Page 67

Kellan runs a hand through his disheveled hair. "Sybil Velkyn hit the Crowe estate three hours ago. Brutal ambush—she had at least a dozen coven assassins with her, maybe more."

Ice floods my veins. "Estella."

Kellan's expression turns grim. "They took her barely alive. From what the survivors described, Sybil seemed more interested in capture than execution this time."

My knees threaten to buckle, but Darius's steadying hand at my elbow keeps me upright. Estella might be controlling and secretive, but she's family. The only family I have left.

"There's more." Kellan moves to where a small television sits on the kitchen counter, already tuned to the Paranormal News Network. Darius and I follow, and the three of us crowd around the screen. "The Moon Prophet went live on a public broadcast. They've got clear footage of him without his ceremonial mask."

We turn to look at the screen, and my blood turns to ice in my veins. He is tall and unnervingly thin, his pale skin stretching taut over sharp bones to make him look completely sculpted. White-blond hair falls past his jaw to swallow the studio lighting. Ritual scars cover every visible inch of exposed skin along his neck and forearms, silvery-blue ink suffusing each mark to shift whenever he moves. His icy blue eyes, silver frosting their edges like moonlight cataracts, stare directly into the camera as though he can see through it to whoever's watching.

"Malachai Vey."

Darius's head snaps toward me. "You know him?"

"He used to come to the estate when I was young." The memories surface unbidden—a man who made the air feel wrong merely by standing in it. I remember hiding behind the staircase while he spoke to Estella in the drawing room, his inflection too soft for a man that tall, his fingers tracing the spines of our family grimoires like he was reading through touch. "He was obsessed with our bloodline's connection to moon magic. Estella banned him from the estate eventually, but I remember her hands shaking after he left. She never shook."

"Patient bastard. Over a decade of planning for this moment."

"What else?" Darius speaks, a dangerous edge slicing through his words to promise immediate violence.

Kellan pauses before he speaks again. "He's made his demands public. Posted them on every paranormal network in the city." He swipes to another feed, and the screen fills with footage that makes my stomach lurch.

Three figures kneel on a raised stone platform—supernatural leaders I recognize from council meetings and community events. I spot Elder Morwen of the Southside witch coalition kneeling beside Tariq Vickens, the vampire representative who brokered the downtown peace accords. Councilwoman Adara Furo is positioned at the rim of the platform, maintaining the same diplomatic posture she used while building bridges between paranormal factions.

Malachai stands behind them, his ritual-scarred hands resting on Morwen's shoulder in theatrical gentleness.

"For decades we operated in the shadows, but the time for secrecy has passed. Our master must feed, and starting tonight, the entire world will provide a feast. These leaders were given an opportunity to stand with us. They instead chose defiance."

What happens next is methodical and unhurried. One by one, Malachai drains them, fresh starlight extracting directly from their bodies as twisting ribbons feeding a waiting chalice. Each one crumples like a marionette with its strings cut. Elder Morwen falls first, followed rapidly by Tariq and Adara. Three lives are extinguished on camera while the paranormal world watches.

"Let this public display serve two purposes: to feed our master and as a demonstration of commitment," Malachai continues while stepping over Morwen's body, his attention consumed by the audience he addresses. "The Vessel will surrender herself to us before the blood moon reaches its zenith, or we will execute one prisoner on this broadcast every hour until she complies. Starting with the head of the Crowe bloodline."

The broadcast cuts to a shot of Estella, hair matted with blood, chained to the same platform where three bodies cool.

Silence chokes the safe house. Outside, the moon bleeds through the reinforced glass, painting us all in shades of crimson. I feel the sudden, firm touch of Darius's hand on my arm, bracing me for whatever comes next, as if he already knows what I’m going to do.

The grimoire's words echo through my skull: the ritual requires willing sacrifice of self.

The concept of willingness anchors itself in my mind. Handing them the exact weapon they need sounds insane, but it’s the only tactical move left. If I surrender, Malachai will focus entirely on me and the ritual, buying Darius the window he needs to evacuate the hostages. And once the hostages are clear, my willing sacrifice will reforge the seal permanently. It’s one life to save thousands.

I stare at Malachai Vey's eyes on the screen, and somewhere beneath Chicago, I feel the entity shift in its prison—patient and fiercely expectant.

It knows I'm coming. It's always known.

And for the first time, so do I.

26

DARIUS

Iwatch Serenity's face as the reality of Malachai's ultimatum sinks in. Her eyes go distant, calculating, and I tense, a knot of restless anxiety tightening in my gut. That look means trouble—the kind where she starts making decisions on her own terms. I step directly into her line of sight, determined to intercept her before she can map out a solo plan.

"We need allies. Malachai executed three community leaders on a live broadcast. The paranormal world is either terrified into submission or ready to fight back. We need to find the ones willing to fight."

Kellan nods from where he leans against the kitchen counter, one arm braced against his ribs in a way he probably thinks is subtle. The healer's magic knits the worst of it, but he moves like a man whose body remembers being broken even if the bones don't. "I already reached out to Lynn. She said she’s not letting some apocalypse shut her doors, so she's in. If saving her nightclub means stopping the end of the world, she’ll use every connection she has throughout the supernatural underground—vampires and independent witches, alongside fae who owe her favors."

"The Paranormal Governing Council." I grab out my encrypted phone and scroll through contacts I haven't used in years. "They possess the resources we need. We can utilize their tactical teams and magical specialists, plus gain access to the underground tunnel systems."