The king’s face contorted in agony; smoke curled from his hand. The guards drew their weapons, but Kester was already chanting in Angelic. As he spoke, his words froze the king and his guards. They grimaced with agony, the sound of crunching bones and sinews filled the room as fae bodies twisted, breaking. The king gagged, his eyes bulging.

So that’s why he got the creepy nickname.

While Kester crippled Oberon with his magic, she let go of the king’s arms, stealing a sword from one of the guards. It felt glorious in her hands, light and swift. “Where is Abrax?” she demanded—louder, so the whole crowd could hear.

Frantically, her eyes scanned the room for any signs of him by the back of the room, but it wasn’t until she turned to look back at Kester that she saw the incubus.

Abrax stood right behind Kester, tendrils of inky midnight magic curling off him like smoke.

“Kester!” she shouted.

But it was too late. In a blur of shadowy motion, Abrax snapped Kester’s neck. The crack of his spine echoed off the ceiling, and horror blared through Ursula’s skull.

Chapter 31

As Kester’s limp body crashed to the floor, Ursula lifted her sword. His spell no longer held the fae in thrall, and they snarled, eyes flashing at her. She gripped the sword, raw panic tearing her mind apart. Kester. Kester is dead. She tried to shove the horror deep into her mental vault. She couldn’t let fear overcome her now, not when a pack of furious fae surrounded her, baying for her blood.

But as she stared into the vengeful face of the fae king, something else began to surge, coursing through each of her muscles: a sharp sense of sureness, as if she knew exactly how each of her joints needed to move. Primal wrath hit her like a wave, imbuing her body with a dark power. I will avenge him.

Oberon reached behind him and drew a wicked looking sword from the sheath on his back. His eyes locked on hers, his grin a thing of terror.

But hot battle fury overtook Ursula, and she grinned back, cutting her sword through the air in a display of her skill. She was no longer Ursula. She was Vengeance, ancient and primal. When Oberon lunged, she was ready for him. His blade struck hers, and the sound of clanging swords rang out. The king was fast—almost too fast for her—and his sword slashed above her head with a whoosh.

I will avenge him.

Wrath flooded her nerve endings. She began to circle Oberon, her movements fast and precise, and she saw a glint of fear in the king’s eyes. In a lethal dance, they whirled and ducked, fast as the wind. The air rushed over her body, until the king began to falter. She scented his fear, wanted his blood.