A bolt of light flashed from the shirt, whipping out faster than I could track. Dropping the vial, I rose as the gold light raced to form a circle.
Spinning around, I pushed—pushed hard with my legs as the circle completed. The light pulsed, streaming upward as I jumped through it, hitting the ground on my hands and knees just outside the circle as the light collapsed.
“God,” I whispered, pushing my braid back over my shoulder. That was...that was too close of a call.
I stood, turning back. I couldn’t see any signs of the light. I could barely make out the lump of his shirt in the encroaching shadows, but it was done.
The park lights flicked on as I stood there, chest rising and falling rapidly. My grace hummed in me, ramped up by my anxiety.
Please.
Please.
Please.
Lifting my gaze to the now dark sky, I strained to see anything. There was nothing. Not even a hint of a star. What if this didn’t work? What if I did something wrong? Was I supposed to dump the contents out first and then cut myself? I should’ve written the instructions down, because my memory—
I saw him only for a second before he dropped out of the sky, landing in a crouch mere feet from where I thought the circle started.
My heart stammered as he rose, his wings emanating a soft white glow as he spread them wide. Show-off. He’d changed into a faded pair of jeans. Where he got them, or better yet, who he borrowed them from, I decided I didn’t want to know.
At least right now.
From opposite sides of what I hoped was a functional trap, we stared at one another. Too many seconds ticked by unused. I needed to get him in the trap.
I stepped forward, only about a foot. “Miss me?”
His head tilted. “You did something. I know you did. I felt this uncontrollable urge to come here.”
“You weren’t watching me?”
He shook his head. “I can no longer watch you.”
Because he could no longer trust himself? There wasn’t time to figure that out. “Well, I didn’t want to walk the streets looking for you.”
“I told you to stay away from me. That I would hurt you,” he said, voice a low rumble. “And yet, you did something to bring me to you. I’m beginning to believe you have a death wish.”
“You think you can kill me?” I summoned my grace, and it responded in a rush. The corners of my eyes turned white as whitish-gold light spilled out from my shoulder, swirling down my arm. The hilt of the Sword of Michael formed against my palm, warm and welcomed. The flaming blade erupted, crackling and hissing. “Then come and get me, Fallen.”
For a heart-stopping moment, I didn’t think he would rise to the challenge. That he’d refuse, and while that could be further proof that he was still in there, I didn’t need Zayne rearing his head right now. I needed the Fallen.
“I don’t think it’s a fight you want.” A cruel smile twisted his lips. “It’s me.”
My skin flushed but I lifted my chin. “Maybe it is you I want. Maybe not.”
His head twisted from side to side and then his jaw hardened. “Can’t say I didn’t try to warn you,” he growled, and he moved so fast that he was nothing but a blur of gold and white.
But I saw the moment he entered the trap.
Golden, shimmery light pulsed low to the ground, in the shape of a circle. Zayne skidded to a stop, his chin dipping as he stared at the fading light—at his shirt.
He lifted his head. “What did you do?”
“Leveled the playing field.”
His lips pulled back, and the sound that came from him sent a bolt of fear through me. It was inhuman. Terrible. He charged forward, and I braced for the trap to fail—
He jerked to a stop, hands balling to his fists, and he was close enough I could see the fury etched into his features. His upper body tipped forward. Tendons stood out from his neck. Muscles flexed along his shoulders as he fought, but he went down on his knees, just like the Crone promised.
Vivid, burning eyes lifted to mine. From his heaving chest, his voice rumbled, “You cheated.”
“I did.” I brought the sword forward, wrapping my other hand around the hilt.
His eyes narrowed. “You going to use that? On me? Thought you loved me, little nephilim?”
“I do,” I whispered, throat and eyes burning.
“Love,” he spat as his wings lowered and his chest rose, as if he were daring me to do it. “Do your worst, nephilim, but strike true. If you don’t, I will get out of this. Then I will destroy you and I won’t care.”
“But I think you would,” I told him as tears blurred his features. I stepped forward. “I love you. I love you now and I’ll love you forever.”