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Hunter shifts next to me, but I hold out my hand. Not yet.

“You’re a liar,” Arianette whispers.

Her voice is quiet, but it carries a razor-sharp edge that cuts straight through the high-ceiling sanctuary. She shuffles forward, and that’s when I realize her ankles are still tied together, forcing her to move carefully despite the knife in her hands.

“You didn't do this to restore balance, Amber. You did this because you’re a crazy fucking bitch who wanted to make my husband pay for treating you badly, and you used us to do it.”

Oh fuck.

Amber’s expression twitches.

“You talk about balance, but you targeted women. You took Laura and Kelsey, murdered them and put their bodies on display. You kidnapped Stella and have kept her locked away for months, letting another man sit in prison while you played games. And now, Augustine whose only sin is her bloodline. These weren’t women with power–not house girls, not women bound to the men that control this city. They were normal girls, living normal lives, just trying to survive the brutality of this city.” Ari’s spine straightens as she speaks, and there’s something in the way she holds herself that makes my chest tighten. God, I fucking love this girl. “But you know what I think? I think you knew that. I think you picked girls that no one was paying attention to and you thought wouldn’t be missed, but you didn’t understand that Forsyth isn’t like that anymore.” She looks at me, then Hunter, and finally Timothy. “The men in Forsyth aren’t perfect, but the days of ruthless dictatorships are over. These men cherish the women in their lives and in return we support one another.”

A tear slips down Arianette’s cheek, but her gaze never wavers from the monster standing in front of her. “Regina is dead because of your delusions. She believed in your sacred path. She gave you her loyalty, and you gave her nothing but a grave, just like the others and the fact you haven’t even asked about your sons tells me everything I need to know. You’re a fraud. This isn’t about anything, but revenge.”

Amber’s forced smile falters. The fake bluster finally bleeds out of her expression, revealing the raw, terrified lunatic underneath. For the first time since we burst through those doors, she looks less like the woman who has controlled everything from the shadows and more like someone who has realized the walls are closing in.

Timothy steps past me and moves toward Ari. He kneels and carefully unties the bindings around her hands and feet. He doesn’t take the blade from her, leaving the weapon exactly where it is, still gripped tightly in her hands. He doesn’t coddle her or send her back to us, but when he looks at me, I understand the silent question in his eyes.

Whatever happens next is her decision.

She’s earned it.

“Wicked Wife,” Timothy says to Arianette, his voice low and steady. “It’s my fault you’ve been the target of this woman. I own and accept that, but how we punish her is up to you.”

“You’re letting her decide? Your goddamn child bride?” Amber sneers, her teeth bared.

“You’re weaker than I thought, Timothy. Whatever. Let her do it. Memento mori, Arianette. Through blood, perpetuity. Give me my transition through the veil. Let me finally have peace.”

Arianette stares at her for one long, suffocating second. Then she walks forward, Ares issuing a low growl as she moves closer to Amber. She holds the knife to her tormentor’s throat, the blade pressed against the pale, smooth skin. I watch her carefully, knowing Ari isn’t afraid to use a knife. She’s not afraid of death or of punishing those who have wronged her, and there is something almost frightening in the stillness of her expression.

“It would be so easy to end this now, drain you of life, and keep your secrets.” Slowly, she lets her fingers uncurl. The jade-handled knife slips from her grasp and clatters against the hard floor, the sound ringing through the sanctuary like a final verdict. “But death is too easy for you. You wanted to be a legend, Amber, but you’re just a killer. We’re not hiding you in the catacombs, and we’re not burying your sins in the crypt. Forsyth is going to see exactly who you are, and you’re going to rot in a cage.”

Fiery rage burns in Amber’s eyes. “You’re a pathetic waste of a Baroness,” she cries, “and you’re all nothing but pussy-whipped men who will regret the day you came up against me.”

A scream tears from her throat and she lunges forward, but we’ve already started to move.

I dart forward, grabbing both Arianette and the knife off the ground, pulling her back against my chest. My arms lock around her waist to anchor her as Hunter crosses the empty space, his gun trained on Amber. Ares lunges forward with a furious bark, but he catches his collar and hauls him back before the dog can sink his teeth into her again.

Amber collapses onto the floor, all her fury suddenly dissolving into a shuddering, exhausted release. Her injured arm curls against her chest as she stares up at us, her breathing ragged and uneven.

Hunter keeps his gun drawn and steady, one hand gripping Ares’s collar to keep the dog focused, while Timothy stands over Amber, his expression cold and unmoving. When he speaks, any trace of sympathy is gone. “Like I said, it’s over–and this time you won’t be coddled in an upscale hospital. You’ll spend the rest of your life in prison, where you belong.”

For the first time since this nightmare began, there is nowhere left for her to run. No tunnels beneath Forsyth, no hidden chambers, no masks or rituals or ancient promises she can hide behind. The woman who believed she could control life and death is on the floor at our feet, bleeding and broken, her reign of terror finally over.

45

Hunter

The sun has fully risen by the time everything settles down. The pink streaks of sunrise have faded into a warm, almost springlike morning, and the first birds have started singing from the trees surrounding the House of Night as though the world hasn’t just been ripped apart. I’m on the back patio, shampooing the blood out of Ares’s fur, working my fingers through the thick brindled coat until the water running off him is clear.

“Hoch,” I command, and he obediently lifts his leg so I can scrub his belly. “Braver hund.”

I mean it as more than praise for following commands. I never imagined when I rescued that little mutt from the back alley behind the radio station that he would one day end up saving my girl’s life. Walking into that sanctuary and seeing the absolute chaos had been the worst moment of my life, but then I realized what was happening. Ares wasn’t just barking. He was protecting Arianette, and fuck, the relief that hit me nearly dropped me to my knees.

“You’re a good fucking dog, man.” I work at a sticky spot behind his ears, rubbing until the last traces of blood disappear beneath my fingers. “I owe you one.”

“We all do,” DK says, coming around the corner of the house.