POV: Elias Beaumont
He lunged again, jaws snapping where my throat had been a second before. I rolled away and shifted back to human form.
"Dorian! Listen to me," I begged. "The Ancient One is using you. Just like she used Marcus, just like she tried to use Orion!"
For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—recognition, maybe even sorrow. Then it disappeared, replaced by cold hatred.
"She has shown me the truth," Dorian's voice rumbled, strangely deep. "Amara belongs to me. The bloodline belongs to me."
He charged, shifting midleap into human form and tackling me to the ground. His hands closed around my throat.
"You had your chance," he hissed, his face inches from mine. "You rejected her. You picked Kamla."
Guilt cut through me sharper than any claw. He was right. I had denied Amara when she needed me most.
"That was... a mistake," I choked out. "One I'm... trying to fix."
Dorian's grip tightened. "Too late."
