Page 48 of Shadowkissed

He turns to Liora. “You want this council to intervene. To stop Seraphiel. Why?”

“Because if he completes the union rite, the realms will fracture,” she says, her voice cracking but strong. “He’ll bind not just me—but reality. The Veil will rip. The dead will walk. Time itself will collapse. You think your petty bloodlines and territories will survive that?”

“And what do you propose we do?” the vampire elder drawls. “Raise arms? Burn resources for a maybe?”

“It’s not a maybe,” I bark. “It’s already happening. You just haven’tseenit yet.”

“We’ve heard of the bond,” Thorne says, more to her than anyone else. “That’s what made this mess. That’s what’s bleeding into the Veil.”

Liora nods. “And it’s also what gives us a chance to stop it.”

“How?” Leira demands. “You expect us to believe a shifter and a half-dark fae are the solution?”

“Not the solution,” Liora breathes. “But the start.”

Then the Fire elder speaks again, voice smoldering. “You lit the match. Now burn or contain it.”

And just like that, the room turns.

The council—one by one—steps back. Dismissing her. Dismissingus.

Thorne meets her eyes, jaw hard. “You want to protect the humans, the world, the Veil itself? Then stop asking for help.”

“Thorne—” she pleads, stepping forward.

“No,” he says, voice cold. “You were warned. You started this. You’ll end it. Or it will end all of us.”

She goes still. And I swear I feel something inside her start tocrack.Not in surrender though. In fury.

They walk away, one by one. Some with scorn, some with indifference.

We’re left in silence, the chamber emptying like a graveyard after the last rite.

I reach for her hand. She takes it, cold and shaking.

“They’re cowards,” I mutter.

“No,” she whispers. “They’re already preparing to survive the end. Just notstopit.”

I look down at her, my chest aching.

“So we do it ourselves,” I say.

She nods, eyes glowing faintly. There is no despair there as I thought there might be. Instead, a fire of determination.

I think for the first time, she believes we actually can stop this. Or at least die trying.

23

LIORA

By the time we get back to Dante’s loft, my skin still hums with leftover rage.

The council’s words echo in my bones like curses carved into stone.

You started this. You’ll end it.

Like I asked to be made this way. Like I chose to be born a forgeable weapon of destruction in lace and ash, hunted by monsters and wielded by men in robes who think old magic gives them the right to wash their hands clean.

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