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“Yes,” he said. He wrested the butcher knife from her grasp. “It is finished now. I’m going to let you go.”

With sorrow choking him, Reichen turned the handle around in his fingers and held the point to her breast.

“Forgive me, Helene…”

Holding her tight against him, he plunged the blade deep into her chest. She made no sound as she died, just exhaled a long, slow sigh as she deflated in his arms and hung there, limp as a rag doll. As gently as he could, Reichen eased her body to the floor. The knife dropped out of his hand and fell beside her, coated with the bright crimson of their mingled blood.

Reichen took one long, unflinching look at the wreckage that had been his home. Now that it was over, he wanted to memorize every bloodstain, every life that had been cut short because of his inattention. His failure. He needed to remember, because in a short while none of this would exist.

He couldn’t let any of it remain, not like this.

Nor would he would let these deaths go unmet.

Reichen pivoted and strode away from the carnage. His boots echoed hollowly on the wood floor in the hall, his steps the only sound in what had become a grisly mass tomb. By the time he reached the front lawn of the estate, his chest was no longer tight but cold.

As cold as stone.

As cold as the vengeance he intended to visit on Wilhelm Roth and all those associated with him.

Reichen paused outside on the moonlit grass. He faced the mansion and, for a moment, simply watched it in its perfect, eerie quietude. Then he whispered a prayer, old words that felt rusty on his tongue for their neglect.

Not that prayers would do him any good now. He was forsaken, now more than ever. Truly alone.

Reichen dipped his head to his chest, summoning his terrible talent. It swelled within him, a heat that swiftly intensified, balling into a molten, churning orb in his gut.

He let it grow. He let it turn and gain strength until his insides felt seared by its fury.

And still he held it back.

He kept it inside him until the fireball banged against his rib cage, smoke and cinder drifting up to burn the back of his throat. Until the fireball consumed him, illuminating his entire body with a white-hot glow. He staggered on his heels, fighting to keep it building until he knew it would wreak total, instant destruction.

Finally, with a grief-filled roar, Reichen turned loose the power within him.

Heat shot out of his body, tumbling and spinning as it sped forward, a sphere of pure explosive energy. Like a missile deployed on a laser-sighted target, the orb rocketed into the open door of the Darkhaven mansion. A second later, it detonated, a thing of awesome, hellish beauty.

Reichen was knocked back with the sonic blast of the explosion.

He lay in the grass, watching with detached satisfaction as the flames and sparks and smoke devoured even the tiniest pieces of what had been his life.

CHAPTER

Twenty-eight

W e’re loaded up and ready to roll, Renata. Do you need more time before we head out?”

Standing in the gravel drive in front of the lodge, Renata turned as Nikolai approached her from behind. “No. I don’t need any more time here. I’m ready to leave this place.”

He wrapped his arms around her, cocooning her in his strength. “I just talked with Gideon. Tegan, Rio, and the others are making good progress. They should be at our rendezvous point within the hour.”

“Okay. Good.”

Renata leaned into his embrace, glad for his sheltering warmth… and his love. Nikolai had kept her near him in their vine haven until the sun had set, soothing her fears with his body, transporting her away from the ugly reality of what had originally brought them together—and what might lay in wait for them tonight, when they finally had the opportunity to confront Edgar Fabien.

The truth was, she was worried about what they might find. Bone-deep worried, and even though Nikolai hadn’t said anything to suggest that he had his doubts too, she could tell that his mind was heavy with thoughts he seemed determined to hide from her.

“You can tell me, you know.” She