Page 2 of Midnight Conquest

“Your choice will determine your fate,” Elder Rasheed said, his tone final.

Broderick’s fists clenched at his sides. “What is this Army of Light?” he asked, forcing his attention back to the Council and away from the urge to crack Angus across the jaw.

Elder Ammon spoke, his voice bearing a smooth, foreign lilt. “They call themselves God’sspecialchildren,” he said with disdain, his aquiline nose lifting a fraction higher. “A perversion of what we are. They claim to grant eternal life, yet they remain mortals who wither and die.”

Broderick swallowed hard. “If they’re mortal, what could they possibly offer me? Am I no’ already doomed?”

Elder Mikhail chuckled, the sound hollow. “They say their god performs miracles—heals the cursed, redeems the damned. But we’ve never seen again those who joined them. Few have ever chosen their path. We make no guarantees, nor do we vouch for their promises.” He flicked his long fingers dismissively, like brushing away a gnat.

“But speak with them you must,” Ammon said, gesturing toward a tall door to Broderick’s right. “Each soul who wishes to join our ranks must hear both paths. Make your decision with full knowledge—or not at all.”

Two guards stepped from behind the dais and guided him upright. Every step was a battle, but he leaned on them, stumbling toward the door that might change everything.

As he passed Cordelia, he cast her a withering glare. Still, she would not meet his eyes. Coward.

She never meant to give him immortality. She’d merely used him to wound Angus—robbing her rival of the satisfaction ofthe kill. Judging by the tension still coiled in Angus’s posture, her ploy had worked. Yet if revenge was her game, why involve the Council? Why parade Broderick here like a prize calf? And what of Angus? Why attend at all if not to protest?

Nothing made sense.

Unless…

Unless he chose the Army of Light. That would deny Angus his vengeance. If they could cure him—grant him life—Broderick might survive long enough to fight another day. Angus, as an immortal, would always be vulnerable by daylight.

And if they failed to save him?

Then at least he’d die knowing Angus had been robbed of retribution. A weak gesture, aye, but a final one.

The Vamsyrian guards opened the heavy oaken door. They settled Broderick into a solitary wooden chair facing another exit, then slipped into the shadows, silent as mist.

The door shut with a resonant thud. The room fell still.

A brazier hissed on his right, casting flickers of gold across the stone but unable to chase the chill from the air. Pain flared through Broderick again—searing, relentless. He gripped the armrests, knuckles white, breath held.

A bolt shifted behind the opposite door. The click rang loud in the silence. A spasm lanced through his legs as the door opened. A hooded figure stepped into the chamber, then shut them both inside with dull finality.

The agony receded, and Broderick finally exhaled, panting.

The figure faced him. “I know your condition may seem hopeless, but God can cure you of this blood affliction.”

Broderick stiffened, his body tense with disbelief. He leaned forward, squinting to see beneath the hood, but the brazier’s low flame offered little aid.

“’Tis impossible,” he growled. “The voice I hear must be from the grave.”

The figure lifted her hood, revealing a cascade of golden hair he’d once buried his hands in. Evangeline. His wife. His betrayer.

His stomach clenched. A snarl curled his lip, and bile rose in his throat.

She dropped to her knees, eyes wide with panic at the ceiling. “Dear Father in heaven, why me? He’ll never choose the light if I’m the one sent to guide him.”

Broderick ratcheted upright. Grief and fury surged together in his chest, battering the dam of his composure. The sting of tears burned, unwanted. He would watch her light expire, just as Maxwell and Donnell lives had been snuffed out.

Evangeline gasped, thrusting her palms up, chanting in a rapid, foreign tongue.

An unseen force struck him hard. He hit the stone floor with a grunt, a pang rattling through every nerve. The world spun until strong hands hauled him upright and dropped him once more into the chair.

Evangeline lowered her arms, remaining on her knees. She looked small across the room, her presence an affront to every wound she’d caused.

He cleared his throat, voice bitter. “What is this magic,witch?”

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