Page 60 of Too Dangerous To Die

“Return with us. Sever the bond. Cleanse the power. Become what you were meant to be. Or—” Ivenna’s eyes flick to Rhaegar again. “Kill him. And prove to us that you are not Medea reborn.”

I go still.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Rhaegar chuckles—low, mirthless, and utterly without humor. “You have no idea what she’s capable of,” he says. “And you will not command her.”

Ivenna’s eyes flash. “We command what is ours.”

“You command nothing,” I snap, stepping between them. “I am not yours. Not anymore.”

The magic around me flickers—mine and not-mine, old and new. The earth beneath my feet shivers.

“You’ve always belonged to us,” Ivenna says. “You were born of the coven. You were trained in our ways. You carry our blood and our burdens. Youoweus.”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

Behind me, Rhaegar shifts, as though preparing for violence. His wings arch subtly, framing me like a shield.

“She won’t go with you,” he says, and his voice could shatter bone. “And if you try to force her, you will regret it.”

Ivenna stares at me, long and hard. Her expression is unreadable, but her next words are full of warning.

“Think carefully, Nora. Because the next time we meet, there will be no offer.”

My heart hammers in my chest. Her voice softens, as if negotiating. Ivenna moves as if they’re leaving. Thank the Gods.

Rhaegar doesn’t touch me, but his voice is close as he orders, “Leave.”

Suddenly, there’s a flash of light and I’m momentarily disoriented as it blinds me. I try to reach for him but I can’t find her.

What the hell? What did they do?

28

RHAEGAR

Ishould have seen the betrayal coming.

The moment their leader softened her voice, cloaked it in honeyed diplomacy, I should’ve known what followed wasn’t peace—but poison. I let myself believe, even for a heartbeat, that the Purnas had changed. That they had learned from the centuries of ruin we left in our wake. But Protheka remembers its monsters. And I, it seems, still wear that title with ease.

Now I kneel, bound by ancient sigil-wrought chains sunk deep into the earth, magic woven with a precision I hadn’t seen in generations. It saps the very marrow of my power, bleeding it away like a slow leak. My body, volatile and half-formed, flickers with instability. Obsidian skin pulls taut, ember-like cracks webbing across my arms. I grit my teeth through the pain.

Across from me, Nora lies still—silent but far from calm. The collar around her neck gleams dully in the torchlight, laced with suppression runes etched by someone who knows what she is. Not just what she’s becoming—but what she was.

She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t scream.

But her gaze slices sharper than any blade, locked on the woman standing over her—Matriarch Ivenna. Leader of the surviving Purna coven.

“Kill the gargoyle,” Ivenna says coolly to her warriors, her voice calm as spring frost. “He’s served his purpose.”

“No,” another interjects. “His blood might still be of use. Gargoyle flesh doesn’t decay. He could be a reservoir.”

I don’t flinch. Not at the word reservoir. Not at the way they talk about me like I’m not a being—but a resource. I’ve been this before.

Nora jerks against her restraints, fury etched in every line of her body. “He’s not yours to use.”

Ivenna turns her head, her silver-streaked hair catching the firelight. “Neither are you, child.”

“I’m not your child,” Nora spits. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

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