Page 167 of Severed Heir

“I hate you. I hate you.”The third curse never reached him. Our bond snapped shut before it could.

Kian stepped in, jaw clenched. “What do you want her to do?”

That wasn’t Klaus anymore. Not really. Just a shell. A puppet. A horror wearing his skin. I was living one of Cully’s horror stories, and this time, I couldn’t close the book.

Callum yanked me forward by the wrist, dragging me toward the caskets. “I don’t have all damn day,” he said. “Severyn will resurrect one of them.”

I fought harder than I ever had. “No!Let me go!” A sob cracked through my chest. “No!”

And then, Kian lunged. His hands closed around Callum’s neck like iron. “Do not touch her!”

But Callum blasted him with ice, knocking him flat. “Stay in your lane, dungeon rat. You only got in here because you begged Sorpine.”

“I’m sorry, Sevy,” Kian panted, winded. “I tried. I—I can’t do anything.”

Callum’s mouth curved into a smile, but there was nothing kind about it, only cruelty laced in calculation. “Now, where were we?” he murmured, the words almost idle as he grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the nearest casket. My heels scraped against the floor, every instinct urging me to dig in, to resist, but he was stronger, more determined, and utterly unaffected by the panic he was forcing into my lungs.

He pried my hand open. “Is this how it works?” he asked, tilting his head. “Just a single touch?”

I twisted against his grip, heaving hard as my shoulder slammed into his chest, but he didn’t budge. Instead, he shoved me forward, pressing me down against the smooth, unyielding edge of Malachi’s casket. My stomach hit the side, and a sharp breath tore through me.

“You don’t want to do this,” I hissed, my voice shaking beneath the weight of my fear.

He leaned in, his breath grazing my ear. “On the contrary. Malvoria has never detained a necromancer before. If your kind are out there, we need to understand what we’re dealing with. We need to know how far your power can go.”

Then my hand made contact.

Her skin was cold. I recoiled, heart pounding, but his grip forced me still. My palm lay flat against her chest, against the lifeless shell that had once carried her voice, her laugh, her loyalty.

“Stop,” I cried out, my voice cracking with something dangerously close to grief. “I want her back… but not like this.”

But it was already too late. I’d touched her. The link had been made.

“Now we wait,” Callum said, his voice a low hiss as he stepped back. “If she doesn’t wake, we try again. And again. Until you break open and show us everything. Maybe the blood needs to be fresh.” He didn’t have to say the next part out loud, but he did anyway, as his gaze slid to Kian. “We have options.”

This wasn’t supposed to work. Damien had survived. I had no more chances to save anyone. And still… a small, withered part of me believed she might wake up.

Not out of hope. Not even out of courage. But because some fractured sliver of my soul hadn’t yet allowed me to grieve Malachi. Because I was afraid that if I started mourning her, if I really let myself feel it, I would sink deeper than I had when Klaus died. There would be no pulling myself from that kind of sorrow.

A soft gasp slipped from the coffin before Malachi bolted upright. “I swear, if this is the afterlife, it’s underwhelming,” she rasped.

Oh Gods.Oh no.

Kian dropped to his knees with a thud. “Sev…” His voice cracked. “Are you a god?”

“No, you idiot,” Callum muttered. “She’s a necromancer. And it looks like Malvoria just found their greatest weapon.”

“I will never be your weapon,” I said, voice sharp. “I’ll cut off my own hands before that happens.”

Then Malachi screamed so loud it cracked the air. She clawed at her throat, eyes wide, wild. “Sev? Severyn! What in all the realms is happening?”

Callum groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Shut up, blondie.”

She screamed again, louder this time. “What have you done? I was enjoying death!”

I stared helplessly. “Mal.”

“You were dead,” Callum said flatly. “Severyn brought you back.”

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