Darkness breathes before she does.
McKenna’s lungs drag in air that isn’t hers, thick with smoke and cold iron. The ground beneath her is damp stone; runes pulse around her in the same crimson hue that burned through Azeo’s veins.
A voice coils through the dark.
“Welcome home, little fire.”
He steps from the shadows — the Master. His eyes are liquid black, reflecting power older than the moon itself. Every nerve in her body reacts, half in fear, half in something else she doesn’t want to name.
“You’ve been fighting me,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Why keep resisting what’s already yours?”
Her heart pounds. “Because I belong to no one.”
“Then show me,” he whispers.
He leans in, and when his lips meet hers the world detonates in light.
It isn’t a kiss of te
