Page 111 of The Final Contract
She smirks, even through the smoke, even through the blood. “You too.”
The sound of it is a battle cry in my chest.
I rise, knife in hand, ready to end this.
I let them hold me before. Let them think they had me. Gave Cormac his shot at glory, his chance to drag me away from her, because I knew—if I kept their eyes on me, it bought her seconds to get the fuck off that bonfire.
And it worked.
Now it’s different. Now it’s two-on-one, and I’m not holding back.
The first man comes at me fast, fists flying. I catch his punch on my forearm, twist, and drive my elbow into his jaw. Bone cracks. He staggers, but the second slams into my ribs with a blow that makes my chest explode with fire. I spin, fist hammering into his gut, lifting him off his feet.
It’s brutal, ugly—blood and sweat slicking the stone floor, every strike fueled by one thought: get her to daylight.
I’ll kill Cormac in this fire or under the sun, but she’s getting out.
The heavier one catches me across the jaw with a hook that rattles my teeth. I stumble, spitting blood, and he rips free of my grip. He grins, thinking he’s got me.
He doesn’t see her.
Seraphina steps out of the smoke, a length of wood in her hands, the end aflame. She swings it with everything she has. It cracks across his face, embers exploding, fire biting into flesh. He screams, clawing at his eyes.
“Move!” I bark.
She drops—instinct sharp as a blade. My knife is already in the air, spinning end over end, and it buries itself in his face with a wet thud. He drops like a stone.
One left.
Cormac.
But the fire’s part of the fight now, raging hotter, feeding on the wreckage, stealing the air from our lungs. Smoke claws its way into my chest with every breath. The wood above us groans, splinters?—
Cracks.
She hears it too, and her eyes snap up. The ceiling is about to come down.
She doesn’t hesitate. She wrenches my blade from the corpse, hurls herself toward me just as the world caves in.
“Fuck—”
I catch her, drag her in, wrap myself around her as stone and timber crash down, the roar of destruction swallowing everything.
Smoke billows, choking, smothering. For a heartbeat, there’s nothing but fire and weight and her trembling body pressed into mine.
When it settles, I lift my head, coughing hard, eyes burning. The only way out—the stairs beyond this burning room—is buried under rubble. Flames eat it greedily, chewing through splintered beams, climbing higher, hungrier.
Across the debris, Cormac rises—hair singed, face streaked with soot—but his smile is pure malice.
“Looks like we’re all gonna die in here, brother.” His voice is hoarse, broken, but his grin is wide. “Difference is, you’ll go first. I’ll slice your little angel to ribbons while you watch her bleed out. Then I’ll join Father in hell, and we’ll drink to your ruin.”
I stare at him through the smoke, chest heaving, rage boiling hotter than the fire around us.
“You won’t touch her, Cormac. Not a fuckin’ hair.”
I bare my teeth in something that’s not a smile.
“You want hell? I’ll walk you there myself.”
