Chapter 68

*Athena’s POV*

I catch Damon’s second off guard—a rare opening amid the chaos—and I don’t hesitate. My blade, forged from enchanted ice and burning purpose, sings through the air and slices clean through the membrane of his wing.

A scream tears from his throat as he spirals downward, his flight stolen. He plummets, flailing, helpless—an exposed target.

I don’t wait for the fall to finish. I dive.

The wind howls in my ears as I rush after him, guided by instinct and fury. My blade cleaves the air once more—and this time, it finds the soft vulnerability of his neck. A clean cut. Swift. Unforgiving.

His head snaps free from his shoulders, hitting the ground with a sickening, wet thud. A heartbeat later, his body crashes beside it, twisted and limp.

It’s done. I killed him.

The weight of that truth settles in my chest like lead—but there’s no time to feel it, no room for guilt or reflection. Not yet.

A flicker of movement catches my eye—just yards away. Crimson hair, brilliant even amid blood and fire.

Lotte.

She’s collapsed in Aiden’s arms. Something in me fractures.

No. Not her.

I break into a sprint, ice spiraling beneath my feet with every step, freezing the ground in my wake. Every rogue that dares step in my path falls before my blade, shattered or skewered. Nothing will stop me.

As I reach them, Aiden lifts his eyes to mine. And for the first time in what feels like an eternity, I see him—truly see him. No longer possessed. No longer lost in that void of obsidian. His gaze is clear... and wet with unshed tears. He begs me to help her.

The spell is broken. She did what I could not. Lotte saved him.

My throat tightens. But I waste no breath questioning how. I drop to my knees beside her, shifting seamlessly back into my human form. I press glowing hands to her broken body.

Warmth floods through me, golden and alive, pulsing into her bones, knitting fractured ribs and torn flesh. Her wounds are deep—some nearly fatal—but not beyond reach. My magic works fast, mending tendon and skin, forcing breath back into her lungs.

In minutes, she’s whole again. A few bruises linger like fading echoes, but she lives.

She blinks up at me, dazed but conscious. “Incredible,” she whispers, then slowly, determinedly, rises to her feet.

That’s when I see it—the look in Aiden’s eyes. Not just relief. Not even gratitude. It’s reverence. Raw, unguarded devotion. The same look Silas gives me when the world matter little.

They’re mates.

She breathes a shaky thank-you, shifts back into her wolf, and hurls herself into the fray without another word. Aiden and I lock eyes, exchange a single, solemn nod, and then we follow.

The battlefield stretches ahead—an endless nightmare stitched with fire, steel, and screams. All around us, the clash of fangs and weapons rages. Magic crackles in the air, the scent of blood and ash hanging thick and suffocating. We push through it, carving our path toward the heart of the chaos.

My eyes find Silas instantly.

He’s still fighting. Still standing.

Barely.

Locked in brutal combat with Damon.

And then—I see it.

Damon’s teeth sink deep into Silas’s shoulder, tearing into him with savage intent. Silas roars, thrashing, trying to break free. But Damon is locked on, relentless, blood pouring from his jaws like something feral and unholy.

“No!” My scream rips from my throat as white-hot fury detonates inside me.

I summon a jagged sphere of glimmering ice and hurl it with every shred of magic I possess. It whistles through the air and slams into Damon’s skull, sending him reeling.

Silas drops like dead weight.

I run.

I slide to a halt beside him and take position between him and Damon, blade reforging in my hand like a living thing. My stance is wide. Unshakable.

He. Will. Not. Touch. Him. Again.

Damon staggers from the blow, eyes glazed, but he doesn’t fall. Not yet.

I glance down—just once.

Silas is bleeding out. The wound is grotesque—his shoulder flayed open, bone exposed beneath mangled flesh. The sight steals the breath from my lungs.

I drop to my knees, one hand on his chest, the other over the wound. Healing magic surges through me, golden and hot—but it’s slow. Too slow. Damon is too close.

I feel him rise. Our eyes lock.

I snarl.

Back. Off.

But Damon never knew how to quit.

He steps forward.

I’m forced to stand, abandoning the healing.

Silas will have to let his wolf finish what I started.

Only then do I realize—I’m exposed. The shift left me vulnerable, bare to the cold and blood and steel. But I do not flinch.

With a thought, I summon an ice-forged bodysuit around me—light, seamless, armor refined for speed and survival. Crystal filigree glistens at the seams, glowing faintly with the pulse of my magic. Each joint is molded to perfection, allowing total range of motion without sacrificing protection.

Damon charges.

I raise my sword, its blade catching the light like the edge of winter—cold, merciless, and absolute.

You will not take him from me.

Rooted in rage and purpose, I move—fast, fluid, deadly. I strike again and again, a whirlwind of blade and snow. Each blow pushes him back, inch by inch, keeping him from Silas. I leave no room to breathe, no opening to counter.

A spinning kick cracks into his ribs, launching him backward. He slams into the ground and skids, dust and blood trailing behind.

He rises, snarling—and shifts back to his human form. Slower. Weaker. Desperate.

Perfect.

I summon my wings, white as moonlight and vast as storm clouds. Feathers shimmer like frost in sunlight as they spread behind me. My blade splits in two, becoming twin daggers of ice.

No more swordplay. No more mercy.
This will be his execution. I will be his judge, jury, and executioner.

I lift into the air, weightless and cold, and I dive. My body becomes a blur of luminous blades and white feathers.

Damon’s eyes flare with rage. He grins, feral and unhinged, baring his fangs as he braces for the impact.

I slash for his throat—fast, lethal—but he twists just in time. The edge grazes skin.

“You’re formidable, Athena,” he growls, blocking another strike. “Too bad your fire will be wasted.”

His fist crashes into my face. Pain explodes across my cheek, but I barely register it. I stumble for a second. That’s all.

I spit blood, straighten, and look him dead in the eye.

Surprise flickers in his gaze. And something colder. Something cruel.

Disdain.

He wants my power. Hungers for it. But he hates that I can stand over him.

Hates that I might be stronger.

That I am stronger.

A slow smile curls my lips. He sees it—and falters. Just for a breath.

And that’s exactly what I’ll prove. When I kill him.