Page 88 of Ivy & Bone

It hadn’t been a laugh of mockery, but a laugh of triumph. His magic had been biding its time, waiting for Cyrus to open himself up to it.

You are mine, his magic said in a low hiss.

And in this moment, he didn’t care. He would do anything to save Prue, even if it meant allowing the death magic to take over completely.

Flames shot from his fingertips, erupting in the air. The smell of death and blood filled Cyrus’s nose, and he inhaled. The power—gods, the power. It felt alluring and invigorating. How had he gone so long without it?

“Going somewhere?” Cyrus asked in a low voice.

Vasileios stopped moving. With a raspy groan, he slowly turned to glance over his shoulder.

Cyrus grinned at him, delighting in the blackened skin of his brother’s face. All he could make out were a few patches of pale skin and those silvery eyes glaring at him.

“She’ll be the death of you,” Vasileios croaked.

Cyrus’s smile didn’t falter. Because right then and there, he knew Vasileios was defeated. And his brother knew it, too. It was why he didn’t issue idle threats or promises or angry insults. Vasileios knew Cyrus was about to obliterate him.

And his pitiful attempt to drive a wedge between Prue and Cyrus was laughable. This once mighty heir to the throne of the Underworld was nothing now. Absolutely nothing.

“But I will be the death of you,” Cyrus vowed. “Goodbye, brother.”

Cyrus unleashed his flames on Vasileios, who screamed and writhed in agony as the unholy fire consumed him. Cyrus pushed and pushed, relinquishing control to his magic, letting it take over. On and on the fire burned until Vasileios’s skin melted off his bones, until nothing remained but a smoking husk.

But Cyrus couldn’t stop. A shrill scream surrounded him, making his ears throb. Soon his fire was everywhere, darkening his eyesight until Cyrus wondered if the fire was burning up his own body as well.

He tried to rein it in, but it was no use. The fire took and took, sinking its claws into Cyrus’s mind until it had consumed him entirely.

Then, Cyrus realized what had happened. He was a fool for letting his guard down.

He had fallen prey to the manipulations of his death magic.

It had him in its grasp.

And it wouldn’t let go.

His magic was alive. It was its own entity, real and powerful. It was angry at Cyrus for ignoring it, for abandoning it in favor of Prue.

He should’ve seen the signs. The way his magic warred with his newly sealed bond with Prue. The way it raged and thrashed about, desperate to break free, desperate to keep Cyrus all to itself once more.

Ordinarily, the idea of his magic being jealous was laughable. But this was no laughing matter. Because now, thanks to Cyrus’s weakness, the magic had a leash around him. Their roles were reversed, and Cyrus was a prisoner now, bound to the whims of his death magic.

The screaming intensified until Cyrus realized it was coming from his own mouth. Then, everything went dark.

UNDERWORLD

PRUE

Prue finally drew away from Mona to find Cyrus finishing off his brother. He seemed to be laughing with delight as his magic suffocated Vasileios, burning him up completely.

Prue forced herself to watch, shoving down the revulsion at the sight of Cyrus so eager to destroy.

He is a monster, she reminded herself. But so am I. He is mine and I am his.

“Is that . . . your husband?” Mona asked uncertainly.

Prue bit back a smile. “Yes. He isn’t always like this, I promise.”

Mona huffed a weak laugh.

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