Page 63 of Ruthless Fae King

“I’m going!” I shouted. “It’s what I want, and you can’t stop me!”

My sister and my mom were here somewhere. I couldn’t see them, but I sensed them. Their Luminescence was like a beacon in the darkness. They were still alive, and they were safe. My sister didn’t feel scared through our sibling bond. It was okay. Cyrene could fight me as long as she left them alone.

“You don’t know what you want,” Cyrene snapped. “And you don’t have what it takes to navigate this world without me! You’re nothing, Erol!”

“No!” I yelled, drowning out the horrible sound of her voice, the uncertainty she tried to sow with her words.

I marched forward again, fighting the tar beneath my feet. It was thicker now, harder to fight through.

I didn’t care. I had to get out of here.

I became aware of Cyrene behind me. I saw her, although I wasn’t facing her. She was almost one with the darkness, but her pale skin glowed dully, and the black fog that surrounded her was everywhere, making it harder to breathe. I saw her face twisted in a snarl, anger riddling her features.

“I said, no!” she screeched, and she slammed her hands down onto my shoulders. Her long, oily black nails dug into my skin, and I let out a growl as the searing pain shot through my body.

Her power throbbed through me like poison, and I curled in pain.

“Erol!” Vanya shouted from somewhere beyond the darkness. “Keep fighting it!”

I would fight—it was what I did best. I reached down deep and grabbed all the magic I had, throwing it outward as hard as I could. I had to get Cyrene off me.

Screams and shouts rang around me, and it wasn’t from the darkness, but beyond it.

It yanked me out of the blackness all around me.

My power had rocked outward when I’d tried to get rid of Cyrene, but using Conjurite magic against the very essence of darkness hadn’t worked.

Why would it?

Instead, I stared at the destruction around me. The destruction I’d caused.

The room looked as if something had exploded in the middle of it. The couches were up against the walls, on their sides, half on top of each other.

The coffee table was broken, one leg in the hearth, close to the flames.

My mother and Agatha lay on the floor, moaning. Blood ran from Agatha’s temple. Zita was sprawled on her stomach, and Hazel’s limp body was draped over the back of one couch.

Vanya lay on the other side of the room on her side, her face twisted in pain.

The dark magic swirled inside me, powerful, and a part of me relished in the destruction. Another part of me ached, and I let out a cry of shock and horror.

“Erol.” Hazel pushed herself up. She carefully slid to the ground.

“What did I do?” I asked in a hoarse voice.

“It’s okay,” she said, coming slowly toward me.

Vanya climbed to her feet, too. She pressed her hand to her side and limped a little.

Zita jumped to her feet with a loud curse and glared at me with so much anger, I thought she might attack me. Instead, she ran past me to make sure my mom and Agatha were okay. They were both awake, breathing, talking, and it looked like no one had been badly injured.

“We’ll figure this out,” Hazel said.

I shook my head. “We can’t. This isn’t going to work. She won’t let me go!”

“We’re not giving up after one try.” She reached up to cup my cheek, and I ached for her touch. When she lifted her hand toward my face, a flash of red drew my attention, and I grabbed her wrist. She had a long cut along her arm, and it looked deep.

“I hurt you,” I gasped.

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