Page 84 of A Storm of Fire and Ash
His body twitched once. Then he went still.
I didn’t spare him a second glance.
Bastion had Kalista now, one arm tight around her middle, the other pressing a blade to her neck. A thin line of blood trickled down her collarbone. Her eyes were wide with terror, locked on mine.
One twitch, and he’d kill her.
“Fae don’t have all that power. What are you?” Bastion snarled, voice shaking, but not from fear—for him, it was fury. Entitlement. The unraveling of control.
I tilted my head, smiling coldly.
I clucked my tongue. “Your worst fucking nightmare.”
My fingers glowed. The air in front of me shimmered as I lifted my hand—and from it, Mage Hand emerged. Spectral. Burning with purple fire.
It hovered for a breath, weightless and wicked, and then—
I nodded. The hand shot forward.
Bastion barely blinked before the spectral fingers plunged into his face with surgical precision and plucked out both of his onyx eyes. He screamed—no, shrieked—staggering back, his blade falling from Kalista’s throat. His hands clawed at the empty sockets, blood pouring from his face.
“MOVE!” I shouted at Kalista.
She scrambled away quickly, gasping—blood staining her gown.
I was already leaping. I crashed into Bastion mid-scream.
We hit the floor hard. My knees straddled his chest, and before he could beg or crawl or say a single vile word—I drove my dagger straight into his heart. And then again. And again. Until the fight left him. Until he was silent.
I stood over his ruined body, blood dripping down my arms, my face. The vines recoiled slowly behind me.
Kalista had backed into a corner, her hands shaking, eyes locked on me like I was some monster. Which, maybe, I was.
I took a careful step toward her, holding up one hand. The flames had dimmed. My magic was still singing, but I forced it to be still.
“Please,” I said softly. “Don’t tell anyone.”
I held my hand out. Kalista flinched. Then took it. I pulled her up, removed my cloak, and wrapped it around her.
“You… you saved me,” she whispered, voice raw. “Why? I’ve been so awful to you.”
I looked down at the blood on my hands. It was still warm. “Because ‘no’ is a complete sentence, and no man should ever touch a woman like that,” I said. “And none of them ever will again.”
Kalista blinked, and something in her eyes softened. A shiver ran through her. Then she nodded once, turned, and ran.
The vines slithered off the door, curling back into the cracks in the floor like they were never there. The door creaked open for her. And then she was gone.
Silence fell, heavy and strange.
My heartbeat thundered in my ears. I wiped my face on my sleeve, but it only smeared the blood worse. I glanced down—my shirt, my arms, my dagger. All soaked in red. I took a breath. Just one. Then I turned and walked out.
I slipped into my chambers, my boots leaving bloody prints on the stone. My hands were stained. My braid was half undone.
And Zayn was there.
He was lounging in a chair, shirtless of course, and a book in his hand. His eyes lifted the moment I entered, his body going tense as he stood.
“Elara,” he said, voice low, sharp with concern. “What in the seven realms of Hel happened?!”
