Nothing short of a wooden stake would stop her now.
There were more doors, more corridors, more guns.
Until there weren’t.
The moment Brynleigh barreled through the last door, she stumbled to a stop.
Armed rebels surrounded a group of familiar men.
A mangled scream crawled out of Brynleigh’s throat at the sight of Ryker on his knees.
Hurt.
Her breath came faster and faster as her last defenses against the bloodlust threatened to crumble.
The creature of death within her roared and clawed at her soul. It screamed, begging for her to release it.
And she almost did.
But then, his eyes met hers. Love and trust filled his gaze, infusing her with strength.
She inhaled, and it was like breathing for the first time. She shoved the monster down.
For Ryker, she would remain in control.
She had to.
But she lost seconds—precious, precious seconds—pushing the bloodlust away. Footsteps echoed on the cold cement floor. Across the room, separated by a few tables and chairs, was Jelisette.
“Greetings, daughter of my blood.” Jelisette’s lyrical voice was discordant with the darkness radiating off her. “I see you’ve been busy.”
Brynleigh snarled, surprised that her voice still functioned after so much killing, and she balled her fists.
“Let my husband go,” she demanded.
Jelisette snorted. “I don’t think you understand the severity of the situation. But you will.” She waved a hand in the air. “Take the others.”
The last words had barely left her mouth before rebels came out of nowhere and converged on Nikhail and Indira.
They yelled. Wind and blue magic burst from the two as they stood back to back in the middle of the room. Power cycloned around their hands, tornadoes of magic that threatened death.
But Jelisette raised a brow. “Put your magic away, or we shoot them all right now. You won’t win. You can’t.”
Nikhail stared at Jelisette for a long moment, his amber gaze assessing. Then he dropped his hands.
“Do as she says, Indira,” the fae ordered.
The witch cursed but complied.
A deadly smirk waltzed across Jelisette’s face as rebels approachedcautiously, slapping prohiberis on the fae and witch before adding them to their group of captives.
But the guns didn’t lower.
Instead, one of the rebels shifted, moving the barrel of his weapon to the back of Ryker’s head.
A feral growl ripped from Brynleigh’s chest.
This would not be the end.