Vladimir, Voren and Seraphine reached the scene fast, their hearts pounding against their ribs like war drums. A sigh of relief escaped them, the sound collective and overwhelming, as they took in the sight before them.
The blood on the floor was Amelia's.
It pooled around her still form, a crimson tide that spread across the marble like spilled wine. Her body lay twisted, broken, defeated. The grand witch who had promised vengeance had been reduced to nothing more than a corpse on the floor.
Oriana stood up with a small smile, her posture straight, her expression serene. Not a hair out of place. Not a scratch on her skin.
"Did you think I'd die so easy?"
Vladimir pulled her into his arms, his grip fierce, desperate. His body trembled against hers, the fear of losing her still coursing through his veins like poison.
"Don't ever pull something like that again. I almost died of a heart attack."
