“I’m learning to resist mesmerism, and I can destroy him without having to lift a finger.” Just saying it is empowering. The Corrupter may be killing me, but at least I won’t go alone. “You should want to help me. Doesn’t getting rid of Rasputin mean less competition for Team Dark Star when it’s finally Pop-Goes-Azazel?”

“You almost died tonight!” Gunnar barks, tossing his hands up. “Don’t you get that? The magic you tapped into at the school is more than a normal human body is built to withstand, and it almost destroyed you! If you try using it against Rasputin—a vampire with some actual command of the dark arts himself—you might not survive.” I open my mouth to argue, and he cuts me off. “He won’t be alone. Did you think about that? He’ll be surrounded by adherents just like William, and all of them will die to protect him.”

“Good. Let them,” I snap, harvesting anger in place of confidence.

“You still don’t get it.” Gunnar sets his jaw, shaking his head in disgust. “You barely managed to kill William before you blacked out. You don’t have the control to handle ten or more vampires at once, and Viviane isn’t going to just hand you an army to lead against Rasputin until you make her a commitment—in blood.”

Our standoff lasts a tense moment, and then his eyes flit nervously to the window. The Mad Monk isn’t the only one who’ll be trapped by the sunrise, and I remind myself that Gunnar doesn’t have to be here at all. Maybe he’s not the guy I thought he was, but he got me out of the school and stayed with me while I was unconscious. Even if his loyalty is to the League, he’s not really my enemy. But even so.

“I can’t do nothing.” I grip the couch cushions. “I’m not pledging my allegiance to anyone on an empty promise—you guys have all lied way too much for me to trust you’ll keep your word once you get what you want. And whether I die fighting Rasputin or I die during the Ascension, what difference does it make?” As I get to my feet, I try to hide how dizzy I am. “Meanwhile, the Knights aren’t gonna waste time organizing their next attack; so you can help me, or you can get out of my way, but you’re not going to stop me.”

Gunnar looks up at me, his expression a turmoil of angst and regret, and he manages a barely perceptible nod. “Okay. You win.”

“I win?” I’m so shocked I sit down again. “Uh … what do you mean?”