Page 118 of Poison Sun

The thrill of victory surges through me as I release the hilt and stumble backward, waiting for him to melt into a puddle of sludge.

Nothing happens.

He just looks down at the blade embedded in his chest, then back up at me, an amused smirk crawling over his lips.

“Amber,” he says, his voice mocking when he says my name, “you’re going to need a much stronger weapon if you want to get rid of me.”

Easily, and seemingly painlessly, he pulls the dagger from his chest.

Dread pools in my stomach. Because there’s no blood. No wound. It’s as if my attack was a mild inconvenience, and nothing more.

This is bad. Very, very bad.

Glancing around at the surrounding shadow souls, it hits me all over again that I have nowhere to run—nowhere to hide. And my magic is as impossible to sense as it was before.

Out of options, I brace myself for him to use my dagger against me. To end me, in retaliation of me trying to end him. Or for him to order the shadow souls to consume my soul, like they did to Lucas.

He does neither of those things.

Instead, he offers the dagger back to me, handle first, as if he’s returning a toy to a child.

Unsure what else to do—and not wanting to be without a weapon—I take it.

He smiles down at me, chillingly pleased, as if he’s already won the power struggle that’s been brewing between us since we first saw each other in the Fairmont’s lobby.

“It was a valiant attempt,” he says. “And now, I admire your spirit more than ever. I see why the sun goddess chose you to star touch.”

He’s gazing down at me as if he’s enchanted, and an undeniable charge thrums through the space separating us—a magnetic pull both terrifying and exhilarating.

I can’t kill him. I can’t run. Without my magic, I can’t do much of anything.

I glance up at the moon, searching for guidance, and it almost seems to glow brighter in response.

Hope sparks to life inside me. Because the Shadow Lord clearly doesn’t want me dead. I’m not sure what he wants. But the longer we stay out here, the longer I can try to draw on the sunlight that reflects off the moon. Maybe—just maybe—it can replenish my magic enough to help me get out of here.

I just need to keep him talking for as long as I possibly can.

“What’s your name?” I ask, and from the way he tilts his head to study me, I can tell the question caught him by surprise.

“Astrophel,” he finally says. “Do you know what that means?”

The question sounds like a challenge, and the closeness between us feels like a dance. Like I’m one step away from catastrophe—or surrender.

“Can’t say I’ve heard of it.” I shrug, feigning indifference, although I can’t help being intrigued.

“It means ‘lover of stars,’” he explains. “And on this planet, there’s only one star that matters. Only one star that keeps us alive. Only one star whose light I can’t get out of my head, no matter how hard I try.”

I remain still, since while I might not be a science whiz, I know what star he’s talking about.

“That star is the sun,” he continues, stepping closer. “It’s you.”

“I’m not the sun,” I remind him. “Being touched by a goddess doesn’t make me a goddess.”

“You forget that I can feel your soul, Amber.” He smiles—a slow, predatory grin that traps me in his gaze. “You might have been born mortal, but your spirit is destined for so much more.”

“You mean it’s destined to be with yours?”

Saying it feels deceitful to Damien. Because he’s the one I want—not the Shadow Lord.

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