The chasm snaps shut, leaving me with an overload of scorching heat and blinding light. It’s too much.

“Michael. Michael.” Flanagan’s forest scent envelops me as he kneels to grab my shoulders. “Call it off.”

His words come to me as a distant whisper. Agony overwhelms my senses. All I can see is a red haze.

“Michael. You’ll kill them. Call it off.”

“Can’t.” I strain the word out through a steel jaw.

He yanks me to my feet and encloses me in a bear hug, standing like an oak while my body shakes uncontrollably in his arms. The Flame streaking from the soldiers spears straight through me to meet his touch. His body sucks the energy from mine and blows open a river of Flame between us. My eyes roll as I drown in overwhelming pleasure-pain. As he absorbs the turbulent energy without effort, the torture subsides, and my thoughts clarify.

His worried face emerges from a red fog.

“I’m sorry,” I croak.

He holds my head against his as I grasp his arms, my nails digging into his skin. His deep voice resonates through my ear. “This is too much. It’s going to kill you, Michael. You have to stop it.”

He has no idea how Alexei’s Call supplants my will. Denying the prince’s order feels like denying my cells oxygen.

“Too strong,” I manage.

He growls with frustration. “I can’t compel you with this amount of Flame flooding through. Fight him for me. I know you can. I know how strong you are.”

Flanagan twists to look at Alexei, then back to me. Fury wars with fear across his features. I feel his urge to lunge across the grass and strangle the vampire, but if he leaves me, I’ll be consumed. He folds me into a tighter embrace.

The prince has his hands behind his back, head tilted as he watches us, a sly smile dressing a face lit by victory. He seems aloof from the sea of agonized soldiers writhing across the lawns around him, disinterested in the turmoil. His attention is fixed solely on me and Flanagan.

The witches beside him stand with their arms out, faces contorted with concentration. Unnatural winds whip their cloaks into billowing wings. When I glance behind me, two brown-clad witches and Quinton are the only people still conscious. Even Zahir rolls across the steps, clutching his chest as my body strips him of Flame.

The councilor remains on the steps, arms out, legs apart, surrounded by an iridescent force field. But his hair lies in damp clumps across his face. Rivulets of sweat drip from his chin. His body trembles with whatever internal strain he’s under.

Bodies arch and twist on the grass around me, shuddering as my power sucks Flame from them. The howling screams saw across my nerves like jagged knives.