Page 191 of Dark Fate

Lucian's role is riskier than a tightrope walk over a shark tank, but it's crucial. The witches, focused on their spell, are oblivious to the ruse. They think their power is peaking, the sacrifice moment near, unaware they're about to be sacrificed.

Every word they utter makes their fates more tangled. "Bind as one, heart and soul, life and essence, to be undone by ourselves."

Rhyland gives a subtle hand signal. Timing is everything. We're waiting for the witches to reach maximum connection, their Achilles' heel.

The High Witch steps back, her chant blending into the others. "Seraphim corentei!" her voice thunders, signaling the ritual's grand finale.

The electric charge of anticipation hangs heavy as Rhyland unfurls from his concealment, his gaze locked on the High Witch. He's a coiled serpent, ready to strike.

And then, he moves.

It's a blur, a shadow of motion that defies the eyes. Rhyland is a streak, a specter haunting the edge of vision, his speed redefining quickness. There's no sound, just the whisper of displaced air.

For those who blink, it's a moment lost. The High Witch's incantations command the air a second before facing her downfall. Her eyes, flickering with power, widen briefly in realization.

Rhyland's hand finds its mark with an assassin's grace, seizing the witch's throat. There's a sharp snap, not unlike the breaking of dry wood, and the High Witch's body goes limp.

The circle breaks. The witches around her, moments ago linked in arcane solidarity, collapse. They fall like marionettes deprived of purpose, lifeless on the cold stone.

The chorus of magic ceases abruptly. The silence is profound and oppressive. Even the flickering candlelight seems to quail. The magic that once filled the air dissipates, leaving shadows and the chill of the grave.

Erik begins his task of decapitating the witches, methodically slicing off their heads with Gravewarden.

Eww.

Lucian comes to, sitting up quickly and looking around. It takes him a minute to shake off the effects.

"Shit yeah! I knew you wouldn't let me down, you big, sexy hunk of man-meat," Lucian crows, grinning. Before Rhyland can react, he's lunging toward him, lips puckered up.

Rhyland reacts with lightning speed, catching Lucian by the shoulders and holding him at arm's length.

"Whoa—Keep it in your pants. I don't need your herpes on my face," Rhyland growls.

Lucian gasps, clutching at his heart. "But Rhy-Rhy, I thought we had something special! Don't tell me you're just using me for my body. I mean, I wouldn't blame you, but still. I have feelings, you know."

Rhyland snorts, shoving Lucian away. "Yeah, feelings in your pants, maybe. Now quit fucking around. We need to leave."

It worked. Against all odds, our plan worked. I'd do a victory dance, but this isn't the time or place for celebratory choreography.

We begin to make our way out of the catacombs, the echoes of our footsteps mingling with the silence through the tunnels. Suddenly, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I quickly pull it out, seeing Emily's name on the screen.

Emily: "More witches are heading that way. They know what happened. Move your asses!"

Oh, fuck me. I quickly inform the guys, and Rhyland's face contorts into a mask of rage, his beautiful blue eyes darkening.

We quicken our pace through the tunnels. Suddenly, Rhyland sweeps me into his arms, and the world blurs as we race toward fresh air. Just as we burst out of the tunnels, we slam into an invisible wall.

In a split second, Rhyland, Lucian, and Erik fall to their knees, their screams tearing through the air. I tumble to the ground as Rhyland writhes beside me.

They clutch their heads, faces twisted in pain. I spot a young witch, her eyes glowing an otherworldly purple. She holds her hands out, lips moving in a rapid incantation as she incapacitates my guys with powerful magic.

Dread settles in my stomach.

"You will not escape after what you've done," the witch with dark hair and eyes spits, her voice dripping with venom. She looks at me like I'm a stain on her favorite pointy hat.

Their collective gaze is heavy and oppressive, trying to bore holes into my soul. The air crackles with rage, and I almost see sparks flying from their linked hands.

My powerful vampires are reduced to helpless puppets, their brains scrambling. The witch's voice is a sinister melody slicing through the air and into their souls.

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