The Myths of Ophelia (The Curse of Ophelia #4)

Chapter 76

Chapter Seventy-Six

Santorina

The first instinct woke in the blink of an eye.

One moment, Ophelia was reaching toward Damien’s emblem, the final of the seven, and then, everything was brighter . Not only did the light blazing through the chamber nearly blind us, but something within my own body shifted.

It was like stirring after a deep sleep, when your senses came back to you in misty inklings rather than a downpour, but that first one was alarmingly noticeable. A tweak in your internal stasis.

Everything within me shifted as the golden outlines of seven winged beings ascended toward the endless height of the cavern.

The theater flooded with an undeniable presence, but my attention was on everything else. On the individual specks of dust floating through the air from where the rocks crumbled. On the small scuffs of boots against stone, deciphering every grunt from each one of my friends as the force of the Angels erupting shoved us all back.

A rock caught my heel, my stomach dropping as I stumbled, but?—

My hand shot out with barely a thought, steadying me against the rock wall, my reflexes sharper than ever.

I looked to Ophelia?—

But my stomach jumped into my throat.

Ophelia was…

No .

The light of the Angels blared, cutting through the room and obscuring everything again.

It stirred up a wind that swirled my hair around my shoulders, and in that breeze, a sharper scent stood out among the rest, obliterating every thought in my mind.

It reeked of something centuries old and metallic. Iron and floral, like the beautiful tragedy of bloodstained roses. It called to that awakened instinct deep in my gut, stirred a sentience in my bones that I couldn’t ignore.

And there was more, an ancient undertone that had my pulse racing.

Whipping my head around, my eyes instinctually landed on Lancaster and Mora, still slumped on the steps where they’d collapsed when their queen’s death had shredded the bargains she held them to. When they’d felt like their bones were cracking, like their hearts were being ripped from their chests as the threads of deals unraveled.

Mora stayed seated, the Angellight Ophelia had put into place around her shoulder flaring brighter, but Lancaster…he met my gaze and slowly stood, the Angels forgotten to him, as well.

The male squared his stance, as if readying for a battle. The sharp features of his face were hauntingly exquisite as he tilted his head. Even that small movement had the air stirring around him, his brown hair swinging to his shoulders. An instinct wormed through my stomach, perking up at the faint hint of his scent stretching out to me, something warm and woodsy.

A scent of the Gods layering through him.

It was a reminder of bloodstained roses; of the tragedies that befell beautiful things. Of an immortal and a human committed to slaying one another.

And as all of those clues started to link together, understanding dawned, and his eyes locked to mine.

Fae , my senses said, the Bounty bloodline waking and my fingers curling toward a weapon.

Lancaster grinned at me, canines glinting razor sharp in the Angellight. It was the look of finally finding prey that was no weakling, but a huntress in and of herself. The delighted surprise of discovering a target that was an equal .

And the hunter said, “Hello, Queen of Bounties.”