But as the rending pain in my shoulder and neck became a deep, penetrating agony, I knew …

Malachi was gone.

They’d killed him.

The boy I loved had been defeated. A monster had taken his place.

And now it was going to kill me, too.

With his mouth clamped at the junction of my neck and shoulder, he pressed me up against the wall, a twisted embrace. I kicked and struggled feebly, but he caught my wrist and squeezed at just the right place, making me drop my knife.

I could barely fight him. I didn’t want to fight him. I was too destroyed by the idea that this body that had touched me with such tenderness, that had caressed me, protected me … was now tearing my flesh, sending hot venom into my bloodstream. All the Mazikin snarled and hooted, enjoying the show. My vision blurred with tears as black memories blossomed in my head: being held down with no ability to defend myself. That someone I had loved and trusted was doing this to me now drowned me in that darkness, sapping my will to survive. I slapped at his shoulders with my free hand, but it was a pathetic effort. Even with everything that had happened to me, I’d never felt this weak. Losing Malachi had sucked the fight right out of me.

Something crashed against one of the doors, and from outside came the unmistakable sounds of a struggle. “Malachi! Are you—” Henry shouted, but the rest of his words were cut off by a muffled explosion.

The creature inside Malachi released my neck. “There are two of them,” he said to the others as my blood trickled down his chin. “Kill them both. And don’t disturb me again.” Then he barked something in their growling language, the sounds foreign and horrifying coming from Malachi’s mouth. He nodded toward the exit behind the altar, on the opposite side of the room. The Mazikin whooped at him as eager grins spread across their faces, and too late it occurred to me that they hadn’t been scared of Malachi when he rose from the table—they’d been scared of this Mazikin. It had to be one of their leaders. As if to prove my theory, they all jumped for the door at once and tumbled through it, ready to join the fight in progress.

When they were gone, the monster behind Malachi’s black-brown eyes looked down at me with the strangest expression, an odd tenderness mixed with savagery. “I don’t know what to do with you, Lela Santos.”

“You killed him,” I whispered, staring at the face I knew so well and loved so much.

He grinned and licked my blood from his lips. “Not really, but he’ll regret that I didn’t. He’s in our city now. They were waiting for him. I wish I could see them celebrating.”