From Blood and Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout

severing the hand that had held mine down on the Duke’s desk, ripping
awayy the last shred of modestyy I had as the Duke brought the cane down
on myy back.
I failed you.
The Lord stumbled back against the chair, his lips peeling back as a
different sound came from them, one that sounded like the wind when the
mist came in. Spinning the sword, I swept it in a wide arc. This sword—
Vikter’s sword—found its target.
Forgive me.
I sliced Lord Brandole Mazeen’s head from his shoulders.
His bodyy slid to the floor as I raised the sword and brought it down,
hacking into his shoulder, his chest. I didn’t stop. I wouldn’t until he was
nothing but pieces. Not even when the screams and shouts became all I
knew.
An arm came around me from behind, hauling me back as the sword
was wrestled from myy hands. I caught the scent of pine and woods, and I
knew who held me, knew who pulled me back from what was left of the
Lord. But I fought—clawing, swinging to be free. The hold was
unbreakable.
“Stop,” Hawke said, pressing his cheek to mine. “Gods, stop. Stop.”
Kicking back, I caught him in the shin and then the thigh. I reared,
causing him to stumble.
Forgive me.
Hawke crossed his arms around me, lifting me up and then bringing
me down so that myy legs were trapped under me.
“Stop. Please,” he said. “Poppyy—”
I failed you.
The screaming was so loud it hurt myy ears, myy head, myy skin. In a
distant, still-functioning part of myy brain, I knew I was the one screaming
like that, but I couldn’t make myyself stop.
A flash of light exploded behind myy eyyes, and oblivion reached for
me.
I fell into nothingness.