Page 5 of We Were Meant to Burn (Ashes and Ruin Saga #1)

Dust hung in the air, the taste bitter and metallic on my tongue. I coughed, the sound scraping my throat raw, and covered my mouth as Dom and Malakai dragged me from my cell.

Screams and shouts ricocheted off the adamas walls, a chaotic symphony of battle. Freed prisoners slammed into guards, metal clanged against metal, and somewhere in the mess, someone was praying. Or maybe begging. Hard to tell the difference.

Malakai pulled his arm away from my waist to help clear our path, but I was grateful he stayed close. Not out of trust—more like practicality. Between the guards and the prisoners, the dungeon had turned into a meat grinder, and I wasn’t interested in becoming minced.

“What do you people want with me?”

I rasped as we slipped around the skirmishes, ducking into a narrow stairwell that spiraled deeper into the dungeon’s gut.

Dom didn’t slow.

"We’re mercenaries,”

he said, blunt and clipped.

“Who hired you?”

I snapped.

Malakai cut in before Dom could answer, voice sharp enough to slice through the tension.

"Later, love. You want a full debrief or a way out?”

He glanced back, eyes catching mine for just a second—violet, unreadable.

"Pick one. We’re not in the clear yet.”

I clamped my mouth shut, swallowing the rest of the questions clawing their way up my throat. Biding my time seemed smarter anyhow. There was no point in demanding answers if we didn’t make it out alive.

A rancid blend of stale blood, sweat, and something worse—something that lingered in the corners of old wounds and empty cells—wafted up from the stairwell. A bright red handprint clung to the railing, smeared and wet. Heavy footsteps thundered on the level above us, and gunfire cracked through the air like whips. More guards, probably. Not the kind that asked questions before shooting, by the sound of it.

The stairwell twisted downward, each step colder than the last. The chill bit through my skin, sharp and invasive, and the faint, rotten smell of death seeped through the vents. I’d never been this way before. When they dragged me to see Rafael, it was always up, toward the light and the gilded hell of his throne room. Down here, the world felt inverted. Like we were walking straight into the underworld.

“What’s the name, cupcake?”

Malakai called, his voice echoing off the stone like it had nowhere better to be.

He didn’t even bother looking back—just tossed the question over his shoulder like he was asking for the time, not talking to the girl he’d just broken out of a dungeon. The nickname curled in the air like smoke—lazy, deliberate, and entirely infuriating.

“Wait.”

I stopped, the word dropping from my lips like a stone.

His question set off alarms in my head, each one ringing louder than the last. My skin prickled, the tiny hairs on my neck standing on end.

“You don’t know who I am?”

I asked, voice sharp, disbelieving.

“Nope.”

The world tilted. My mind spun like a compass with no true north.

“That makes no sense.”

I grabbed his arm without thinking, fingers digging into solid muscle as I yanked him to face me.

Malakai’s eyes flicked down to my hand. Slow. Intentional.

The moment I realized what I’d done, I let go—fast.

The way you recoil from a flame.

I should’ve been dead.

Any Hada worth their salt would’ve turned me into vapor for less.

But Malakai didn’t flinch. Didn’t sneer. Didn’t threaten.

He just watched me. Still. Calm.

The kind of calm that wasn’t passive—it was coiled. Waiting.

Predator’s patience. Controlled lethality.

But his face? Smooth. Almost amused.

The bastard.

His violet eyes glittered in the dim light, unreadable. Maybe mischief. Maybe interest. Maybe I was just seeing what I wanted to.

His lashes cast soft shadows across sharp cheekbones. His jaw was all hard edges and quiet threat. But the rest of him . . .

Too warm. Too alive.

No cold, chalky pallor. No sickly Maldita deadness.

His ochre skin looked sun-warmed, and his silver hair—though a mess—shone like starlight.

I hated how long I stared.

My gaze swept down his annoyingly perfect frame, tracing sinew and strength, and all I could think was: As if I didn’t have enough problems, now this guy has to be hot, too?

I jerked my eyes away and plastered on a scowl.

“Then how’d you know to rescue me?”

His grin was a weapon—slow, wicked, knowing. It curled at the edges like a secret he wasn’t ready to tell.

“Simple,”

he said, with a shrug that made every muscle flex like sin.

"Job said the package was in the dungeon. You were in the dungeon.”

My mouth dropped open.

"That’s your logic? What if I wasn’t the right person? What if I’d been moved? What would you have done then?”

He pointed casually at invisible options, his grin never faltering.

“Cúcara, mácara, títere fue.”

I sneered.

"Seriously? A children’s rhyme?”

Behind us, Dom rumbled with laughter—a deep, rolling sound like distant thunder.

I didn’t laugh.

“The buyer didn’t give your name. Just the cell number,”

Malakai said as his hand closed around my arm, tugging me forward like I was luggage, not a person.

“That was enough for me.”

I yanked my arm free and spun on him, glare locked and loaded.

“What sort of operation are you running here?”

My voice ricocheted off the cold stone walls.

"This is a joke.”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down there, babydoll,”

he said, lifting both hands in mock innocence.

The growl in my throat must’ve warned him I was one second from violence.

He didn’t care.

Instead, he pressed a hand to his chest, like I’d just hurt his precious ego.

“Give Malakai some credit,”

he said, like his name alone was currency. Like I should’ve gasped in awe, fainted at his feet, thanked the stars that I got to breathe the same air as him.

I didn’t.

Not even close.

“That dungeon could’ve been packed,”

he continued, voice smooth as sin, “filled to the brim with prisoners.”

He leaned in slightly, that damned grin curling at the edges. “But you?”

He flicked his fingers toward me like I was the obvious answer in a sea of noise.

"You were very clearly the prize.”

I just stared at him. Unamused.

Malakai gestured toward my wrists, eyes gleaming.

"The adamas chains?”

Then, with zero warning, he flicked the metal collar around my neck.

The sharp clang rang straight through my skull.

“None of this screams, ‘Help me, I’m being held against my will’ to you?”

he asked, voice full of mock concern and barely-contained smugness.

I rolled my eyes so hard it was a miracle I didn’t pull something.

“Fine. You’ve made your point, Captain Overkill.”

He chuckled—chuckled—and waved me forward like he was inviting me to a ballroom instead of a prison escape.

“Stay between Dom and me,”

he muttered, and then—goddess help him—his hand brushed the small of my back.

It was light. Brief.

Possessive in the most casual, condescending way.

It took every shred of self-control I had not to grab his wrist and twist it until something snapped.

The air grew colder the deeper we went, the wind cutting through the thin fabric of my clothes and gnawing at my bones. We moved relentlessly, the dark, twisting passages of Castillo Rive swallowing us whole.

“Still didn’t get that name,”

Malakai whispered, his breath brushing my ear like a secret.

Warm. Infuriating. Too damn close.

“Quiet,”

I hissed, jabbing my elbow into his ribs.

"Your inability to shut up is going to get us caught.”

He barely flinched. Just let out a low, breathy laugh—smug bastard—and leaned in even closer, his voice curling around my spine.

“And yet,”

he murmured, “I get the feeling it won’t be long before you’re the one struggling to stay quiet.”

My jaw snapped shut. Heat flared under my skin—equal parts fury and . . . something I didn’t want to name.

His silent laughter thrummed through his chest, the vibration seeping into me where we brushed.

“Still waiting,”

he singsonged, sidling up beside me like he belonged there, close enough for the scent of spearmint and sin to wrap around me.

I bit back a retort, focusing on my next move. Trusting him wasn’t an option. But the truth was, I was no longer a prisoner of Aguatitlan. That counted for something. Even if my rescuers had all the strategic brilliance of a drunk alley cat.

“So, the Hada told you I was Bruja?”

I asked, keeping my tone light, casual—like I wasn’t already five steps into an escape plan if this went sideways.

“Yep,”

Malakai said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Only Bruja in the dungeon? That made you the job, love. Simple math.”

The casual way he said it—the job—like I was nothing more than cargo. A box to be moved from one place to another. My hands curled into fists, my knuckles whitening as I pushed down the surge of anger. If they truly didn’t know who I was, freedom might be closer than I thought.

I’d worn other names before. Mother had trained me well—to slip in and out of lives as easily as I drew a blade. If this was my shot, I’d take it. I just needed the right mask.

“My name is Marix,”

I said, letting the lie slip free, easy and natural. A good Rojano name. Common enough to pass, rare enough not to raise suspicion.

Malakai’s grin widened, but thankfully, he didn’t push. Good. Let him think they were smuggling out some helpless Bruja.

Because while they were busy patting themselves on the back, I was already turning this job into my escape plan.

And if I played it right, neither Malakai nor Dom would see it coming.

“Marix,”

Malakai repeated, rolling the name across his tongue like he was tasting wine. His lips curled into a grin that could only be described as wicked.

“I knew a Marix once,”

he mused.

"Back in Rojas. She had this great—”

He cupped his hands in front of his chest, miming the generous weight of imaginary breasts.

I shot him a glare that could’ve flayed a man alive.

He immediately dropped his hands, feigning innocence so badly, it only made him guiltier.

“Smile,”

he said smoothly.

"I was going to say smile. What in the heavens were you thinking, doll face?”

I rolled my eyes and pushed past him, sticking closer to Dom. If I stayed near the towering mercenary, maybe I’d get a few moments of peace.

"Does he ever shut up?”

I muttered under my breath.

Dom glanced over his shoulder, hazel eyes glinting with humor.

"Not really.”

“My luck,”

I muttered. Of course, I’d get saddled with a silver-tongued Hada with no off switch.

After what felt like hours of twisting corridors and steep, narrow stairs, we reached a rusted door.

Dom pushed it open, and a damp, earthy smell rolled over me.

We stepped into a dark, empty wine cellar—dusty barrels lined the walls, and the air hung heavy with rot and forgotten things.

A figure slid from the shadows, his hands settling on his hips.

His piercing azure eyes flicked between us, and auburn curls framed his sharp features.

His skin was sand-colored, and his stance had the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly where every exit was—and how fast he could reach them.

“Took you long enough,”

he said, stealing a glance behind us, his movements quick and precise.

“This is Lian,”

Dom said, his tone neutral.

"And if we’re late, blame Mal. It’s all his fault.”

I sucked in a breath, adding Lian to the mental list I was building.

Malakai was clearly the leader.

Dom had grumbled about removing my collar, but had still deferred to him.

Now, Lian joined the lineup.

Three men.

One Hada, one Rojano, and Lian, who looked delicate enough that a strong breeze might carry him away.

His thin frame and the twin swords strapped crosswise on his back made me wonder—was he an Airedor? A Bruja with power over the wind?

“Lian, how are we doing on time?”

Malakai asked, guiding us deeper into the shadows of the wine cellar.

“Lian’s our techie,”

Dom offered as if that explained everything.

"He’s blocking the cameras and comms. Makes sure we slip out without setting off every alarm in the place.”

“What about the alarms that went off earlier?”

I asked, a faint ringing still echoing in my ears.

“I cut the connection between the dungeon and the rest of the castle,”

Lian answered, his voice smooth and businesslike.

"Other than the guards who first responded, no one else is coming.”

Relief unspooled in my chest, slow and tentative. If Lian wasn’t lying, we might actually have a shot at getting out of this hellhole.

But I wasn’t about to take another step without some answers.

I planted my feet and crossed my arms tightly over my chest.

“I’m not moving until someone tells me what’s going on.”

Malakai’s lips tightened—not quite a frown, not quite a smile. That maddening expression hovered somewhere between amused and annoyed, like I was a particularly entertaining complication.

“All you need to know,”

he said smoothly, “is where you’re going. Which is to the Hada in Tiepaz.”

And there it was.

The confirmation I’d been dreading.

Mother hadn’t sent them.

This wasn’t a rescue.

The Hada wanted me, and I didn’t like what that implied.

“What if I don’t want to go?”

I snapped, my voice cutting through the damp air like a blade. I scanned their faces—Malakai, Dom, Lian—searching for a flicker of hesitation.

None.

Not even a blink.

Malakai just arched a silver brow at me, lips quirking into something too close to a smirk.

“You don’t get much choice in the matter, love.”

His voice dropped a shade lower—still light, still maddeningly pleasant, but with a thread of steel beneath it.

"My team and I are getting paid our weight in tenos to get you to Tiepaz. I’m not throwing that payday away just because you’ve got cold feet.”

I bit down on the retort clawing up my throat.

“What do the Hada want with me?”

I asked, turning toward Dom and Lian, hoping for anything—anything—more useful.

Dom shrugged. Lian said nothing.

“Heavens if I know or care,”

Malakai said, chuckling. A rich sound. Smooth and sharp. Like silver on stone.

"It’s not my job to ask questions.”

But I saw it.

The way his smile lingered just a second too long. The way his eyes didn’t quite match the curve of his lips.

It was an act.

A distraction.

He hid behind jokes. Wore charm like armor. Not because he didn’t care— But because caring got messy. Dangerous. And Malakai? He liked control too much to let something real slip through the cracks.

I’d known men like him before.

The only difference was, this one was better at pretending.

My nostrils flared, anger bubbling beneath the surface. I glanced at Dom again, searching for a hint of solidarity. We were both Rojano. There should have been some connection, some unspoken bond between us. But his face remained impassive, his eyes unreadable.

There was no kinship here. No allies. Just a job to be done.

And I was the cargo.

Not for long, though. I’d make sure of that.

Malakai leaned in until his face was level with mine, his violet eyes boring into me.

“Like it or not, doll, you’re going,”

Malakai said, his tone far too casual for the threat it carried.

"Even if I have to throw your sorry ass over my shoulder and carry you the whole way.”

Every part of me snapped to attention.

Pride. Instinct. Rage. Even my exhaustion—traitorous and bone-deep—found enough strength to rise and spit in his face.

I squared my shoulders, channeling the look I’d perfected under Mother’s cold, watchful gaze. The one that dared anyone to try me.

Malakai met it head-on. Unflinching. His lips curved into something smug.

Dangerous.

“Do you have any better options, love?”

His voice was smooth as glass—beautiful, deceptive, liable to cut deep.

Simple answer? No. I didn’t have options. Not real ones.

Play along . . . or find out just how fast Malakai could make me vanish between the cracks of this crumbling castle.

He stepped in closer, crowding my space with heat and steel and shadow.

"What do you say, Marix?”

he murmured, the word curling like smoke around the sharp curve of his smile.

"Easy way . . . or the hard way?”

I let my eyes drift over him, from the infuriating smirk to the muscles straining beneath his dark clothes. Everything about him screamed arrogance, the kind that only came with immortality. My pride howled at me to choose the hard way—to show him that the Nightshade of Rojas didn’t roll over for anyone. But my mind, sharp and practical, reminded me that survival was the real win here.

It didn’t matter which way I chose. Either way, I had no intention of letting him take me to Tiepaz. He just didn’t need to know that.

“Fine,”

I snapped, curling my upper lip in a snarl.

"I’ll go with you to Tiepaz. But we’re setting a few things straight.”

Malakai laughed—a low, gritty sound, like gravel underfoot.

"Oh, this should be good.”

“Stop calling me ‘doll.’”

He rolled his eyes, all exaggerated exasperation.

"Fine. Any other pet names I should retire, love? Cari?a? Bonita? Tesoro?”

“All of them.”

My tone was flat. Sharp enough to draw blood. No room for debate.

His grin didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened.

"Strict one, aren’t you?”

“I bite.”

His eyes glittered.

"I like sharp edges.”

Goddess help me.

I pressed on.

"At no point will you throw me over your shoulder.”

Malakai lifted his hands in mock surrender.

"Fine. No bridal carries. Unless you ask nicely.”

I shot him a look that promised violence.

He grinned. Unbothered.

“Anything else?”

I hesitated, glancing down at the blood-caked linen clinging to my body.

"I want new clothes. Nice ones. And a good pair of boots. No hand-me-down, mud-caked soldier garbage.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Is that all?”

I jutted my chin out. “For now.”

He gave a mock bow, that damned grin still glued to his face.

"Then we have a deal. Now, if we’re done negotiating . . . can we please get moving? Some of us would like to not die in this dungeon.”

I motioned grandly with one hand.

"By all means, Captain. Lead the way.”

He brushed past me, his voice dropping low enough to curl around my spine.

“Try to keep up. Wouldn’t want you falling behind and getting yourself thrown over my shoulder after all.”

Malakai led the way through the cellar, taking a winding set of stairs back up into the castle’s depths. The air grew warmer as we ascended, the smell of damp stone and hundred-year-old wine fading behind us. My lungs burned as we climbed, each step pulling me further from the dungeon and closer to whatever awaited me outside.

“First, we went down. Now we’re going up. Where the hell are you dragging us?”

I rasped, breath hitching.

“You can’t rush brilliance,”

Malakai quipped, his tone annoyingly chipper.

Lian, ever the translator of Malakai’s nonsense, added, “We had to go through the cellars to avoid the most patrols. Now we’re heading up to the closest exit.”

At the top of the stairs, four guards lay unconscious, their mouths gagged with green linen strips torn from their uniforms. Their hands were bound behind their backs, fingers twitching in uneasy sleep.

A boy, no older than thirteen, sat cross-legged on the back of a guard. He wore the same dark clothing as the others, his jet-black hair tied into a messy bun atop his head. He looked casual, almost bored, until he moved. There was something about him—an unnatural grace that slid through his every movement. I recognized it. I had it too. A predator’s stillness.

Upon seeing Malakai, the boy waved lazily and hopped off his makeshift bench.

Malakai’s expression darkened.

"Kerun, what are you doing here? Where is Elías?”

Kerun shrugged, his shoulders rolling with a carelessness that bordered on insolence.

"Said there was a complication. Told me to wait here.”

Malakai dragged a hand over his face, muttering under his breath.

"Complication? What kind of complication?”

Kerun shot him a sarcastic look.

"How should I know?”

Dom smacked the boy on the shoulder, his hand nearly as big as Kerun’s entire back.

"You had one job, Kerun.”

The boy’s face remained impassive, but as soon as Dom turned away, he stuck his tongue out, a flash of mischief amid the chaos.

Malakai muttered a curse as he continued to lead us through the castle.

"Elías better not get himself stuck here because I’m not coming back for him.”

I rolled my eyes. Malakai’s bravado was as predictable as it was obnoxious. Still, I watched him closely. His words said one thing, but his actions said another. The way his gaze swept over his crew—checking each face, taking stock of every breath—hinted at something more. A leader who puts his people first. Someone who knew how to balance humor with strategy, swagger with caution.

Not that I trusted him. Not yet. But if I had to guess, I’d say he was more than just the head of this ragtag crew. He treated the others like they were family. The question was whether his loyalty was something I could twist to my advantage.

For the time being, I’d keep my mouth shut and my eyes open. Answers would come. And when they did, I’d be ready.

Ready to run.

Or ready to fight.

Whichever came first.

An atrium yawned around us as we advanced, vast and cavernous, with shadows pooling in every corner. It offered about as much cover as a naked body in a snowstorm. The walls rose into dark arches, their stone ribs curling overhead like the spine of some ancient beast. My skin prickled, a shiver of fear slithering down my spine.

I felt exposed. Raw. Like an open wound.

Footsteps scuffed against stone to my left. I wasn’t the only one who heard it—Malakai and Dom froze, their heads snapping in the same direction. The entire group went still, our breaths hanging in the air, suspended and waiting.

“What are you doing up so late?”

A voice echoed down the hall.

My blood ran cold. I knew that voice.

Aitan.

“I couldn’t sleep,”

responded another voice. Softer. Familiar. Tadeo.

My pulse pounded in my ears. Not them. Not now. If they saw me, it was over. Whatever thin thread of hope I was holding onto would snap.

“We need to go. Now,”

I hissed at Malakai, my voice sharp with panic.

But before he could respond, Tadeo and Aitan stepped into the atrium.

“Que madre,”

Tadeo cursed, his eyes widening as they landed on us. On me.

Aitan’s mouth opened, lips parting in the beginnings of a shout— But Tadeo moved faster.

His hand snapped over Aitan’s mouth with a muffled thwack, the sound unnervingly loud in the empty corridor.

Aitan’s steely eyes flared, flicking between Tadeo’s grim face and where I stood—frozen. Every muscle in my body locked, breath suspended.

“We’ve seen nothing,”

Tadeo said, firm and flat, like the words were iron.

"We do nothing.”

He yanked Aitan down the hall, their footsteps vanishing into the shadows like the whole moment had been imagined.

I blinked. The silence settled like dust.

Dom glanced at me, his confusion a mirror of my own.

Then Malakai laughed. Low. Rough. A rumble of amusement that made my skin tighten with unease.

“Well,”

he drawled, a sharp grin cutting across his face. His elongated canines flashed in the dim light.

"That was interesting.”

He jerked his chin toward the hall ahead.

“Come on. We won’t get a chance like that twice.”

His voice had that same maddening calm, like the Crown Prince and Commander of Aguatitlan hadn’t just made a split-second decision to let us live.

Like this was all part of the game.

We moved, our pace quickening, feet gliding over the cold stone. The atrium gave way to narrower halls, and then we slipped through the castle’s main entrance.

Two guards stood on watch, their backs straight—until their eyes settled on me.

The color drained from their faces, and their hands flew to the weapons at their sides.

“Mierda,”

Malakai snarled. His lavender eyes glowed, and his canines elongated into sharp, wicked fangs.

The male guard found his voice.

"Halt! In the name of the King, I command you—”

Malakai cut him off with a feral growl. He thrust his hands forward, and a gust of wind ripped through the hall. The guards flew back, their bodies slamming against the wall. They slumped to the floor, boneless and still.

Dom grabbed my arm, his grip firm but not harsh. “Move!”

We scurried past the fallen guards, our footsteps echoing through the grand archway as we burst into the open air. The oversized doors loomed behind us, and just as they swung shut, an alarm howled—a jagged, teeth-grating sound that clawed at my ears.

Shouts rose behind us, the pound of boots on stone chasing us down the staircase.

I sucked in a breath of cinnamon-scented air, the smell crisp and sharp in the cool morning. The sky stretched above us, a canvas splashed with hues of blush and lavender, the horizon burning tangerine. It would’ve been beautiful if we weren’t running for our lives.

Gunfire shattered the morning calm, bullets whizzing past. The castle courtyard erupted into chaos. Guards scrambled after us, their feet skidding on dew-slick mosaic tiles. I risked a glance over my shoulder—a squad of them, not far behind, weapons gleaming.

“Faster!”

Malakai barked, his feet thumping against the ground. Dom surged forward, a wall of muscle and momentum.

My heart pounded in my chest, every beat a hammer against my ribs. My legs burned, but I forced them forward. There was no other option. Not if I wanted to see another sunrise.

The stairs led to an archway, opening into a cluster of buildings that towered into the sky. The streets sprawled ahead, grand and wide, like veins in the stone skin of the city.

Smoke from distant machinery drifted overhead, a haze that blurred the tops of the buildings. The air tasted of iron and ash.

“Where’s Elías with the bikes?”

Dom’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and urgent.

“He should be here!”

Malakai growled, low and feral. His silver-ringed violet eyes narrowed, glinting with a promise of violence.

"You got her?”

“Yes! Go!”

Dom bellowed.

Malakai didn’t need to be told twice. He bolted ahead, a dark blur against the pale dawn, his Hada heritage on full display. His feet barely touched the ground, his movements faster than any mortal man had a right to be. The air seemed to bend around him, pulled by his unnatural speed.

Behind us, the guards unleashed another round of gunfire. I glanced back just as a bullet ricocheted off marble, not too far from where I had just been, exploding in a blue cloud of dust.

And then everything went to hell.

A muzzle flashed red, and another bullet tore through the air. I barely had time to react before pain seared through my calf. The world tilted, and my foot missed the next step. The ground rose to meet me with a brutal, unyielding embrace. Instinct kicked in, and I curled inward, my arms shielding my head. The stone was merciless against my ribs, my knees, every fragile part of me.

Dom skidded to a halt, his boots scraping against the stone. Before I could draw a proper breath, his massive hands hauled me up, and the world flipped upside down. His shoulder dug into my stomach, iron-hard and unforgiving.

I gasped, a wheezing sound that barely qualified as breath. My lungs refused to expand, pinned beneath Dom’s iron grip and the pressure of his broad back. My arms hung limp, useless. I felt like a sack of maize, slung over his shoulder as if I weighed nothing at all.

“Put me down!”

I screamed, my voice shredded and raw. I beat my fists against his back, each thump sending fresh jolts of pain through my battered body.

"We had a deal!”

“That was Mal’s deal, not mine,”

Dom huffed, his breath a rhythmic grunt as he pounded down the steps. His pace never faltered, even as a thin stream of blood trickled down my calf, painting his shirt with dark smudges.

I craned my neck to see behind us. Guards swarmed through the castle’s archways, their faces set in hard, merciless lines. Then, a glint—metal catching the sunlight. My pulse thundered in my ears, and time slowed, stretching thin.

A guard knelt, his rifle braced against his shoulder. The muzzle of his gun pointed directly at Dom. Right at the center of his broad, unarmored back.

A crack split the air, sharp and final.

“NO!”

I screamed.

Something snapped inside me, a taut wire breaking under too much strain. Heat flared over my heart, molten and alive. It burned through my chest, a living flame searing a path down my arm, pooling in my fingertips.

The world sharpened, every sense dialed up to painful clarity. I could hear everything—the rush of wind against my skin, the steady thump of my heartbeat, Dom’s labored breaths echoing in his chest.

Instinct took over. My hand shot out, fingers splayed. Power surged through me, raw and wild, a torrent of electric fire. A jet of heat exploded from my palm, white-hot and blinding. It met the bullet midair, incinerating it to dust.

But the fire didn’t stop. It tore through the air, a ravenous thing, and hit the guard square in the chest. His body jerked back, bones snapping like twigs, the fire tearing a hole right through him. He crumpled to the ground, all the life snuffed out of him in a single, brutal instant.

Dom skidded to a halt, his weight shifting as he turned to look back. The guards had stopped, their weapons lowered, faces slack with fear.

“Thanks,”

Dom said, his voice rumbling through my bones.

"Guess that collar doesn’t work after all.”

I stared at my hands, blackened with soot. My chest heaved, my pulse a ragged beat against my ribs. My fingertips tingled, and I rubbed the ash away, my skin beneath warm and alive.

Awe unfurled in my chest, a tight, painful bloom of hope.

Quiacatl hadn’t abandoned me after all.

I was still Bruja.

And if the goddesses still had a claim on me, then so did my power.

Maybe, just maybe, Mother would forgive me.