The tip caught Chrysabelle beneath the rib cage. Heat and pain followed the sword’s path into her body. She staggered a step to the side, her hand inches from the book. She lowered her gaze. Blood spilled down the sword’s blade and wicked through the robe’s thin fabric.

Nadira’s face held no remorse.

Time slowed. Chrysabelle took hold of the blade and yanked it out, slicing her palms and fingers open but feeling little. Water pooled in her mouth as the edges of her vision tunneled in. Each breath became a struggle, her lungs taking in less air with each inhale. The sword had penetrated deeper than she’d guessed.

The Aurelian mouthed a name, but the ringing in Chrysabelle’s ears deafened her. That name… She fell backward, hitting the stone floor hard enough that bones cracked. But there was no more room in her body for pain.

Just darkness.

And death.

Velimai slapped Mal hard across the back of the head. She signed something, her fingers blurring, then pointed to the portal again before opening her mouth and tapping a finger against her throat.

He jumped to his feet. “Go ahead and threaten me. I’m not going. What part of I’m not willing to endanger Chrysabelle don’t you understand?”

With a frustrated grunt, Velimai went to the bathroom counter, yanked open a drawer, and took out a makeup pencil. She started scrawling on the wall-to-wall mirror. She’s already disavowed. No worse trouble. Plus the portal is open for you to come back through. She underlined come back then stabbed the pencil against the glass for punctuation.

Mal stared at the words, trying to avoid seeing the image of his true face reflected behind them.

What if something happens? she added. C could be in trouble.

“And if she isn’t? And my arrival makes that crazy Aurelian even crazier?”

Take the chance, Velimai wrote. She caught his gaze in the mirror and mouthed the words again. Take the chance.

He turned away from the mirror and back at the portal. “Guard this with your life. If Chrysabelle has to go back through the Primoris Domus, Rennata will kill her this time.”

The wysper nodded solemnly, sketching a cross over her heart. She pointed at the shimmering puddle once again.

Mal nodded. “I get it. I’m going.” He stepped into the portal.

And found himself standing in the Aurelian’s chambers.

Chrysabelle lay sprawled like a rag doll in front of the enormous table. Her eyes stared unblinking at the ceiling. Blood drenched the stomach of her robe. Not a heartbeat or an inhale. The chains that held the beast snapped. “What have you done to her?” he roared.

The Aurelian sat behind the table, cleaning blood off her mammoth sword. She flinched and clutched her sword a little tighter. “Get out. Or I’ll kill you, too.”

The blackness of the beast crept over him, the names unfurling to cover his skin and drown the shreds of humanity that otherwise kept him sane. He fought to retain his sanity long enough to deal with the Aurelian. “All she wanted was her brother’s name. Was that such a trespass you killed her?”

The Aurelian stood, hefting her weapon. “Get out, demon spawn.”

“Answer me.” A chorus of voices filled the room as the souls trapped inside him came to life as the beast.

Fear trickled into her eyes. “She attacked me.”

“So you didn’t tell her.” The darkness spread almost faster than he could control it now, winding around his bones and seeping into his muscles like a fever. “Then you will tell me.” He flashed to her, pinning her against the bookshelves behind her and rendering her sword useless. “What is her brother’s name?”

“Go back to hell where you belong.”

He backhanded her. She slumped to the floor. The beast tore at his resolve. Time was running out to get Chrysabelle back before he turned completely. He scooped Chrysabelle’s limp body into his arms and turned. The portal was on the floor behind him. He kissed her forehead and stepped through, his next step landing on the bathroom’s marble tile.

Upon seeing Chrysabelle, Velimai went almost transparent, her mouth opening and a soft keening wail slipping out.

The beast reared back in pain at the sound. “Wysper,” Mal ground out. “Control yourself. I did not do this.”

He strode to the bed and eased Chrysabelle’s body onto it with the last shreds of humanity he had left. He stared down at her, the beast clawing at his insides for escape. Rage poured hot through his veins, building the beast up. He shook his head.

Chrysabelle was dead. There was nothing left for him. No reason to keep the beast leashed. No reason to care whether he was cursed or not.

Sorrow freeing every desperate urge within him, he turned his head toward the French doors that led to her balcony. The curtains drawn over them darkened the room almost completely, but the pervasive light of day leaked under the bottom edge.

With one leap, he could be through the glass and into the sun. It was the wisest choice. For himself and for humanity, because he knew in his long-dead heart that the only other way to assuage the pain of her loss was to return to the darkness and blood that had once shrouded his world.

Death or the beast. Those were his options.

On the other side of the bed, Velimai trembled like a wind-whipped tree, tears streaming down her face, mouth open in silent pain. The one person who’d cared for Mal was gone. No one would mourn his passing.

He dragged himself toward the doors. The beast fought each step. He grasped a handful of fabric. The beast roared, snapping at the last of his resolve. The thrum of the voices reached a high-pitched whine of desperation and persuasion. He yanked the curtain back.