Gleam (The Plated Prisoner 3)

My lips part on a jagged, rough cry rent from the stutter in my heart. From something insipid and withering that seems to decay the very bones in my body.

“Forgive me,” he whispers again.

I couldn’t answer him even if I wanted to. My vision decays, and in the next instant, my hold on the magic snaps with the last of my strength, like a dam bursting. All I feel before I black out is a clash of metal and rot, of gold and black colliding together in a rush of heat and dust.

The last thing I hear is Slade’s voice from that moment in the library.

We all have our edge, Auren. One day, you’re going to find where yours is.

I found it, I want to tell him.

I found my edge.

The question is, did I fall, or did I fly?

Epilogue

SLADE

I’m not a male prone to feeling panic.

But when Midas grabs Auren and holds a blade to her throat, panic becomes me.

My power rears up so fiercely that I nearly stagger with it, my feet grinding into a rumbling floor.

“Use your magic, and I’ll slice her open!” Midas spits, and his shout arrests me in place.

I react instantly, yanking onto my power as I lock it down and signal for my Wrath to halt. Ranhold and Highbell guards stop too, while Queen Kaila’s men back her away, pressing her toward the far wall, trying to protect her from the exchange.

The entire ballroom goes still. Or maybe that’s just me, but time has paused, my damn heartbeat paused with it.

Auren’s body is crushed, held roughly against Midas’s chest. Her throat bobs beneath the glinting blade held there, her golden eyes wide with shock and fear. That look makes me lose my fucking mind.

I can feel my power reacting to her terror, can feel the remnants of its reach trying to leap right off my skin and strangle Midas where he stands.

My voice punches out between clenched teeth. “Let her go. Now.”

Midas only holds her tighter, eyes skimming the room.

“Hold back your rot and your soldiers, Ravinger.”

My Wrath are five steps away in their own stare-off with the guards, but they stay where they are, not moving an inch. None of them will give Midas a reason to hurt her. Digby too has frozen in place, his gaze locked on the threat.

Midas shifts his stance and digs the blade in, causing a dribble of gold blood to leak from Auren’s sensitive throat. And just the sight of that—of a single drip tracing down her skin—makes something feral open up in me.

My teeth ache with the need to sharpen, spikes threatening to puncture through my back and arms, my vision tunneling as the push for violence rattles my skull.

The tiny noise Auren lets out makes my warring soul splinter, my entire body shaking. She tries to claw his hands away from her, but the bastard has a solid hold.

Furious magic bites at my skin and arches into my feet, but I dig in, holding it back. “You are a fucking dead man,” I vow darkly.

Midas has the good sense to look worried. It was only for a blink before he shuttered the expression, but the savage fae in me relishes in it.

Good. He should be worried.

“Leave now, or I’ll slit her throat,” he grits out, steps backing away, dragging her with him.

If he thinks I’d ever leave her, he’s not nearly as intelligent as he thinks he is.