Page 138 of The Prince of Power

I step over the guards and toward the door. When I walk inside, the house is quiet. Too quiet.

I slip through the dark halls, gun steady in my grip, every creak beneath my feet echoing like a threat. The firelight bleeding from the cracked door ahead draws me like a moth.

I inch closer.

Muffled voices. Low, tense.

I nudge the door open just enough to see inside.

Flames roar in the hearth, casting long shadows over the polished wood and crimson carpet. Gabriel Wolfe lies sprawled on the floor, a dark pool blooming beneath his head.

My pulse roars louder than the fire.

In the center of the room, the Sacred Light sits at a chair. And then?—

I see her.

Ava.

Alive.

The breath I draw feels like salvation, as though the air has turned to heaven.

I step inside, lowering my gun as I take her in. Her wide eyes. Her trembling frame.

I rush to her, dropping everything as I gather her up. She melts into me, fragile and warm, and I crush her against my chest like I could fuse her to my bones.

I kiss her temple, her hair, her cheek, frantic and desperate.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper, my voice cracking. A sob claws its way out of me, raw and uncontrollable. “Did they hurt you?” I rasp.

“Not at all,” she whispers, and I let out another sob.

Cold steel presses into my back.

“Get your hands off her,” the Sacred Light commands.

47

Ava

Damian stiffens against me before pulling away and turning to face the Sacred Light.

“The sanctification is over,” the Sacred Light says. “You are now Prior of Thornecroft. There will be no transcendence ritual. I think you had a hunch that the virgin sacrifice is nothing but spectacle. Ava will come with me, and you’ll never see her again.”

I grip Damian’s arm, but he doesn’t look at me. “You told me I could keep her.” Damian sounds bewildered, like a scared little boy. “Marry her.”

The Sacred Light laughs, and it’s a grating sound. “And you believed me.”

The words hit like a slap.

“You were lying.” Damian’s voice is broken.

The Sacred Light nods. “I never thought you had quiet resolve or a cool head. And yet you believed that too. You’re eager for praise. Just like you were as a boy.”

A strangled sound escapes me—a moan, broken and panicked. This man is cruel.

“It’s okay, Ava,” the Sacred Light says, his gun still trained on Damian. “He’ll never hurt you again.

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