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I laugh, the sound echoing off stone walls. "Submission? Clearly you skipped your research. The Crowe family stands unbroken against anyone, especially power-hungry cultists trying to play god."

His smile widens, his teeth too sharp to be all human. "We shall see."

The ceremonial blade appears in his hand—curved obsidian that seems to drink in the moonlight rather than reflect it. Ancient symbols crawl along its edge and pulse in rhythm with my heartbeat.

"The blood moon reaches its apex," Malachai intones while raising the blade above my forearm. "And the Vessel bleeds willingly for her master."

"Like hell I do."

The blade slices deep and parts skin, its accuracy flawless. My blood wells crimson-black in the moonlight, dripping onto carved symbols that flare to brilliant life. Power surges through the chamber, a vast and hungry force that has been waiting beneath Chicago for centuries.

Pain lances through my skull as the entity brushes against my consciousness, plunging me into a paralyzing chill while a presence with too many teeth whispers promises of unlimited power.

Finally, it hisses inside my mind. The Vessel opens. The prison weakens. Soon we shall taste freedom.

I grit my teeth and throw every mental barrier I can muster against its intrusion. "No, you're staying locked up where you belong."

From the shadows bordering the ritual circle, Sybil watches, a wild smile on her face, her hands glowing faintly as she reinforces the chamber's containment wards. Malachai cuts again, his intent more severe this time. More blood flows, and the entity's presence grows stronger. My vision blurs as something that isn't me tries to take control of my body.

Surrender, little witch. Embrace what you were born to become.

The temperature plummets. Frost spreads across the chamber walls as my magic acknowledges the entity's influence, advancing so violently that the suspending chains fail to contain me, screaming under the tension. Several prisoners cry out as ice forms around their cages.

"Stop!" I shout, my gaze darting to where Estella hangs from the wall among the other prisoners, her face pale but her eyes locked on me in silent encouragement. I pour my will into protecting them instead of fighting the entity. "You're hurting innocent people!"

Innocent? The entity's laughter is glass shards shredding my brain. There is no innocence, only power and those too weak to claim it.

My mystical seals begin glowing bright-white, responding to the entity's awakening. But instead of containing the power like they're supposed to, they're amplifying it. The bloodline connection works both ways, letting the entity's strength surge through me even as it samples mine in return.

"Magnificent," Malachai breathes, watching luminous power pour from my skin.

Right outside the inner circle, Sybil watches with hungry anticipation. Her platinum hair stands stark against the shadows as she directs the coven guards to their posts, her eyes locked on the carnage unfolding.

"The transformation begins," Malachai announces to the cavern.

The entity darts forward and tries to overwhelm my consciousness. For a terrifying moment, I feel myself slipping—my thoughts becoming its thoughts, my will bending to its ancient hunger.

Then I remember Darius, clinging to the way he looked at me and the promise in his voice when he said he'd choose me over revenge every time.

I latch onto that memory like an anchor and use it to maintain my sense of self even as the entity roars its frustration.

"You want this body? You'll have to fight me for every inch of it."

Malachai’s laughter echoes through the chamber, a cacophony of snapping bones and winter wind. "Oh, my dear Vessel. Your defiance is admirable but ultimately pointless. You’ll succumb, just as easily as your precious wolf did to our manipulations."

My blood runs cold despite the entity's heat coursing through my veins. "What are you talking about?"

"Did you truly believe Darius Morvane's tragedy was mere coincidence?" Malachai circles, the shark closing in on the scent of blood, malicious satisfaction gleaming in his pale eyes.

"I read the council reports about Gideon Night," I spit, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a grand reveal. "I know he was working for the coven. Since you're the one pulling the strings, it's obvious you orchestrated the massacre of Darius's pack with him to shatter the shifter-witch treaties and feed the entity's hunger with their grief."

Malachai’s smile falters for a fraction of a second, annoyed that his masterpiece has already been unraveled. Then his lips curve into a darker, sharper grin.

"Clever girl. But did you realize why we chose his pack specifically? Why we fed Gideon the intelligence to groom the surviving heir into a mercenary?" He stops pacing, leaning in close enough that I can smell the coppery tang of his magic. "While we needed the conflict, we also needed a guardian so consumed by his hatred of witches that his eventual proximity to the Vessel would create the perfect storm of volatile energy. A wolf trained to kill your kind, assigned to protect the most powerful lunar witch alive. It was an exquisite irony."

Rage builds in my chest, white-hot and pure. "Hundreds of lives destroyed purely to keep us fighting each other. You turned the entire paranormal world into your feeding ground."

"We created the perfect storm of mistrust and violence. Every paranormal who died hating another faction, every alliance that crumbled in suspicion—all of it weakened the barriers holding our master." The entity's presence blasts stronger in my mind as Malachai speaks, feeding on my fury. "Even now, Chicago tears itself apart in supernatural riots. The entity grows fat on chaos."