Page 263 of Split or Swallow

There was no beginning and no end. The sensation bloomed from deep within her core to the tips of her fingers in a relentless snap of utter clarity. It was like being submerged in a perfectly warm bath—like floating in the world’s stillest lake. Nothing could penetrate the warm numbness that enveloped her entire body. She had no problems, no worries. There was nothing and no one that could cause her harm. There was only utter and complete ecstasy.

Caspen’s eyes flew open.

They were blacker than the night itself, endless pits of darkness that bore into Tem like knives. The wound on his neck was rapidly healing, stitching itself togeth⁠er as if it were never there to begin with. A deadly smile twisted Caspen’s lips. As if in a trance, he stood to face Rowe, who opened his mouth, but never got the chance to speak.

Instead, Caspen flicked his fingers—the gesture so casual Tem almost didn’t catch it—and Rowe’s back arched as if someone had snapped his spine in half. Tem wondered if that was exactly what had happened. Rowe fell to the floor, his face contorting as he screamed.

It was horrific. But Tem felt only bliss.

Caspen stepped forward and knelt over Rowe’s mangled body. His fingers still dripped blood as he grabbed Rowe’s neck and began to squeeze. Smoke rose from Caspen’s shoulders, curling up the curved walls of the passageway.

Through the haze of Tem’s rapture, her brain was trying to tell her something. She attempted to listen, pushing aside the waves of delirium the crest had given her, trying desperately to part the waters of her mind. Finally, a thought formed.

She tried to stand, but couldn’t. Instead she crawled to Caspen, touching his shoulder and immediately recoiling. His skin was white hot—it scalded her so sharply that the pain cut through the effects of the crest, delivering her firmly back to reality. She tried to reach for him with her mind:

Caspen.

He didn’t answer. His mind was closed off to her, surrounded by impenetrable walls of flame. She spoke aloud instead:

“Caspen.”

A muscle flexed in his jaw. He didn’t look at her.

“Stop,” she said, the word barely audible. Rowe’s fingernails were clawing at the back of Caspen’s hands, drawing more blood.

“Caspen,” she said again, louder this time. “Please stop.”

He looked at her, and she flinched at the intensity of his gaze.

“Why should I?” he growled. His voice was barely human.

“If you kill him, the Senecas will go to war with the Drakons. Your family, Caspen.”

Rowe was choking. Caspen’s grip tightened.

“He deserves to die.”

Tem pulled on Caspen’s arms with all her might, ignoring the unbearable heat of his skin. It was like pulling on molten stone.

“Do your siblings deserve to die too?” she wracked her memory for the names he’d told her so long ago. “Apollo, Agnes, Cypress—Damon? What about them?”

Caspen closed his eyes. Rowe’s were wide open, staring up at Tem with paramount hatred.

“You said there was nothing you wouldn’t do for your family,” she continued. “So do this.”

“Do not use my words against me.”

“You’re the one who said them.”

Her breath was a helpless rush. Smoke was filling her lungs.

“Please, Caspen. Have mercy.”

It was the second time she’d asked him for that. He hadn’t granted it the first time.

“Do not force me to be something I am not, Tem!”

The words were a roar. He said them with such vitriol—such loathing—that Tem knew there was no going back from this. It was one thing for Tem to ask him to spare a human life. It was quite another to beg for Rowe’s—Caspen’s enemy—someone who had done nothing but try to hurt them both.