Page 96 of The Madness Within

“You are too late,Watcher of the Veil,” it choked. “It is cracking, and the key is already turning.”

I summoned everything I had, my fear, my fury, my bond, and poured it into my hands. The spell that formed came from instinct, not knowledge. But it burned with truth.

Light and shadow spiraled into my chest, down my arms, and out through my palms. The energy slammed into the creature like a divine hammer.

Itshattered.

Not just its body, but its existence. Gone in a flash of howling, blinding, soul-deep rupture.

Silence.

Smoke. Magic. Sweat.

I collapsed to my knees.

Dorian’s there in an instant, pulling me into his arms, cradling my face like I might vanish.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, voice tight.

I shook my head. “No. But we’re not ready for what’s coming.”

“No,” he agreed, holding me tighter. “But we will be.”

The runes on the walls still flickered faintly. And I knew, we’d drawn attention now. Whatever’s watching beyond the Veil?

It knew I was awake.

And it knew I wasn’talone.

Chapter Forty-Two

??The Night Before the Reckoning

Ember

Dorian wrapped one arm around my waist, the other bloodied hand lifted to the sky as ancient glyphs shimmered across his skin, runes of shadow and bone that pulsed with power only the old gods still feared.

The air crackled. Time warped. And with a guttural word from a language long dead, the world folded in on itself.

A rush of wind slammed against us as the shattered Veil behind my mother’s house began to seal, stitches of black flame threading through the rip, searing it shut with his blood and will.

Screams echoed from the other side, clawing to escape, but his magic roared louder. Then everything went still.

We were gone in the next breath, reappearing inside the marble foyer of his mansion, my body trembling in his arms, smoke rising from the soles of our shoes, the lingering scent of hell trailing behind us.

The room buzzed with a low hum of energy, thick with tension and the copper scent of magic. Dorian stood across from me, shirtless, bruised, but still impossibly in control, his body carved like a god, his jaw set like a blade.

“You should rest,” he said, voice low, calm, but edged like always. “Tomorrow’s going to break something. Might as well not let it be you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Aww, how sweet of you, husband. Really. Is that your version of a lullaby now? ‘Go to sleep, Ember, or the apocalypse might mess up your hair.’”

He stalked toward me, slow, deliberate, and every step made the tension in my spine twist tighter. “No,” he murmured, brushing a lock of hair from my face. “It’s my way of telling you I won’t be able to stop myself if something touches you. So I’m asking nicely, save your strength. Because if you fall… I fall with you.”

I swallowed hard, heat tightening in my chest. “You weren’t supposed to be the poetic one.”

He leaned closer, breath ghosting my cheek. “You weren’t supposed to be mine.”

But I was. And we both knew it.

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