CHAPTER 11

Darkness curled around Marga.

This, however, was different from the cold black swallowing her whole amid her crumbling world. Instead of the icy, numbing nausea that had crawled into her every cell, the darkness enveloping her now was rich, velvety, warm. Cocooning her, humming around her, it pulsed in sync with the beat of her heart.

A part of her recognized the lethal edge in this dark energy, reminded her of the destruction this power had wrought just shortly before. She knew the danger whispering underneath it. And yet, as the darkness stroked along her senses, mingled with her own magic, nurtured it, something within Marga unfurled in the complete absence of fear.

Taking a deep breath, she inhaled Atticus distinctive male scent, and opened her eyes—to darkness, again. She still couldn’t see a thing. A slight shifting of her position told her why. Atticus had curled her up in his lap, her head pressed facedown into his chest, and he’d wrapp

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