The ancient stones of Warwick Castle's keep cracked under the pressure of two incompatible powers facing each other across eight centuries of history.
Seraphina stood over Damon's still form, silver fire crackling around her hands like contained lightning. His breathing was shallow, irregular, the kind that meant internal bleeding and system failure. The silver-core bullets had done exactly what they were designed to do—create wounds that couldn't heal fast enough to save him.
"Step away from him," Victor commanded from ten feet away, stolen power making the air around him shimmer with heat distortion. "We have unfinished business, you and I."
"The only business we have is me ripping your throat out." The words came out in a voice that didn't sound entirely human anymore. "Twenty-three years of psychological torture. Murdering my mother. Using me as a weapon against my own people."
