I’d thought about it so many times.
I wasn’t the one who had gotten that satisfaction in the end. That had gone to another cruel king. I’d told myself I was alright with that. Let them tear each other apart.
I had been lying to myself.
I had wanted to be the one to do it.
And now, this seemed almost as good.
The first time I struck skin, opening a river of red-black across his arm, I actually fucking laughed—loud and crazed.
That one drop of blood awakened something in me. My next blow was harder, faster, blade seeking out his flesh like a starving animal. When he managed to get in a return strike, I barely felt it, instead using the force of his hit against him.
I was so lost in my own frenzy that it took me far too long to notice exactly what was so off about him. To notice that Simon didn’t seem concerned at all, even though I’d wounded him. Not even when I struck him again, sending him staggering back.
I pushed him against the wall, licks of night rolling from my sword, the smell of his blood thick in my nostrils.
This was it.
I wanted to look into his eyes when he died. Wanted that satisfaction.
I wanted to see the fear on his face when he realized that the slave he had abused two hundred years ago was going to be the one to kill him.
But when I met Simon’s eyes, I didn’t see fear. I didn’t see much of anything, actually. They were vacant and bloodshot, glazed over, like he was looking through me instead of at me, at something a million miles past the horizon.
A sour drone thrummed in the air, nagging at my magic, burrowing deep into my veins.
I hesitated. And finally, I heard the voice in my head—the one that insisted, This isn’t right.
My eyes flicked up for a moment, catching movement through the glass window over Simon’s muscled, armored shoulder.
Septimus stood in the middle of the empty ballroom, enjoying the view through those floor-to-ceiling windows, utterly calm. He smiled at me, a lazy trail of cigarillo smoke rising between his teeth.
This isn’t right.
Simon wasn’t moving, even though I had him pinned. The pulse in the air grew thicker, louder. The unnatural ripples that called to my magic seemed to pull tighter, like lungs inflating in an inhale, drawing me closer.
I actually took in Simon’s appearance for the first time since I saw him, my head clearing.
He wore old, classic Rishan battle leathers. Finely made stuff. But oddly enough, he’d left the top unbuttoned down to his chest, revealing a long triangle of skin.
Skin marked with black, pulsing veins.
And all those veins led to a chunk of silver and ivory, buried right into the flesh of his chest.
It was so grotesque, so unnervingly wrong, that at first, I couldn’t make sense of what I was looking at.
And then I recognized it:
The silver was Vincent’s pendant, smashed and melted and warped, smeared with Simon’s blood.
And the ivory was...
Teeth.
Teeth, welded into the metal.
The memory of Septimus’s voice floated through my mind:
I found some, in the House of Blood. Teeth.
What the fuck does one do with the teeth of the God of Death? Oraya had asked.
And in a sudden moment of clarity, I realized: This was what someone did with god teeth.
They created a fucking monster.
This thought crossed my mind only briefly, as Simon’s face finally broke into a chilling, blood-lined smile, and he unleashed a burst of magic that rearranged the entire Goddess-damned world.
59
ORAYA
I was running.
Running through those tunnels, even though I’d outpaced Jesmine, even though I didn’t even know exactly where I was going—only that I was going up, and out, as fast as I possibly fucking could.
We were, thankfully, close to the end. I practically wept with joy when I saw the stairs before me. I dove up them, flinging open the door at the other side—taking only seconds to evaluate where I was, at the foot of the castle. Mother, it was chaos out here, flinging me into a sea of blood and steel and death, Bloodborn and Rishan and Hiaj and demons all ripping each other apart.
I barely paid attention to it.
Instead, I looked up—up to the top of the castle, to the balcony where I had saved Raihn’s life not long ago. I couldn’t see anything from this angle, but I could feel it, the epicenter of this noxious sensation.
My wings were out and I was in the air before I could question myself.
I’d never flown so fast before. Faster than I even knew I was capable of.
I rose to the balcony, only to immediately be knocked back by— What was that?
It was like Asteris, maybe, but stronger—red, not black. It seemed to rip apart the air itself and reorder it. It lasted for only a moment—at least, I thought it did—but when I regained awareness, my wings weren’t working, and I was falling.
With a gasp of air, I righted myself, pumping my wings just in time to avoid hurling myself into a pillar.
I soared back up to the balcony.
Raihn. Raihn, locked in a battle with—Mother, was that Simon? He looked so different—not just because of his armor, a stark contrast from the fineries I’d seen on him before, or even because of the whorls of red magic that surrounded him. He felt different, like he’d been pushed beyond some boundary that no mortal should cross. Like a part of him no longer even existed anymore.
Every shred of my awareness balked at his presence.
And that instinct reacted viciously at the sight of Simon leaning over Raihn, sword raised, eerie red mist clinging to the blade.
I didn’t remember landing, or running, or lunging. Only the satisfying spurt of blood that sprayed across my face as the Taker of Hearts found its mark, skewering through Simon’s back, right between his wings.
A deadly shot for anyone, human or vampire.
But Simon, I realized immediately, was not just a vampire right now.
He let out a snarl and reared back, dropping Raihn and whirling to me as I yanked my sword from his flesh and danced backward. When his bloodshot eyes fell to me, vacant and vicious, I felt like I was looking into the face of death itself.
And then I saw it:
The... thing fused into the skin of his chest. Metal and... bone?
My magic reacted to its proximity. Suddenly, Vincent’s presence seemed so much closer—but twisted, enraged.
Twisted, just like the pendant had been twisted, shattered. Melded with...
Teeth?
God teeth, I realized.
Fucking Septimus.
It seemed outlandish. It seemed ridiculous. The horror of it fell over me distantly. I didn’t have time to let myself acknowledge it.
He lifted his sword, but before he could bring it down, I lunged at him.