Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
We settle on the loveseat by the fire, Hanna wrapped in a blanket, and me perched beside her with my cat purring like a tiny engine in my lap.
The tea smells like chamomile and something darker underneath—maybe clove or star anise. It warms my hands as I pass her a cup.
As she sips, color begins to return to Hanna’s cheeks. After a while, her shaking eases.
“I’m sorry I was so upset,” she says, staring into the fire. “It’s just… I feel like I’m getting sucked away somehow. It’s so weird… it’s like there’s less of me here than there was this morning.”
My heart drops into my shoes.
Less of her—what an awful thought!
I feel terrible, but I force my expression to stay calm.
“It’s been a hell of a day,” I say, giving her arm a squeeze. “Anyone would feel off after everything that’s happened.”
She nods, but her eyes don’t leave the dancing flames.
“I’ve sat with a lot of people at the end,” she says quietly. “I know what it feels like when someone is…slipping away. And this—” She presses a hand lightly to her forehead “—this feels too familiar.”
I swallow hard. I can’t freak out. I can’t let her see how terrified I am. But the idea that I’m losing her—that she feels herself going—is absolutely horrifying.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I say, with a lot more confidence than I feel. “Lucian is handling this. He’s already working on getting you home.”
I hope my voice doesn’t betray how badly I need that to be true. At least it doesn’t shake.
Hanna finally looks at me, her green eyes quizzical.
“You trust him,” she says. “You really do.”
It isn’t a question, but a statement of fact.
I hesitate for a minute, considering…then I nod.
“Yes, I do. ”
The truth of the words surprise me. Yes, I do trust Lucian. Even though he brought me here against my will, he’s been nothing but gentle and careful with me ever since. And he’s rescued me twice. Yes, I trust him.
Hanna exhales slowly and leans her head against my shoulder.
“Okay,” she murmurs. “Then I’ll trust him too.”
I wrap an arm around her and hold her, staring into the fire. Mr. Mittens settles himself, purring, between us.
Please let everything be okay, I think. Please let Lucian be able to fix this.
Because if he can’t—
I can’t even bear to let myself finish the thought.
57
Lucian
The device waits where it always does.
Hidden behind wards and silence, in the innermost chamber of my office, it rests upon a pedestal of black stone—ancient, patient, and hungry.
I produce the communication device I use to contact and speak with other Dons of the Shadow Realm—a shallow silver basin, etched with sigils of binding so old they predate the Syndicates themselves. The metal is cold beneath my fingers—colder than steel—colder than bone. The runes along its rim pulse faintly, responding to my presence, to the power that coils inside me like a living thing.
Into it I pour the black water, drawn from the Wells of Night.
The liquid smokes as it hits the metal, shadows writhing like snakes. The air thickens immediately, heavy with ozone and grave-dust and the copper tang of blood magic forced awake. The chamber dims, the walls seeming to recede as if reality itself is stepping back to make room.
I step forward, pressing my hand to the rim.
Power surges through me—sharp and burning—mingling with the magical tether that bridges the Syndicates. It is not a gentle thing—just like the Crimson Eye, it claws through my veins, stoking the embers of my Blood Lust and reminding me of everything I am and everything I must keep leashed.
The water ripples and darkens until a skull-faced visage rises to the surface.
Bone-white, antlered, and hollow-eyed, Don Malthus appears.
I do not waste time.
“What in the Underworld do you think you’re doing, sending one of your fiends to Soul-mark a guest under my roof?” I demand, my voice cold with fury.
The skull tilts slightly. When he shrugs, it is accompanied by the soft sound of bones clacking together.
“I am simply claiming my own Curvy Queen.” His deep, quiet voice holds no remorse.
Rage detonates inside me, hot and violent enough that the basin trembles.
“How dare you send an emissary into the territory of another Don to take what is not rightfully yours?” I growl.
“And how is what I did any different from the way you took your own Curvy Queen?” Don Malthus asks coolly. “You didn’t ask permission to bring the lovely Julia over, did you? No—you simply saw her and took her. Exactly as I plan to take Hanna.”
The words strike where I am weakest. He’s right—I did take Julia against her will without so much as a by-your-leave. But I did not violate another Don’s territory to do it!
I bare my fangs at his skull-masked visage.
“This is grounds for war between our Syndicates!” I tell him.