But he pulled himself back by sheer force of will. Livia wasn’t worth the cost of losing his future. Of losing Nekoda and his mother. They were the prize.

Hoping Aeron and Nashira weren’t setting him up like Livia had, Nick did what they said and punched a hole from Agonia back into the mortal realm he called home.

For a full terrifying minute—the longest one of his life—he didn’t think he could do it. But after a few more nerve-wrecking seconds, he finally made the hole through.

He allowed Nashira and Aeron to cross over first, and then he followed through and closed the portal.

“Where are we?” Aeron asked in a low whisper as he glanced about at the bed and dresser.

“My room.” Nick kept his tone barely audible. Just in case.

Using his telepathy, he reached out to Kody to see where everyone was.

She didn’t respond.

His panic set in. They should all be here, in his house, where it was safe and protected.

Why weren’t they here?

Nashira touched his arm to anchor him. “Breathe, Malachai. Don’t panic. Don’t get angry. Not until you have more information.”

Grateful for her presence, he closed his eyes and used his powers to search the condo.

It was empty.

Rage tore him apart as he saw the blood and fighting in afterimages that had been recorded by Menyara’s spells. Noir had been here and he’d attacked them all.

“Nick … Calm yourself.”

Honestly? He didn’t want to be calm. He wanted Noir’s throat. The Malachai in him was a fierce, demanding beast.

And right now, it was hungry. Bloodthirsty. It craved the throats and hearts of his enemies.

Of anyone who’d ever done him harm.

His breathing ragged as he struggled for control, he opened his eyes to stare at Aeron. “Is this how the world looks to you, too?”

“Do you know what my name means?”

Nick shook his head.

“Carnage and slaughter. Back in the time when the Dagda and the Mórrígan ruled, there were altars set for me throughout the kingdoms where we were worshiped. The day before a battle was to be fought, three strong warriors—two men and one female, in the prime of their youth—would be sacrificed to me to ensure me favor for their cause and their victory.”

“And I should take what from all that?”

“That it was never the blood of me own that I hungered for. It’s the throats of me enemies I crave. Their blood that nourishes me hunger and makes me want to feel it washing over me skin and bones, until I’m drunk from it. So, aye. I understand what you see and feel. That need you have to rip them apart and relish every cry they scream for mercy and death.”

Nick took a step to the left.