Page 71

XANDER

Eve was still warm. That was the worst part.

She shouldn’t have been. My ice should’ve stolen the last of her warmth, sealed her in the cold, left her skin unfeeling—lifeless.

But it hadn’t.

I almost convinced myself she was only sleeping. That if I just held on long enough, if I could just think of something…

But I knew better.

There were injuries even magic couldn’t fix.

I forced a breath in. It caught, sharp and wrong, like my lungs didn’t want to work. Like my body was hesitating. Waiting. Hoping—

I looked up.

The crypt was frozen solid.

Frost had crept into the cracks between the stone, curling over the carved edges of the altar and across the gate, crystallizing along the wreckage of the fight.

I swallowed hard.

A shadow stood frozen in the doorway. A daema locked mid-step, jagged spires impaling his torso where my magic had cut through the air.

I hadn’t even noticed him. Too focused on her.

I looked down at her again. Her hair brushed against my arm, curls dark and matted with drying blood.

I tucked a strand behind her ear, brushed her cheek. A habit from the past few nights. It used to pull her from nightmares, used to ground her.

My fingers stilled.

The bruises on her skin were deep, vivid—too many. Too real. I followed the curve of her cheekbone, the place where, hours ago, she would’ve leaned into my touch.

I told her to trust me. I swore to myself we’d make it in time.

The weight of it settled over me like ice cracking beneath the surface of a frozen lake—slow, inevitable, swallowing everything.

“Xander! Where are you?”

I flinched.

The sound split the frozen air, sharp enough to drag me back. Reality pressed in—too loud. Too real.

I sucked in a breath. It caught in my throat.

I didn’t want to look up. Didn’t want to see Ragnar’s face drop. Didn’t want to see Atlas go still. Didn’t want to feel the shift in the storm inside him when he realized the truth.

But more than anything, I didn’t want to see Orion.

I didn’t want to watch the moment that would break him, to feel the way his grief would split this place apart.

I shifted my stance and adjusted my grip. Gently. Braced as I rose to my feet. Carefully.

Her head lolled against my shoulder, her body limp, but I tucked her closer anyway. Tried to make sure she was comfortable, like it could change anything.

The stairs rose in front of me—uneven stone, rimmed in ice, leading out into the ruin above.

A battle had raged here—its scars were everywhere. Cracked stone beneath my feet. Overturned pews. The stench of ash still choked the air.

But there were no bodies.

Just destruction. Just absence.

Lightning flickered overhead, sharp shadows dancing through the ruined space. Atlas’s storm still churned above, his magic pressing against the air like a held breath.

The daema were gone. His power had done that.

Atlas—who never wasted energy, who fought with logic, precision, restraint—had wiped them from existence.

Ragnar paced near the entrance to the crypt, soaked in blood, his shoulders heaving. When he turned and saw us, he stopped dead in his tracks. Like he’d collided with a wall he hadn’t seen coming.

Atlas stood beneath the heart of the storm, arms loose at his sides, storm-light flickering behind him like a halo of judgment. Eyes on me.

Not shocked.

Just… knowing.

He’d already made peace with this. Already accepted it as one of his precious calculated risks—like she was just another variable in one of his equations.

But before I could even open my mouth—

The doors at the back of the church slammed open.

Orion stepped into the room like the next war had already begun.

His sword hung loose at his side, blade streaked in blood. His knuckles were white around the hilt, grip iron-tight. His shirt clung to a wound at his shoulder, torn and soaked, but he didn’t limp. Didn’t slow. The rage pulled him forward.

His gaze swept the ruin. The shattered altar. The upturned pews. The storm continued to crackle overhead.

And then he saw me, and everything in him cracked.

Color drained from his face. The grief hollowed him out, carved him into something sharper. Colder. His expression shuttered. His breathing leveled. Every edge of emotion disappeared beneath the surface.

What was left was lethal.

He moved, striding past me and straight toward Atlas.

The storm above responded, darkness curling low like it would protect him from Orion’s wrath.

“Brother, don’t—”

Orion spun the sword in his grip, the blood-slick hilt flashing in the storm-light. The blade cut through the air with a low, deadly whistle. Every step was deliberate. Measured.

Ragnar shifted, half a step toward intervening, before he stopped. I saw the conflict in his eyes as he backed away.

Atlas merely braced for impact.

“She’s going to be fine—”

“She’s dead!”

Orion’s blade came down.

Fast. Brutal. A diagonal arc meant to cleave straight through him.

Atlas twisted, pivoting cleanly. The blade missed by inches.

Orion turned into the momentum, bringing the blade back in a vicious slash aimed at the throat. Atlas ducked again. The air pulsed with magic, storm and spirit crackling against each other, feeding off each other, building—

Atlas kept dodging Orion’s attacks, boots whispering across the stone, always just out of reach. Lightning flickered in his hands, but he didn’t strike.

He wasn’t fighting back. Like he knew Orion didn’t want vengeance—he just wanted someone to blame.

“I promised I would kill you, brother.”

Atlas exhaled, sharp and low. “Will you listen to me—”

Orion lunged. The sword swung—faster, meaner. Atlas sidestepped every time. His magic curled, white-hot at his fingertips, but still he held it.

My instincts screamed to move, to stop this. But Eve’s warmth pressed into me, anchoring me in place.

“You knew!”

“Orion—”

He swung again, a vicious diagonal cut that was dodged by inches.

“Both of you, cut it the fuck out!” Ragnar shouted from a safe distance. No one listened.

Then Orion’s attacks began to get sloppy, wild with grief.

Atlas stayed fluid—until the blade grazed him. A burst of lightning flared. One sharp pulse. Controlled.

The shock wave hit Orion square in the chest, sending him skidding back. He caught himself and laughed—a sharp, bitter sound.

“Are you going to smite me, brother?”

Atlas’s eyes flicked. “That depends on you.”

But I wasn’t listening anymore.

The heat against my skin—wrong. Too much.

I adjusted my hold on Eve—and froze.

She was burning up.

No. That wasn’t possible. Her body should have been cold, her skin pale and cooling—

“Holy gods—” I shouted. “Guys!”

Everyone stopped. Orion paused mid-step. Atlas’s magic dimmed. Ragnar turned.

I set her down—gently, carefully—on what remained of the ruined altar. My hands hovered above her. The heat pulsed outward, subtle at first. Then stronger.

Ragnar came to stand next to me, his stance wary. Orion followed, still breathless, but his sword was limp at his side.

We watched her.

Waiting.

Atlas’s voice cut like a blade. “I wouldn’t stand too close.”

I yanked both men back. Ice burst from my hands, racing across the floor, forming a wall of crystalline frost.

The fire tore across her body—wild, unconstrained. Not flickering. Consuming.

It slammed into the wall like a wave. The heat splintered through it. For a second, I thought it would hold.

Then it cracked.

The flames erased the wall. Steam screamed into the air. The heat was too much, too blinding. I shielded my eyes.

Then—the fire vanished.

I blinked through the haze, my eyes refusing to see what was right in front of me.

Eve lay bare on the altar. Each of her bruises had smoothed out. Every wound, every drop of blood—just gone. No sign of pain or death remained.

Orion stepped forward, trembling, voice cracking. “Eve?”

She gasped.

A ragged inhale. The first breath of a new life.

My heart slammed into my ribs like it was restarting with hers.

A Phoenix has never regenerated before.

I turned to Atlas for an explanation, but he was already walking away.

“She’s going to be out for a while,” he called over his shoulder. “We need to get her back to the cabin.”

I watched him go, something heavy sinking into my chest.

Atlas knew everything.

And I had no idea what that meant.