For a brief moment, I admired his stubborn tenacity, but it wouldn’t save him in the end. “Meghan.” Ash knelt there, the life fading from him bit by bit, even as he struggled to hold on. Could I really have loved such a weakling once upon a time? I looked down at the Unseelie prince and sneered at the pathetic figure. I felt powerful, powerful and strong, as if electricity surged beneath my skin, as if I could do anything I wanted and no one could stop me. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I should be terrified, appalled, majorly grossed out. Below the slick coating, things wiggled beneath my skin, pushing up through the surface, like leeches in blood. Shaking, I raised my hands and saw they were covered in glistening crimson, running rivulets down my arms, dripping to the ground. His hands clutched at the arrow in his chest as he fell to his knees, pale gaze beseeching mine. “Meghan,” Ash whispered, a thin line of red trickling from his mouth. He swayed, fighting to stay on his feet, and I bit down a scream. Lean and dangerous, silhouetted all in black, his hand went to the sword at his belt before he realized it was too late. Only it wasn’t Machina anymore but a faery prince with midnight hair and bright silver eyes. Machina staggered back, giving me a look of shocked horror. With a yell, I raised my arm and drove the sharpened point through Machina’s chest, sinking the arrow into his heart.

Something throbbed in my hand: the beating pulse of the Witchwood arrow. “How was it ‘supposed’ to go? What did you come here to do? Show me, Meghan Chase.” “Show me, then.” Machina opened his arms wide. “No,” I muttered, struggling against the iron net. My head throbbed and I tried backing away, but the cables held me fast. Nor did you come for the Unseelie prince you claim to love. “You did not come for your brother, Meghan Chase. “No.” Machina shook his head, moving closer. “You kidnapped my brother, Ethan, to draw me here. What did I want? What had I come for? “My brother,” I answered, remembering. I shivered, keeping my hands at my sides as the tentacles caressed my skin. “Meghan Chase,” Machina murmured, running a hand through my hair. I stepped forward to meet him as the iron cables wrapped gently around me, drawing me close. Like an avenging angel, he floated toward me, hand outstretched, a sad, tender smile on his lips. Lightning flickered in the depths of his jet-black eyes, and the steel tentacles running the length of his spine and shoulders coiled around him like a cloak of wings, glinting in the light. His long black coat billowed behind him, accenting the pale, angular face and translucent skin, the blue-green veins glowing beneath the surface. The Iron King stood before me, magnificent in his beauty, silver hair whipping about like an unruly waterfall.

The iron daughter series