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“All of them.”

The stone walls hem us in on either side, carved with symbols that seem to writhe in our peripheral vision. Behind us, the distant rumble of chaos echoes from the city above—wailing sirens masking the occasional crash of something large and supernatural tearing through downtown Chicago.

"Christ," Nolan breathes. "It sounds like a war zone up there."

"That's the point." Lynn's voice emits grim understanding. "Malachai's keeping the authorities busy while he finishes whatever the hell he's doing down here."

We move deeper as we follow Serenity's magical breadcrumbs through a maze of branching passages. The moonstone grows warmer against my skin with each step, taking me forward.

Then the first wave hits us.

Coven guards pour from hidden alcoves—the first rush of dozens spilling into the corridor in masks, wielding curved daggers whose poisoned edges gleam. They move in monstrous coordination, a relentless tide striking simultaneously from multiple angles.

"Contact!" Kellan's rifle barks. His face tightens in a rigid grimace as the recoil jars his magically fused ribs, the heavy pain-numbing charms finally burning off under the adrenaline, but he drops the nearest attacker before he can close the distance.

I shift partially, letting my animalistic enhanced strength flow through human muscles. The first guard's blade whispers past my throat as I grab his wrist, twisting until bone snaps. His scream cuts off when Lynn's crossbow bolt takes him center mass.

"Behind you!" Nolan shouts, his service weapon thundering in the confined area.

A guard materializes from shadow magic, lunging for my back with supernatural speed. Spinning quickly, I catch the blade on my reinforced gauntlet to drive my knee into his solar plexus, lifting him completely off his feet.

"Serenity's wards are holding!" Lynn calls out, light crackling around her fingers as she deflects a curse.

The moonstone burns against my palm, pulsing faster now. Serenity's presence tugs at my consciousness—closer but weaker than before. Whatever they're doing to her, it's draining her strength.

"Move!" I plow through the remaining guards, my force brutal and unstoppable.

We push forward, following the increasingly frantic flicker of the moonstone. The walls here are older, carved with symbols that predate Chicago itself. Ancient power blasts through the stone and builds with every single step.

Above us, another explosion rocks the city. Dust rains from the ceiling as something massive crashes into a building.

"The blood moon," Nolan pants while checking his watch. "It's reaching its peak."

The moonstone in my hand suddenly flares brilliantly, nearly blinding in the tunnel's darkness. I surge forward, panic and instinct screaming that we're running out of time.

"There!" Kellan points ahead, where faint light spills from a massive archway.

I can feel her now—Serenity's magic is a candle in a hurricane, battered by the vast, hungry void seeking to consume her. The ritual chamber lies feet beyond that arch, and whatever's happening inside, the bond screams with a deafening certainty: she's still fighting.

I draw both blades and step through the arch.

29

SERENITY

Stone grazes my boots as they haul me from the wall chains and drag me into the dark recesses of the stronghold. The ritual chamber continues before me like something torn from a fever dream—carved stone walls that buzz with their own sickly light and symbols that seem to writhe when I'm not looking directly at them. The moon's crimson glow filters through vast fissures in the cavern ceiling, casting jagged beams of red light that paint everything the color of fresh wounds.

Enchanted chains bind my wrists and ankles, each link inscribed with runes that burn against my skin. The metal drains my strength with every breath, reducing me to lightheaded weakness while Malachai stalks the ritual circle, a carnivore savoring his kill.

"Finally," he breathes, his icy eyes reflecting the moon's light, a wild gleam unsettling in its intensity. "The Vessel takes her rightful place."

Around the chamber's perimeter, dozens of cages hold captured paranormals—vampires, shifters, witches, even a few fae. All of them bear the same hollow-eyed exhaustion that comes from having their magic slowly drained over weeks. Some are unconscious. The others watch, desperate and paradoxically hopeful—they have accepted their imminent end, yet they cannot help but pray for rescue.

I won't let that happen while I'm still breathing.

"You know, for a death cult, you really went overboard on the interior decorating," I rasp, testing the chains' give. "What's next, mood lighting? Or the little splash of red enough?"

Malachai pauses in his circling, a thin smile playing across his lips. "Your defiance is expected, Serenity Crowe. The entity appreciates strong-willed vessels. It makes the eventual submission so much sweeter."