Chapter 41 · Who's Calling the Shots?

"Choose, Julian. Right now."

Sloane's hand locked around my wrist like a steel cuff. Nails digging in. Bone grinding. She was on her knees in front of me, shaking so hard her armor rattled against the stone.

"Sloane, you're gonna snap my wrist," I rasped.

My nose was still leaking blood. My head was a drum of white noise from tearing a god apart with a few well-placed questions. I felt like I was vibrating out of my own skin.

"Good," she snapped, her eyes wild. "Then you'll feel it. Choose. You want the throne or you want me? Say it!"

"He can't choose you, little shadow."

The Overlord's voice drifted from behind her. He wasn't even standing. He was lounging on the obsidian steps like this was a damn dinner theater. "Be reasonable. He just killed a god by talking. You think Earth wants him back? You think Earth can even hold him?"

"Shut up!" Sloane snarled over her shoulder. She didn't let go of me. "Nobody asked you!"

"I did," I said, wincing. "Or, I mean—hey. Can we not do the ultimatum thing while I'm literally bleeding out?"

"No," she said, her grip tightening. "We do it now.