley, my breath shallow, my pulse steady. The planks of the dock stretched out in every direction, some leading toward shadowed warehouses, others out into the murky harbor where boats swayed against their moorings.

The docks reeked of salt, rotting seaweed, and the pungent stench of dead fish that had baked in the sun for too long. The thick, brackish water lapped lazily against the wooden piers, its surface reflecting the moon, which hung bruised and red in the sky.

Everything was damp—the wood, the air, the heavy fabric of my cloak clinging to my back.

Beyond the alley, two soldiers patrolled the docks, their boots striking a steady rhythm against the creaking planks. They moved with the discipline of trained men, their postures rigid, their sharp eyes scanning the shadows. The glint of metal caught the moonlight, revealing the unmistakable gleam of Aguatitlan armor. The sight of their rifles made my stomach coil. I remembered those weapons too well, had seen what they could do at Yoatl Beach.

I needed to be careful.

I knew what would happen if they caught me. It was one thing to be returned to Danixtl—if she got her hands on me, I wouldn’t be thrown in a cell. No, she would welcome me home with open arms, tighten her grip around my throat, and strip me of whatever pieces of myself still belonged to me. I would be hers again.

But the King Regent of Aguatitlan wasn’t much better. If Rafael Aguirre got his hands on me, he wouldn’t kill me. Not right away. He’d parade me through the city as a trophy. He’d gut me of my magic, wring me dry until I had nothing left to give, then throw me in his bed chamber and breed me until I served no further use to him.

I gritted my teeth and shoved the thought away. I had no intention of getting caught.

Keeping to the shadows, I crept forward, my movements practiced, silent. Sticking to the narrow path between stacked shipping crates, I wound my way toward the far end of the dock, toward a squat, weather-beaten warehouse.

And there—at the end of a long pier—sat a lone ship, its dark silhouette blending with the restless sea.

The planks beneath my boots groaned softly as the water rocked the pier, but the vessel remained eerily still. No crew moved along its deck, no lanterns glowed from its cabin. It loomed in silence, watching. Waiting.

A dirty sheet had been strung between two crates near the ship’s gangplank, its fabric torn and ragged from the wind. Streaked across the surface, barely visible in the dim light, was a red scythe.

I exhaled sharply through my nose. The Malditas.

This was their marker. Their warning.

I ran my fingers along the edge of one of the crates, feeling for grooves in the wood—marks left behind by sharpened blades. The box had been pried open before, rifled through, its contents searched. They had already been here.

And if they were still here, waiting for their orders, then I had everything I needed.

I was walking into the lion’s den, but that didn’t matter.

The Malditas weren’t expecting me.

And that was their first mistake.

The warehouse loomed before me, a husk of decay and forgotten time. Its rusted hinges groaned in protest as I slipped through the half-broken door, the warped wood scraping against its frame. The stench inside was immediate and vile—rotting fish, urine, the sour musk of stagnant water soaked into the floorboards. My nose curled, but I forced myself forward.

Moonlight slanted through shattered windows, illuminating the skeletal remains of what had once been a thriving dockside storehouse. Nets lay tangled in chaotic heaps, their fibers stiff with salt and neglect. Coils of fishing line dangled from rusted hooks on the walls, swaying ever so slightly in the draft that slipped through the broken panels in the roof.

No one had been here in a long time. Or so it seemed.

I moved with measured silence, stepping carefully over warped planks and debris, my boots barely making a sound as I stalked deeper into the warehouse.

Then—voices.

Low, whispering, curling through the thick air like serpents.

I froze, ears straining. The sound came from the back of the warehouse, beyond a stack of overturned crates, past where the walls narrowed into what must have been an old storage room. My pulse quickened.

I shifted toward the sound, keeping to the shadows, my breath steady despite the storm inside me. I rounded a corner, pressing myself against the cold wood of a splintered beam, peering into the dimly lit room beyond.

There they were.

Five figures stood in a tight circle, four of them facing my direction, though their attention was locked onto the one standing before them.

Their black robes fell in heavy drapes to their boots, their hoods obscuring all but the pallid stretch of their skin. White as bone. Their faces were gaunt, their cheekbones high and pronounced, as if their flesh had been stretched too tight over the skull beneath. Black lips curled back over needle-sharp teeth, their expressions twisted in unnatural grimaces.

They reeked of death.

A deep, primal instinct in my bones screamed at me to run. To retreat before they could scent me, before their hollow eyes lifted and locked onto mine. But I stood frozen, rooted by the voice that rasped through the air.

A voice I knew too well.

No . . .

The leader stood with his back to me, cloaked in the same midnight robes as the others, but I didn’t need to see his face to know who he was.

I knew the way he held himself—rigid, cruel, as if the very air bent to his command.

I knew the cadence of his voice—smooth and calculated, laced with amusement that never reached his cold, black heart.

Jaax Farach.

The captain of my Bloodguard.

A powerful Mentedor and the man who’d abused my trust, slithered into my weaknesses, and exploited them all.

My fingers curled into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms.

I had come so close to escaping him forever. I had almost carved out a life that didn’t include him hounding my heels. And yet here he was, standing before me once more, his presence wrapping around my throat like an iron noose.

I swallowed back the wave of terror clawing up my spine, forcing myself to stay still, to stay quiet. But my blood roared in my ears.

I had known the Malditas would be waiting for me here.

I hadn’t known he would be leading them.

Danixtl hadn’t just sent her cursed assassins to bring me back.

She had sent my keeper.

Jaax’s voice slithered through the room, cold and sharp as a blade.

"The Empress has granted me the right to deusboda upon the return of the Princess. Kill anyone who would prevent her return and keep me from my prize.”

My stomach twisted, nausea coiling hot and bitter at the back of my throat.

Deusboda.

The word hit me like ice down my spine.

Only the ruling monarch could invoke it—an ancient rite that allowed a Bloodguard to wed, no—claim—a member of the royal bloodline.

It had only been used once before. A whispered legend buried beneath layers of secrecy and gilded lies. A tale spun with silk and blood, of loyalty and devotion. Of power shared. And the worst part was? I had no doubt that the idea of deusboda was a lie. Yet another tally to add to Danixtl’s ever-growing list of lies.

Jaax’s smile twisted like a knife between my ribs, smug and cruel, his emerald eyes gleaming with something dark and hungry.

He’d always wanted power. That had never been a secret. But this—this was different.

This wasn’t ambition.

It was possession.

He’d spent years trying to claim me. Cornering me. Testing me. Twisting the blade just to see if I’d bend.

It was my greatest shame that his efforts had worked. I’d never get back what he had coerced from me. The only solace I had was that Malakai had shown me something different. Something more.

But that was now firmly in the past.

And I had bigger problems to solve.

Because Jaax had been given the green light to claim me in every way that he’d craved for so long.

Now he didn’t need chains or pain. Danixtl had handed him a different kind of weapon. One forged in law. In tradition. In blood.

He wasn’t here to rescue.

He was here to own.

Rage clawed at my chest, hot and violent, begging to be unleashed. But I shoved it down, locked it in a box, and threw the key into the dark.

Control yourself.

I braced my mind, threw up every mental wall I had, choking off every moment that I refused to let him see.

And as I did, I whispered a silent plea to Las Madres— That my shields would hold.

That I would make it out of this room with Jaax none the wiser to my deception.

And that one day, I would be the one to bury Jaax.

With that last comforting thought, I stepped forward.

Out of the shadows. Into the flickering, broken half-light of the storage room.

Every instinct screamed at me to run.

But I wasn’t running anymore.

“Maybe I’ll save you the effort, Captain,”

I said, and my voice—praise to Las Madres, my voice—came out cool. Steady. Controlled. The way it used to sound when I wore the mask. When I was the Nightshade of Rojas and the world feared me.

The Malditas turned in perfect sync. Hollow black eyes fixed on me, unreadable and unblinking.

And then—

They knelt.

As one.

Heads bowed.

Deference.

Recognition.

Loyalty.

A shiver crawled up my spine, but I forced my face to remain impassive. I clenched my jaw so tightly I thought my teeth might crack.

I hadn’t asked for this. I hadn’t wanted this.

But they remembered me. And worse—they still belonged to me.

Jaax didn’t kneel. Of course he didn’t.

He turned to face me fully, slow and deliberate, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.

A smile curled across his lips, dark and gleaming, full of something that turned my blood to ice.

“Noche de mi alma,”

he said, the words drenched in mockery, thick with claiming.

"You’ve finally come home.”

And all I could think was— No.

I had come to end this. To go home and kill Danixtl for all that she had wrought on me. My life. My family. My queendom. She’d taken everything from me. And I would take everything from her.

Jaax took his time raking his gaze over me, his lips curling with delight.

"Nightshade,”

he crooned, sketching an exaggerated bow.

"It seems you’ve done my hard work for me.”

Every muscle in my body tensed at the word. He had always called me that—Nightshade—never Nix. Never Princess. Or ‘Your Imperial Highness.’ Always the title Danixtl had bestowed on me, always with a mockery that slithered under my skin like a poisoned blade.

I clenched my fists.

"I’m not in the mood for your games.”

My voice came out sharp, steady. Commanding.

"You’re here to take me home, aren’t you?”

His smirk deepened as he straightened, stalking toward me with the lazy, practiced ease of a man who knew he was feared. His black robes whispered against the wooden floor as he moved, their silken folds absorbing the light like ink swallowing a page.

“Nothing would make me happier.”

His tone was light, almost patronizing. Like he was indulging me. Like he knew something I didn’t.

I didn’t like his tone. I never liked his tone.

He cocked his head, studying me like a cat would a cornered mouse.

"Rumor has it you escaped the dungeons of Aguatitlan months ago, Nightshade. And yet, you never came home.”

His gaze drifted down the length of my body, pausing where my battle leathers hugged my curves. The grin that spread across his face made my skin crawl. “Curious,”

he murmured, his voice a silken thread winding tighter around my throat.

"What kept you away?”

I lifted my chin, pushing my shoulders back to keep from recoiling.

Show no weakness.

“I don’t owe you an explanation, Captain Farach.”

I made sure to sneer his title.

"I was the one captured by the Aguatitlans. I alone escaped. I found you. Perhaps it is you who owes me an explanation for why it’s taken you so long to find me.”

His smirk twitched at the edges. Just a fraction. But I saw it.

And that alone made this exchange worth it.

Jaax recovered quickly, bowing his head in mock reverence.

"Forgive me, Nightshade,”

he said smoothly.

"Your mother will be overjoyed at your return.”

Danixtl.

His eyes gleamed as he stepped closer, until I could see the fine cracks in his lips, the way his pupils flared with amusement.

“She has promised to grant me the right to deusboda,”

he murmured, his voice dipping into something soft, almost reverent.

The news didn’t punch through me upon hearing it the second time. The initial shock of hearing him while I eavesdropped had waned, allowing me to maintain my mask of detached calm.

His smirk faltered, and I felt a thrum of victory in my veins. I’d robbed him of whatever reaction he’d hoped to gain.

Jaax wasn’t one for giving up, though. He bowed lower, and before I could react, he reached for my hand.

I should have pulled away.

I should have cut him down where he stood.

But the moment his fingers wrapped around mine, pressing my palm to his lips in a mockery of devotion, I knew why I didn’t move.

Because he was testing me.

And I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me fail. Not this time.

His breath was warm against my skin, his lips soft where they brushed my palm. My stomach twisted. I forced myself to remain still, my heart a cold, steady drum in my chest.

“As your future husband,”

Jaax murmured, his lips lingering before he finally straightened, “I am delighted to have found you so quickly.”

My stomach heaved.

Future husband.

More like future corpse.

Jaax’s grip on my wrist was deceptively light, but there was no mistaking the steel beneath it. His fingers tightened, pulling me a fraction closer—too close—until his arm wrapped around my waist—until I could feel the heat of his breath against my neck. To anyone watching, we might have looked like lovers conspiring in the dim glow of the warehouse lanterns.

“But I must ask . . .”

His voice was smooth, a blade wrapped in silk.

"How did you know where to find me?”

I wrenched myself free, my jaw clenching so tight I felt the grind of my teeth.

And this time, I let him see the fire in my eyes.

“Someone sympathetic to our cause told me,”

I lied, throwing every ounce of venom I could muster into my words.

"There are still Bruja who live in fear in this goddessless country.”

I sneered, letting my gaze flick over him with the same disdain he had once reserved for me.

"Someone infinitely more helpful than you.”

Jaax’s lips curled, his dark eyes gleaming like polished emeralds. The corners of his mouth twitched, the subtlest hint of amusement dancing there before vanishing.

And then—I felt it.

A whisper of something slithering against the edges of my mind, slick and insidious. Cold dread curled in my gut.

No. No.

I stiffened, biting back the instinct to recoil as the realization struck like a hammer to the ribs. Despite the mental shields I had thrown up, Mentedor magic was already sliding through the cracks, searching, probing—like a water snake skimming the surface of a still lake, waiting for something to break.

I tried to slam my barriers down, to shove him out, but it was too late.

Damn it.

I hadn’t used mental shields in almost a year. My time with Malakai and his crew had made me soft—made me weak. I had let my guard slip, had allowed myself to trust, to feel—and now, I was paying the price.

A slow, knowing smile spread across Jaax’s face. His shoulders relaxed, as if he had already won, as if he could feel my panic crackling beneath my skin. And then—

A presence, darker than his. Colder.

The air thickened.

The shadows stirred.

And Danixtl Zaldanna slithered from the darkness.

The Empress of Rojas.

The Usurper.

The woman I had once called Mother.

The woman who had broken me, again and again and again.

The lanterns flickered as she stepped forward, the dim light casting sharp, angular shadows across her face. Her black robes billowed around her, the embroidered gold along the hem glinting with each measured step. She moved with the grace of a predator, the darkness curling around her like a lover’s embrace.

My breath locked in my throat. My body screamed at me to run.

But there was nowhere to run.

The mental claws pierced deep, sinking into my mind like razors tearing into flesh. I staggered, gripping the edge of a crate for support as both Jaax’s and Danixtl’s power bore down on me, pressing, digging.

I clenched my teeth, fighting against the invasion, scrambling to shove them out, to bury my thoughts, my memories—the crew. Dom. Malakai—

Malakai.

His face swam in my mind for the briefest moment, his silver-blond hair streaked with blood, his dark eyes filled with understanding—and I knew.

I had to hide him. I had to hide all of them.

Frantic, I shoved every trace of them into a box in the darkest corner of my mind and slammed the lid shut.

Mentedor power raked through me, searching, desperate, like a beast sniffing for prey.

But I would not let it find them.

I could not.

Not even if it killed me.

The air in the room turned brittle, the weight of it pressing against my ribs like a vice.

“You used to be so much better at hiding your thoughts from me,”

Danixtl drawled, her voice smooth as oil, rich with amusement.

Her dark eyes gleamed as she tilted her head, watching me like a jaguar toying with a wounded animal.

"You’re getting sloppy, mija,”

she mused, taking a deliberate step forward.

"That won’t do.”

Before I could react, her fingers shot out, cold and firm as they gripped my chin. She tilted my face up, forcing our gazes to meet. Her nails dug into my skin—not enough to draw blood, but enough to remind me of her strength, of the power she had held over me for so many years.

“Care to tell me who Malakai is?”

she asked, her voice deceptively soft.

The question sent a bolt of panic through me, cold as steel in my gut.

I forced my face into a mask of indifference, ignoring the way my stomach twisted violently. “No one,”

I choked out, barely above a whisper.

"Just a mercenary.”

Danixtl tsked, a knowing smirk curling her lips.

Jaax stepped forward, his broad frame blocking out the dim light, his presence suffocating. “You see,”

he said, his voice edged with cruel amusement, “the thing about lying to us is that it’s pointless.”

He crouched slightly, his head tilting as if studying an insect beneath his boot.

"We already know you’re lying.”

The air in the room felt thinner, like all the oxygen had been siphoned away.

“So,”

Jaax continued, his voice dropping to something almost gentle, almost patient—almost.

"Let’s try this again.”

He straightened, looming over me.

"Who’s Malakai?”

I pressed my lips together so tightly they burned. I would not say his name. I would not betray my friends. I couldn’t let them know about Dom, either.

Jaax’s eyes darkened, his frustration barely contained.

"You want to do this the hard way?”

His voice turned razor-sharp. “Fine.”

Pain ripped through my skull.

Agony as sharp as glass splintered behind my eyes as his influence clawed its way into my mind. It was fire and ice, ripping through my thoughts, tearing past my defenses. I bit down hard on my tongue, tasting blood, but I would not scream. I would not let him win.

My knees buckled. My vision blurred. I fought to shove him out, to resist his hold on me, but it was like trying to push back the tide. My mind burned, searing hot, the walls of my memories cracking under the weight of his intrusion.

Then, just as suddenly, it stopped.

Jaax’s power snapped back as if he’d been burned.

His entire body went rigid. His nostrils flared. And when his gaze snapped back to mine, there was no more amusement. Only rage.

“While I’ve been at home, helping your mother rebuild our army,”

he spat, “you’ve been here, whoring around with the enemy.”

The words struck like a lash, venom dripping from every syllable. Before I could react, before I could brace for it, his hand whipped across my face.

The force of the slap sent me reeling.

I hit the ground hard, my vision blackening at the edges. My cheek throbbed with a vicious, stinging heat, the taste of iron flooding my mouth. I barely had time to suck in a breath before a sharp heel pressed against my ribs, pinning me down.

The warehouse walls seemed to close in around me, the weight of my past and the inevitability of my future pressing down on me like a vice. The shadows, once a comfort, now felt suffocating.

Danixtl sighed dramatically, the sound slithering through the air.

"Now, Jaax,”

she drawled, circling me like a vulture, her robes whispering against the stone floor.

"We can’t ruin her pretty face.”

She crouched beside me, her delicate fingers grazing the burning welt on my cheek, her touch almost affectionate if not for the malice that oozed from her like poison.

"Not yet, anyway.”

Like a unit, the Malditas shifted, as if about to speak, but Jaax lifted a hand in their direction. The room went still.

“Don’t even think about moving,”

he ordered, his voice like steel honed to a razor’s edge. He tilted his head, his lips curving into something cruel.

"I am the future Prince Consort, and you will obey me.”

Prince Consort or not, I was the future Empress after Dantixtl. I ranked above Jaax no matter what. Cursed and wretched as they were, the Malditas were still loyal to me.

The Malditas continued to step forward to interfere, but Jaax’s fingers curled into a fist, and the group dropped to their knees with strangled screams, clutching at their heads as if Jaax’s very will was squeezing their skull like a vice.

My chest tightened, bile rising in my throat. I’m running out of time.

Every second that passed, the walls closed in tighter. Every breath, I felt the noose around my throat tighten. If I didn’t act now, I’d never get another chance.

Jaax was too strong. His Mentedor magic had always been a force I couldn’t fight against, no matter how hard I tried. He would break me, mold me back into the weapon Danixtl had crafted me to be. I would fall right back under her control, shackled once more, and Malakai—Dom, Elías—all of them—would die.

I wouldn’t let that happen.

Cold resolve settled in my bones. My mission had been clear from the start: eliminate Danixtl, or die trying. If I couldn’t get close enough to kill her, I would make sure she never got what she wanted.

Even if it meant taking myself out of the game entirely.

My hand slipped into the pocket of my cloak, fingers brushing against the rough petals of the coral tree flower that I had intended for her.

My fingers closed around the fragile petals, crumbling them in my grip. The nut, hard and brittle, pressed against my palm.

Jaax’s power slithered into my skull, clawing through my mind, searching for a foothold. I grit my teeth against the pain.

Now or never.

I stuffed the nut, crushed petals and all, into my mouth, chewing fast, swallowing before I could change my mind. The acrid taste burned down my throat, sharp and unforgiving.

Tears welled in my eyes as the finality of my decision settled in my chest like a stone.

I didn’t know how long it would take.

But I knew one thing for certain: I would never let them use me again.

Jaax’s magic dug deeper, his control pressing down like a boot against my ribs. I did everything I could to keep my thoughts blank, to direct my focus somewhere else—anywhere else, so he wouldn’t notice what I had just done.

I clenched my fists, letting my mind slip into the darkness, waiting for the poison to take hold.

Waiting to be free.

The words slithered through the air like a curse.

“So, you found the last Mondragón.”

Jaax’s voice, sickly sweet, coiled around me, suffocating.

Danixtl’s head snapped toward him at that, her eyes glinting with the predatory gleam of a woman who had spent a lifetime clawing her way to the top of a throne built on the bones of her enemies.

“Good.”

A slow smile curved her lips.

"Then I can finally get rid of him.”

My stomach turned.

I knew exactly who she meant.

Dom.

I didn’t flinch. Didn’t let even a whisper of recognition cross my face. Instead, I forced my spine straight, lifted my chin, and narrowed my eyes.

"You’ll never find him.”

A half-truth, wrapped in defiance.

Jaax’s eyes flashed, his patience thinning. His grip on my mind tightened, his Mentedor magic slithering around the edges of my consciousness, pressing, searching.

I braced against it, biting down on the inside of my cheek until the taste of copper flooded my mouth. My mind was a fortress, my secrets locked behind walls of iron. I had spent a lifetime resisting this. I could hold him off. I had to.

But then—pain.

A sharp, splintering headache carved through my skull, searing white-hot. My vision wavered, sweat slicking my skin.

Jaax snarled, sensing the resistance, sensing the truth I was fighting to keep from him. His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching at his sides.

Then, suddenly, the world swayed.

The fever came first. A slow burn, creeping through my veins like molten gold. My breath hitched, my chest tightening. My hands trembled. Sweat dripped from my brow, pooling at the hollow of my throat.

The coral tree nut was taking effect.

I sucked in a breath, but the world was already blurring. Heat pulsed through my body, tingling in my fingertips, my limbs weightless, detached.

And then—

Malakai.

His face swam before my mind’s eye, sharper than reality, clearer than the dimly lit warehouse around me. His violet eyes burned with something raw, something that made my breath catch in my throat. His smirk, wicked and knowing. The ghost of his touch against my waist. His breath, warm against my cheek.

The memory dragged me under, swallowing me whole.

I could feel him.

His hands tracing my spine, pulling me closer as we moved together in the flickering candlelight of the festival. His voice, a low whisper against my ear, “Look at you, love. Perfect.”

His lips skimming the column of my throat, his scent—fir needles and spearmint—wrapping around me, intoxicating, familiar.

And just like that, the hallucinations took hold.

Jaax screamed.

A sound of pure, unfiltered rage.

Because my mind—my thoughts—were no longer my own. He was drowning in them, lost in the storm of Malakai.

Jaax staggered back, clutching his head, his face twisting in agony as he was forced to witness everything I had ever felt.

The way Malakai’s lips had tasted on mine.

The way his fingers had traced fire over my skin.

The way his breath had hitched when I whispered his name in the dark.

It was a nightmare of Jaax’s own making, a prison of my memories, my desires, my love.

And he hated it.

He lunged at me, fingers digging into my jaw, his breath hot and furious as he snarled, “You belong to me.”

The words scraped against my skin like a dull blade, but the real sting came from his grip—the way his magic curled at the edges of my mind, slithering in, searching for cracks, for something soft and pliable to sink into.

It clawed at me. Demanded submission.

But his power slipped.

Because I was already lost.

The coral nut was a wildfire in my veins, an untamed, all-consuming ruin. My body didn’t belong to me anymore—it belonged to the fever, to the poison. Every limb, every nerve, every breath was dissolving into something slow and nightmarish. He didn’t know that. He couldn’t see it.

And that made his rage almost funny.

I smiled. Maybe it was delirium. Maybe it was the only defiance I had left.

Jaax pulled me closer, his arms locking around my useless body. His voice smoothed over, all silk and venom.

"I’m the only one who can fix you.”

He stroked a hand through my hair, his touch deliberate, possessive.

"I’ll wipe that Hada from your mind, and you’ll rule by my side. You won’t remember any of this. It’ll all be gone. We’ll go back to the way things were.”

I turned my face away. I didn’t care what he had to say. Not anymore. Not ever again.

The past was dead. And if he thought he could dig it up, dress it in silks, and put it back on its throne, he was a fool.

His patience snapped. He grabbed my chin, forcing my gaze back to him.

"Do you hear me?”

His voice was steel wrapped in raw desperation.

"You’ll be mine.”

I let out a slow breath. The fever burned. The hallucination twisted reality at the edges of my vision, turning the world viscous, melting.

“Calm down, Jaax.”

Danixtl’s voice was a slow, satisfied purr as she crouched beside me.

"She’s always been easy to control,”

she continued, tilting her head as if I were some simple thing, a weapon she’d sharpened and swung at her leisure.

"Look how easy it was for the Hada queen to get her to come to us.”

She patted his shoulder like a benevolent ruler doling out reassurances, all smug indulgence.

"You’ll get what you want,”

she promised Jaax.

"And so will I.”

Jaax wasn’t stupid. He never had been. He cut her a sharp look.

"And the Hada queen? Are you really planning on leaving the magic in El Valle alone?”

Danixtl scoffed, the sound thick with disdain.

"Never. I just said that I would, to get the old hag to give up our Nightshade.”

More lies.

The realization hit like a gut punch, sharp and cold. After everything, after all the pain and loss, Danixtl had still managed to manipulate me. She’d still gotten what she wanted, still played me like I was nothing but a foolish girl clinging to hope with bloody hands.

The world tilted.

Heavy fog curled around my mind, thick and numbing. My limbs were stone, my ears stuffed with cotton, and my tongue, my mouth, everything tasted like rust.

I smiled, and warm blood slipped past my lips, trailing down my chin, pooling at the hollow of my throat.

Jaax inhaled sharply, his eyes going wide as if he were finally seeing me—really seeing me.

"What have you done?”

he whispered. There was horror in his voice.

Danixtl jerked back, her smugness shattering in real-time.

I laughed, and the sound gurgled, wet and raw in my throat.

“Now no one can have me.”

I made sure of it.