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Domitilla POV

“Wake up, angel. Please… wake up.”

Gosto’s voice reached me first, threading through the haze like a lifeline. I fought toward it, breaking the surface of unconsciousness until his face beloved, worn with worry filled my vision. Relief bloomed across his features the moment my eyes fluttered open, his smile stealing the breath from my lungs.

I was in his lap. He cradled my head with trembling hands, gently stroking my hair, and I shuddered from the overwhelming wave of safety that surged through me. Tears blurred my sight.

“Gosto,” I rasped, my voice thin and cracked. “You’re here... this isn’t a dream.”

“No, angel,” he murmured with a soft chuckle, shaking his head before pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I came for you. I had to.”

But as awareness returned, so did panic.

“Where’s Aronne?” I asked, heart thudding, eyes searching the crumbling chamber.

He gestured toward the blood-stained stones surrounding the desecrated fountain. “Gone,” he said, but his tone betrayed him. A tremor of unrest threaded through his words and through the ground. The floor shivered beneath us. Pebbles rained down from above.

I turned to him, fear hollowing out my chest. “What’s happening?”

Gosto cupped the side of my face, brushing hair from my cheek. “We don’t have time. I need to get you out of here. Fosco should be near the temple by now.”

Before I could respond, he gathered me in his arms and carried me toward the arched exit. But the moment we stepped across the threshold, a wall of crimson light flared to life, halting us with a violent crackle.

“Fuck,” Gosto growled, gently setting me on my feet. My legs buckled, and he steadied me with a hand around my waist.

I reached out. The barrier pulsed with magic dense and ancient and burned against my skin like the cursed crystal had. My power was flickering back to life, but it was no match for this.

“It’s Beliale’s power,” I whispered.

“I know,” he bit out.

I leaned into him, swallowing a scream of helplessness. “I saw Aronne cast something before everything went black… I didn’t understand”

“I should’ve stopped him,” Gosto said, pulling me close. “If I’d known”

“No,” I cut him off, reaching to touch his cheek. “This wasn’t your fault.”

But his eyes were tight with regret. I turned from him, drawn to the statue looming at the center of the fountain. The stone around it cracked violently. Chunks of its claws crumbled, revealing sinewy, nail-like flesh beneath.

My blood froze.

“He’s waking,” Gosto said, voice quiet and grim. “But I won’t let him rise. Not while you’re still in this place.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, struggling to summon Sibilla’s words. “The blood…” I murmured.

“What?” Gosto looked at me sharply.

“I had another vision of her,” I said, the memory striking through me like lightning. “She said Lucifer’s blood is toxic to all demons. Aronne had it in his veins… ironic, right? He was meant to resurrect Beliale, but it was killing him. That’s why he had to drink so much of mine to neutralize the poison.”

Gosto inhaled sharply. “So… your blood carries the poison that could destroy Beliale?”

I gave him a shaky nod. He led me back to the fountain, where the statue trembled above us. He snatched up a nightstone blade from the rubble, sliced into his palm, and let his blood drip onto the stones. The droplets turned black, then vanished, as if devoured by the stone.

With a curse, he made a deeper cut, blood streaming from his hand still, it disappeared.

“Did Sibilla tell you anything else?” he asked.

I knew what she meant now. Her warning pierced me with cruel clarity. My stomach turned.

“I… I don’t want to say it,” I whispered, shaking my head.

“Domitilla.” Gosto’s voice was calm, coaxing. “Tell me.”

I looked into his eyes. “She said… it’s always blood for blood.”

His jaw clenched. “Of course it is,” he said bitterly, then stepped into the fountain, sword in hand.

My pulse spiked. Horror clutched my chest. “Gosto, no! What are you doing?!”

“What I must,” he said softly, just as the temple quaked once more.

“No! If you spill that much blood” My voice cracked. “You’ll die.”

He looked at me then, and I saw a sadness I’d never seen in him before. Beautiful. Final.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to say…”

My heart broke, splintering before he even spoke the words. I knew what they would be. I’d wanted to hear them for so long but not like this.

“Don’t say it,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

He smiled, dry and weary. “She told you about the curse, didn’t she?”

I nodded, unable to speak. A thunderous crack echoed across the temple as a massive shard of the statue fell away, exposing a black horn.

Gosto turned to face it, closed his eyes for a breath, then looked at me again.

“I love you, Domitilla.”

Then he drove the blade into his own heart.

“No no, no!” I screamed, collapsing to my knees. “You can’t die! I won’t let you die!”

Blood gushed from the wound, thick and endless. Where it touched the stone, it turned black, consuming every trace of Aronne’s taint.

He fell to his knees. Shivering. Dying.

“You have to heal!” I shouted. “Why aren’t you healing?!”

But his eyes were glassy, emptying of color, of light. He couldn’t hear me.

Frantic, I tried to reach him but a surge of power flung me back. His blood had filled the fountain, and the corruption was spreading. Black veins crept up the statue until, with a deep groan, the entire form of Beliale cracked and turned to dust.

But before relief could anchor in my chest, Gosto’s body collapsed.

“No…” I whispered.

The barrier around the fountain dropped. I threw myself toward him, hands searching for warmth. He was still. Cold. His chest, though gashed, no longer bled.

“Powerful vampires can survive heart wounds,” I told myself. “He can recover. He has to…”

I pressed my palm to his chest, desperate to feel something. A flutter. A flicker. Anything.

“Please,” I sobbed. “Don’t leave me.”

My tears fell onto his skin, my fingers trembling. I needed a miracle. I deserved one.

I closed my eyes.

And something answered.

A fire ignited beneath my skin wild, radiant, divine. It pulsed through every nerve, filling my veins with light. I recognized it instantly. My true power. The Nephilim blood awakened, and it surged into my hands as I touched Gosto again.

“He said I carry life,” I whispered, remembering Aronne’s words. I clung to that hope and poured everything I had into Gosto’s still body.

“Live,” I whispered. “Live. You have to live.”

Over and over again. I didn’t know how long I begged. My tears didn’t stop.

Then

Warm fingers brushed them away.

“Open your eyes, my angel.”

I gasped and looked up. His eyes were open. His voice, gentle.

“Gosto…” My voice cracked on his name as I sobbed with joy.

“You didn’t die.”

“I did,” he said with a hoarse laugh. “But one very stubborn angel wouldn’t let me stay that way.”

He cupped my cheeks, drawing me to him, and kissed me.

“I love you.”

“No!” I said sharply, pulling back. “The curse”

“I’ve already died, Domitilla,” he said with a smirk. “I doubt Sibilla’s going to make me do it twice.”

I glared at him, half furious, half relieved. “I’m not taking that chance.”

“I love you,” he said again and kissed me like he meant to make the world stop.