As Lyre’s eyes glazed over and his face went slack, Ash focused on the reapers. “My orders are to kill.”

“I’m changing the orders,” the reaper growled. “You heard what that other daemon said—the spell he spoke of.”

Ash glanced again at the unconscious incubus, slumped over the fountain. A sickly scent of weakness clung to him. The nymph hung off the basin beside him, unmoving, her shining hair dragging in a pool of blood.

So this was the mysterious spell the girl had stolen from Lyre’s workroom. The one she’d used to save his life and that his family had discovered, causing them to turn on him. And this was what it did—it devoured a daemon’s magic and left them utterly helpless.

“A weapon with that kind of power?” the reaper continued. “We are not killing this weaver. Not anymore.”

Ash had heard that Lyceus had argued to bring Lyre back alive but Samael had issued the execution order anyway. Samael must not know about the spell—yet.

Ash’s stare slid from Lyre to the two reapers.

“Secure him,” the reaper ordered. “We’re going after the other daemon.”

Ash scanned the dark trees, his senses stretching to their limits as he searched for signs of nearby life. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, the leather grip creaking.

“Draconian,” the reaper barked. “Don’t make me—”

Ash pulled his sword from its sheath. Moonlight gleamed across the steel as he snapped it through the air in a lightning-quick strike.

Blood sprayed from beneath the reaper’s hood.

The blade continued in a smooth arc and the second daemon had no time to react before the point plunged into his chest. Ash drove it in up to the cross guard, twisted the hilt, then pulled it out. He flicked the sword to clear off the worst of the blood before sliding it back into its sheath.

Both reapers hit the ground, unused weapons clattering out of their limp hands.

Disobedience. Treachery. Treason. Ash rolled the words over his tongue as though tasting their essence, then discarded them as easily as he’d discarded the reapers’ lives.

Stooping, he picked up the bow lying near his feet and slid his fingers over the supple grip. A fine weapon, well used and well cared for. He hooked it over the baldric on his back, then turned to Lyre and his nymph accomplice. Grabbing the nymph by her top, he lifted her off the basin and slung her limp body over his shoulder. Then he grasped the strap of Lyre’s quiver and hauled the unconscious incubus out of the fountain. Water sloshed from the basin, merging with the puddles of blood.

Carrying the nymph, he dragged Lyre across the park to the edge of the trees. There he stopped and faced the fountain again, dead reapers and sprawled bodies scattered around it. Drawing in a slow breath, he raised his arm, hand clenched into a fist.

Power built within him and burned along his nerves as it flowed through his arm and gathered in his fist. The air around him sizzled.

He snapped his fingers open and black fire exploded from his hand. The dark inferno ripped across the pavement in a crackling tidal wave, consuming everything in its path. Red and orange flames erupted as his dragon fire ignited everything flammable and melted the rest.

He lowered his arm and watched the crackling heat spread, cleansing the battle and the bodies from the earth. The evidence of death would disappear, and with it any sign that something far more terrible had been unleashed.

A spell that can infinitely expand its own power.

Eradicate the magic of an entire daemon army.

Powerful enough to wipe out the ley lines.

Some magic was too dangerous to be unleashed. Some magic was too catastrophic to exist. A power that should have been impossible to create had come into existence.

And it could never fall into Hades’s clutches.

As the black flames faded and natural fire spread hungrily to the carpet of dead leaves beneath the trees, Ash grabbed Lyre and heaved him up. With the incubus over one shoulder and the nymph over the other, he turned away from the burning park and strode into the night.

* * *