Pressure builds everywhere—behind my eyes, in my throat, the top of my skull.

The only oxygen in my lungs is what’s already there.

I’m off the floor, airborne.

I blink to clear my vision, see my attacker. The demon has long brown hair, pale skin. White fangs that drip black saliva. Shiny red earrings that match her dress. Black-tipped claws. Dark-veined fingers and arms.

I scrabble at her hand with my nails, scratching at her skin, digging in.

I’m kicking, kicking—

One foot catches her in the kneecap. She snarls. Retaliates with a jab to the ribs—pain explodes in my side.

The demon spins me around. I gulp fresh air—before her hand covers my mouth again.

Then she’s twisting my wrists behind my back, locking them tight in her grip. Pressing me forward. My shoulders burn, scream at the joints, while she pushes me through the back door to the lawn outside. She hisses in my ear, “Come on, Scion.”

She knows who I am.

Every time I scream, her hand tightens around my jaw. Her nails dig in, sharp daggers of pain slicing my cheeks—and the furnace in my chest finally, finally wakes up.

Root flares upward from my fingertips, rushing hot and burning—she screams and releases me.

Through a curtain of tears, I see the lawn and the woods beyond. Selwyn is out there somewhere, hunting. Sel! I tumble forward, fall, then scramble toward the trees on all fours.

The goruchel dives after me, wrapping both hands around my ankles to yank me back and flip me over. She lands on my chest, straddling my waist, both clawed hands pressing my forearms up by my ears, down into the earth. I struggle, praying for Arthur’s strength to have returned too, but her hips squeeze the sides of my chest until I can’t scream or move again.

She could break my ribs without trying, crush me like a can.

Bathed in the porchlight, I see what my root has done to her face.

Her cheeks are streaked with still-smoking burns. Open, raw wounds that leak green wisps into the air and gape when she snarls.

“You didn’t say she had aether!” she says, voice harsh and low.

Jonas is at her side, panting down at me. “She’s not supposed to! What does it matter?”

Jonas. Jonas is helping her.

Oh God, no.

The goruchel eyes me hungrily. “Because with power like that, this girl is far more valuable alive than dead.”

“No!” Jonas hisses. “Get her back inside. Finish it!”

The goruchel smiles, fangs white and sharp against a ragged face. “I don’t think so.”

“We had a deal, Kizia!”

Kizia grins down at me, drawing one hand up to my glowing palm. “Deal’s off, Legendborn. This girl’s got more where that came from, I can feel it. Enough aether to fuel an army.”

“No…,” I croak. “Stop…”