FREYA’S POV
My heels sank into the gravel as I stormed out of Tenebrous’s hall, the iron doors slamming behind me, my red dress clinging to my thighs, sweat beading on my neck, my blonde hair loose, whipping in the wind, my hands fisting, nails biting my palms. The car waited, black, gleaming, its engine humming, the driver’s eyes down, his hands steady, my boots crunching stones, my breath sharp. Ryker’s smirk, his glinting rings, his filthy throne was burning in my mind, his alliance was like a bitter pill, his madness like a stench I’d endure for Lukas, and for Selenea’s death my key, the shaman’s warning—death takes you—a lie I’d crush, my heart pounding, my plan mine alone.
I slid into the car, leather cool, the door thudding shut, my hands shaking, my eyes on the road, trees blur
