Chapter 1

“You’ll never beat me. You’ll never win this one, Ever. It’s impossible. You can’t do it. So why waste your time?”

I narrow my gaze and peer into her face—taking in her small, pale features, her dark cloud of hair, the absence of light in her hate-filled gaze.

My teeth clenched tightly, voice low and measured, I say, “Don’t be so sure. You’re running a serious risk of overestimating yourself. In fact, youare overestimating yourself. I’m one hundred percent sure of it.”

She scoffs. Loudly, derisively, the sound of it echoing throughout the large empty room, bouncing off the plank wood floors to the bare white walls, meant to scare, or at the very least intimidate and throw me off my game.

But it won’t work.

Can’t work.

I’m too focused for that.

All of my energy concentrated down to one single point, until everything else fades away and it’s just me, my readied fist, and Haven’s third chakra—also known as the solar plexus chakra—the home of anger, fear, hate, and the tendency toward putting too much emphasis on power, recognition, and revenge.

My gaze narrowed on its location like a bull’s-eye, right smack dab in the center of her leather-clad torso.

Knowing that one quick, well-directed jab is all it’ll take to reduce her to nothing more than a sad bit of history.

A cautionary tale of power gone wrong.

Gone.

In an instant.

Leaving nothing behind but a pair of black stiletto boots and a small pile of dust—the only real reminder that she was ever here.

Even though I never wanted it to get to this point, even though I tried to work it out, tried to reason with her, to convince her to come to her senses so we could move toward some kind of understanding—cut some kind of deal—in the end, she refused to give up.

Refused to give in.

Refused to let go of her misguided quest for revenge.

Leaving me with no choice but to kill or be killed.

Leaving me with no doubt of how this one ends.

“You’re too weak.” She circles. Moving slowly, carefully, her gaze never once leaving mine. The stiletto heels of her boots assaulting the floor as she says, “You’re no match for me. Never were, never will be.”

She stops and places her hands on her hips, head cocked to the side, allowing a stream of glossy dark waves to fall over her shoulder and hang well past her waist. “You could’ve let me die months ago. You already had your chance. But you chose to give me the elixir instead. And now you regret it? Because you don’t approve of what I’ve become?” She pauses long enough to roll her eyes. “Well too bad. You have only yourself to blame. You’re the one who made me this way. I mean, what kind of creator kills her own creation, anyway?”

“I may have made you an immortal, but you took it from there,” I say, the words firm, deliberate, ground out between clenched teeth, despite Damen having coached me to stay quiet, stay focused, to make it swift and clean, and not unnecessarily engage her in any way.

Save your regrets for later,he said.

But the fact that we’ve found ourselves here means there is nolater where Haven’s concerned. And despite what it’s come to, I’m still determined to get to her, to reach her, before it’s too late.

“We don’t have to do this.” My gaze locks on hers, hoping to convince. “We can stop right here, right now. This doesn’t have to go any further than it already has.”

“Ha, you wish!” she sings, gleefully mocking. “I can see it in your eyes. Youcan’t do it. No matter how much you think I deserve it, no matter how much you try to convince yourself of that, you’re too soft. So what makes you think it’ll be any different this time around?”

Because now you’re dangerous—and not just to yourself, but to everyone else as well. This time is different, entirely different. As you’re about to see…

Curling my fingers so tightly my knuckles instantly blanch, I steal a second to center myself, find my balance, and replenish my light—just as Ava taught me to do—while keeping my hand low and steady, my gaze fixed on hers, my mind cleared of all extraneous thoughts, face cleared of all extraneous feelings—as Damen recently coached.

The key is to give nothing away,he claimed,to move quickly, with purpose. To get the deed done before she has the chance to ever see it coming—won’t even realize what hit her ’til it’s way past too late.

Until her body has disintegrated and her soul’s moved on to that bleak, dreary place.

Refusing her even the slightest opportunity to make a move or fight back.

A lesson learned on a long-ago battlefield that I never thought would apply to my life.

But even though Damen warned me against it, I can’t keep from apologizing. Can’t stop the words forgive me from coursing from my mind to hers. Seeing her respond in the flash of pity that tempers her gaze before it’s quickly diminished by the usual mix of hate and disdain.

Her fist rising—aiming for me—but it’s too late. Mine’s already in motion, moving forward, in full swing.

Slamming right into her solar plexus, sending her reeling—spinning—shattering—headed straight into the infinite abyss.

The Shadowland.

The eternal home for lost souls.

Aware of my own sudden intake of breath as I watch how quickly she disintegrates. Fragmenting so easily it’s hard to imagine she was ever once solid form.