The Goddess’s Blade

The royal tomb was a cathedral of death, its stone walls weeping with centuries of grief, the air thick with the stench of blood, moss, and the metallic tang of magic. The red moon hung low, its light seeping through cracks in the ceiling, painting the chamber in hues of carnage. Zelda stood over Delilah, her dagger pressed to the blonde’s throat, the vial of Morgana’s final concoction—three drops to bind Grayson forever—clutched in her other hand. Delilah’s gown was torn, her swollen belly exposed, the rogue mark on her unborn pup pulsing like a wound in the air. Grayson and Kael were a tangle of claws...