Damen looks at her, preparing to charge, to take her down and put an end to all this. I canfeel it in the way his energy shifts. I cansee the plan forming in his head. But I quickly warn him against it—pleading with him to stay calm and still and to not do a thing. She’s baiting him, expecting no less than an ambush, and there’s far too much at stake to play it that way.

“Haven, no one’schoosing anything,” I say. “Because no one’s playing your stupid little game. So why don’t you just let go of Jude, hand over the shirt, and try to get a grip on yourself—on yourlife. Believe it or not, I’m still willing to help you. I’m still willing to put all the bad stuff behind us, so you can recover.

Seriously. Just—just give me the shirt and let go of Jude and—”

“Choose!” she screams, her whole body shaking so badly my gut jumps into my throat when I see how closely the shirt veers toward the flames. “Fugging choose already, sheesh!”

And even though she means it, even though her eyes blaze with rage, I just look at her and shake my head.

“Fine.” She glares. “If you two won’t choose, then I’ll choose for you. But just remember, you had your chance.”

She turns toward Jude, her lips parting as though she’s about to say something, something that might be good-bye orgood luck orgood riddance or—or anything of the sort.

But it’s not real.

She’s trying to throw us all off.

Make us think Jude’s not long for this world when she couldn’t care less about him.

It’sme she wants to hurt.

It’sme she wants to destroy.

And she’s determined to take all of my hopes and dreams along with it.

So I lunge.

Just as Damen lunges to save Jude, and Jude lunges to kill Haven.

Coiling his fingers into a fist, aiming right for the very center of her torso—her third chakra—her one major weak spot—just like I taught him.

Only it doesn’t connect.

Damen inadvertently catches him in midflight and knocks him off course at the very last second.

While Miles instinctively, nobly, foolishly, rushes forward to help me, only to get caught in Haven’s snare as she grips the shirt in one hand and her best childhood friend in the other.

Her fingers squeezing tightly around his neck as Miles kicks and gasps and struggles to free himself.

And one look in her eyes is all it takes to see that she means it.

To see just how dark and evil she’s become.

Everything they’ve shared means nothing to her.

She has every intention of killing him if for no other reason than to hurt me.

To force me into choosing, whether I like it or not.

Flashing me one last, horrible grin as she squeezes Miles so hard his eyes are about to burst from his head—simultaneously shrieking with delight as she drops the shirt into the blazing fire where it’s greedily met by the flames.

All of it happening so quickly, in less than a fraction of a second, though it seems to play out in slow motion before me.

Her face looming, hateful and obscene, gleaming with the victory, the absolute thrill—of getting to me.

So while Damen untangles himself from Jude, I draw back my fist, recalling the manifested version of this scene I rehearsed all those months ago, and noting how it’s nothing like the all-too-real version that plays out before me.

Mostly because I have no regrets.

No reason to apologize.

No choice but to kill her before she kills Miles.

I slam my knuckles straight into her chest, feeling it connect smack into the sweet spot.

Seeing the flash of shock in her gaze, as Damen snatches Miles from her grasp, and I leap into the flames.

My flesh scorching, burning, bubbling, peeling—the pain white hot and agonizingly searing.

Though I pay it no notice.

I just keep going, reaching, grasping, seeking.

All of my focus narrowed down to this one single thing—trying to save the shirt—even though it’s clearly too late.

Even though it’s been swallowed whole, consumed by the flames, leaving no trace that it ever existed.

Vaguely aware of the sound of Miles’s and Jude’s frantic cries coming from somewhere behind me.

Vaguely aware of Damen’s arms grasping, holding, soothing, pulling me out of the fire and smothering the raging inferno that’s consuming my clothes, my hair, my flesh.

Pulling me tightly to his chest, whispering into my ear over and over again that it’ll all be okay. That he’ll find a way. That the shirt doesn’t matter. The important thing is that Miles and Jude are safe and we still have each other.

Begging me to close my eyes, to look the other way, to avoid the hideous sight of my staggering, gasping, dying, former best friend.

But I don’t listen.

I allow my eyes to meet hers.

Taking in her snarl of hair, her blazing red gaze, her sunken cheeks, her emaciated body, her crazed expression, and her voice filled with absolute, all-consuming hatred when she screams, “This isyour fault, Ever.You’re the one who made me this way! And now you’re gonna pay for this—I swear you’re gonna—”

Unable to stop looking even after she crumbles, and breaks, and swiftly slips away.

Chapter 39

“You had to do it.” Damen looks at me, mouth grim, brow creased with concern. “You did the right thing, you had no choice.”

“Oh, there’s always a choice.” I sigh, meeting his gaze. “But the only thing I feel badly about is who she became, the way she chose to handle her power, her immortality. I don’t feel badly about the choice that I made. Iknow I did the right thing.”