Water lifted from the river in rivulets and the sand was magically pulled from it, leaving crystal clear liquid that deposited itself in a massive clay pot. Next to it, three others had already been filled. They smiled and waved to Milla, who nodded once respectfully.
I noted that they didn’t address us in any way as we continued on.
A tent came into view, taller than the others. This one was circular in nature and made of pure white cloth, despite the reddish-brown sand drifting in the wind.
We came to a stop before it.
Two men, both shirtless and wearing cream-colored baggy pants walked over. Mila gave them a command in the foreign language. They both nodded.
“These men will show you to your tent,” she said to those behind me. Ash’s fingers ghosted my lower back as he placed a kiss on my cheek and then walked away.
When they were gone, she said, “It is time.”
I didn’t ask her time for what as she strode forward into the tent and I followed behind.
The white flap swished to the side on its own accord and closed again behind me, exactly as it was before. The scent of cinnamon and myrrh tickled my nose. The tinkle of wind chimes rang in my ears.
An old woman sat on a cushion in front of the fire. Her teeth were yellowed as she smiled sadly. Her eyes changed color, the skin crinkled in the corners.
I cursed softly under my breath as Milla took a seat beside her. “Do you know who this is?” I demanded of her.
The child didn’t even spare me a look as she replied, “The Crone.”
I swallowed hard, pinching the bridge of my nose as I inhaled sharply and exhaled slowly, pacing a foot or two. “Let me get this straight—the supposed ‘Witch Council’ is literally this old hag—who I thought no one knew about—and a little girl?” The old woman—Livina—chuffed a laugh.
“Actually, it’s just the girl,” she said, cracking her fingers and extending them toward a fire that burned without giving off smoke.
“Unbelievable,” I whispered. “You two brought me all the way out here—for what? No offense, Milla, but I could have sent Xellos with a goddamn letter for just you and not made the journey all the way out here when we have very little time.”
“You had to make a choice.”
Her words stilled me.
A sacrifice is not payment without choice.
I shivered, though I was not cold.
“What are you talking about?” I asked her, but this time Milla didn’t answer, as if I was below worthy of an explanation. I looked at the Crone. “What is she talking about?”
The old woman sighed and leaned forward. Her joints popped as she tried and failed to get up. Livina extended a hand and said, “Help an old woman, will you?”
I grit my teeth again but bit my tongue from lashing out as I silently extended my hand and she latched onto it, her bony fingers digging into the pads of mine. Despite the heat, hers were ice cold. Part of me wanted to ask. The rest of me didn’t care.
“Why am I here, Livina?”
“Because it’s almost time,” she said simply. A blue as deep as the sea filled her eyes, and I knew from her expression it was sadness that caused it.
“Time for what?” I breathed.
“The end,” Milla said. My eyes snapped to her. She was only a child, no more than thirteen, but the will of the Goddess she spoke to was strong. There was so little of that thirteen-year-old there now that it was hard to imagine any of her to begin with. “The final battle draws near. The price must be paid,” the girl said in hushed words over the fire.
“No,” I said before I could stop myself. It was a single word, and yet it condemned me. “I won’t do it.”
“Even if means an alliance?” the child asked.
My fist squeezed tightly as I tried to control my breathing.
“That’s your price?” I spat. “You want me to kill myself? To kill her?” I pointed my finger behind me in the direction that Alexandra had walked.
“No,” Milla said. “It is not my price. It’s the ancients’.”
“Yours,” I corrected. “Not mine.”
“Supernaturals and Witches broke the balance. It was the Goddesses of Supernaturals and Witches that set the price,” Livina cut in.
“Funny how none of it could have happened without you,” I replied coldly to the Crone.
“Selena . . .” Valda whispered through my mind. I ignored her.
“That’s true,” Livina said with a heavy sigh. “And my payment for that transgression will be completed when yours is.”
I lowered my hand to my side. Flame and shadow filled the tent. But not smoke. Not safety.
“You took my memories. You took my parents. Now you’re not just asking for my life, but also the lives of my sisters. Both my sisters—if Lily is even alive.” I could hardly speak the words with the knot in my throat, but I pushed past it. “It’s not fair what is being asked of me. It’s not right. It’s not balanced.”
“It’s not about being fair,” Milla said. “Your ancestors condemned the world for a thousand years and both species have paid the price. This should not have been their burden to bear. The Witches are without balance, with only the Maiden to be reborn again. The Supernaturals are without their souls, blocked from finding their signastis. Was it right that millions and millions of people had to pay for this curse?” she asked me. My heart beat faster as anger and fear and guilt overwhelmed me. “Was it fair that the Fortescues slaughtered hundreds of thousands over the years because of what Cirian became?”
I was speechless.
My throat dry. My hands shaking.
I knew the answer. I understood what she was saying, but I didn’t want to.
“No, it wasn’t.”
“No.” Milla nodded, her voice slightly condescending. “It wasn’t.”
“Three deaths of Valda and Cirian’s line is the cost that is demanded. Will you pay it?” the Crone asked.
Would I? Could I?
My life . . . perhaps. I didn’t wish to die anymore. If anything my demon and I clung to life. Desperate for all the things we’d missed and the things we’d yet to experience.
If it were only my life that they asked for . . . maybe.
But Alexandra’s? Lily’s?
My lips pressed into a firm line as I looked at the fire, at the tent, and the deep purple and red-colored pillows—at anything but them.
“No.” I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.
Livina sighed, grasping her staff. The orb began to glow, its eerie light filling the tent. She lifted it and brought it down on the sand once. A ring of blue expanded from it. Her magic washed over me. My temples throbbed. Pain bloomed within my mind.
“What did you just do to me?” I asked as I stumbled back and then forward. The ground began to spin. The world tilted.
Just as it faded to black, I heard her answer.
“Made it so that the truth will find you. It is my last gift and your last chance.”
I blinked once, and the tent was gone. The Crone was gone.
But the darkness, it consumed me.
Chapter 18
Silence. I’d finally heard true silence before it faded away.
My side lay against something hard and cold. Marble, my brain inserted. Liquid coated my bare skin and tattered clothes. Sticky, but drying.
Pain. It came from my chest.
I didn’t understand why it was there. Only that I needed it to stop. I couldn’t think past it. I put a hand to where it hurt, and had I needed air, the breath would have hissed between my lips as my fingers brushed over something sharp.
I opened my eyes.
It was disorienting at first. The stone block and splatter of blood, all I could see. I reached around and grasped the hilt of the dagger. My memories coming back now. Faster. Surer.
My hand still slick but stronger than ever, I held onto the hilt and pulled. A slicing sound so minute it was almost silent whispered through the Council chambers. My blood flo
wed again.
“You killed her,” the voice roared. It took me a moment to understand, given I’d never heard him raise his voice. Not once. Madness had him, though. I sat up, feeling eyes on me, beginning to take notice. Their expressions were horrified.
That was a difficult feat, but I’d achieved it by doing what no other had.
I’d died not once, but twice.
I’d had a true death . . . and I came back.
Again.
“She was a Made, Victor. There was never going to be more for her. You know that. She was without use.” The ancient voice slithered over me. Parched, like paper. Powerful, but not invincible. “Be done with this conversation, Son. I tire of it. There are more important matters to discuss.”
I looked down at my chest where two lines connected me and the man standing at the end of the aisle. One red. One gold.
He was my master.
He was my . . . signasti.
What an interesting turn of events. The essence in me agreed. It made things both more and less complicated.
My skin began to knit together. Muscles reattached themselves as bone fused back where it should have been. The pain receded.
I got to my feet.
And then the most peculiar thing of all happened.
My heart beat.
Just once. But it was enough.
Victor turned. His eyes widened. Black veins had crept into the white, making the silver around his pupils appear light in contrast. Blood splattered his clothes.
My blood.
“Lily?” he asked once, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.
I probably wouldn’t either. Vampires didn’t come back from true death.
Perhaps I wasn’t just a Vampire.
Perhaps I was more.
I smiled, and for the first time I let him see the truth.
I let them all see the truth.
Because it was as cold and heartless as the marble floors he’d left me to die on.
“Victor,” I said sweetly. Wickedly.
With the dagger in one hand, my shirt still ripped open, chest and stomach on display, I stepped forward. My heart beat again. It was slower than a human’s but there was no denying what it was.
The sound like a battering ram to the council chamber doors.
The Born parted for me as I started toward Victor.
I came to stand before him and noticed how his fingers trembled. His expression stunned.
The golden tether between us shimmered then glowed as I reached up and placed a hand on his chest, over his unbeating heart.
“It seems not even death could keep us apart,” I said almost thoughtfully as I dragged my eyes up his chest like the tip of a dagger. “Maybe that means we should stay together,” I mused.
I had done the research. I had read the journals about signastis who lost their other half. The first thing to go was the mind, and if they were strong enough to outlive that—the sickness got them.
I couldn’t die and the sickness couldn’t be cured.
Oh, the irony of it all . . . I started to laugh.
For months I’d dreamed of the day I could rid myself of this man. For the day that I could destroy them all.
And yet . . . I couldn’t.
Somewhere along the way I’d grown to crave his cruelty. To seek his dark smile as he applauded me for my wickedness. Those twisted feelings aside, I couldn’t kill him because the bond would eat away at me.
“Flower.” He licked his lips. The relief was obvious, as was the hunger and desperation in that word. “I don’t know what to say.”
I smiled again, and if he saw the monster behind it he clearly didn’t care. Not anymore. “Tell me to kill him.”
Some of the awe and disbelief faded in his gaze. His expression sharpened. Madness was still there, but now I knew it wasn’t just his mind. Oh no, it was the bond.
He would do anything for me now. Just because of who I am. What I am.
If not because whatever feelings he may have, then because the bond will push him to—until I let him claim me.
“If I do?” he asked, already playing games again. Truth be told, I was starting to enjoy them.
I leaned in, lifting to my tiptoes. I put my lips to the hollow of his ear and whispered so softly no one else would hear. Not even a Vampire. Not even the ancients.
“I will be yours and you’ll be mine. No one will ever take me from you again. No one will stop us.”
The words were his undoing—and mine, in a way.
I just didn’t know it then.
“Kill him,” Victor said. His command didn’t actually work on me. It hadn’t for a while now. It wasn’t until tonight that I understood why.
Yet, I obeyed all the same.
Turning from my signasti, I looked upon his father, with skin the color of death and eyes like mercury. His hair was the purest version of white I’d ever seen. His lip curled in disgust, blasphemously obscene.
“Ivan the Cruel,” I said.
“Made. Whore,” came his reply. It didn’t bother me anymore. I stepped forward, leaving black footprints behind me. Blood still dripped from the end of the dagger.
“King of Vampires, that’s what they call you. You’re so renowned for your cruelty it’s in your very title. A living legend—as much as you can be. You’re supposed to be the most powerful Vampire in the world.” I took another step and called the darkness forward. This time it didn’t stay contained beneath my skin, but instead surrounded me like a living, breathing beast.
“Just imagine,” I continued, taking another step. “What they will say after a little girl kills you. A Made. A whore.” There was no flicker of fear in his eyes. No signs that he thought I could actually do it. Just hatred and disgust.
I’d seen enough of both aimed at me to last a lifetime, even one as long as his.
My feet stilled as I came to the last step. Six feet was all that separated us.
“They say that legends never die, but they die all the time. Eventually we forget them.” He sprang forward then, faster than even Victor could.
It didn’t matter.
Before he could even touch my skin, the darkness engulfed him. It drilled beneath his flesh and bone to the source of his energy and consumed it.
Seconds. That’s how long it lasted.
But to a Vampire seconds were an eternity.
He didn’t open his mouth in a silent scream. He didn’t make a sound, nor a motion. The only thing that betrayed his thoughts were his eyes. I couldn’t decipher what that emotion was in them as I killed him.
It wasn’t fear or anger or disgust.
The thing it was most akin to was the same emotion I read on Anastasia’s face before she crumbled into a pile of dust and bones.
Relief.
That perplexed both me and the entity within as his skin began to break apart into flakes. They peeled away and began to drift as more crumbled away. Muscle. Tendons. Organs.
Ivan the Cruel had been ancient. He’d been a true legend.
And now all that would be remembered of him was the girl who killed him.
They would tell stories about this day—about the look on his face and mine. About the blood on my hands and the dagger that should have been my end. They would make me immortal with their words, but it was my strength that would make me a legend.
And I would stay one, because I could never die.
I turned, power thrumming beneath my skin. My body was but a mere vessel for the immense darkness I contained, and I loved it. The power—the way every nerve ending came to life—the looks on their faces as they realized how very sorry they were going to be. It was this feeling—this single sensation—that I loved, and it was probably the only thing I loved.
I lifted my head to the Vampire High Council and opened my mouth, preparing to say those final words that would be etched into history books.
The elevator pinged. Were I not so used to controlling my expressions, mine might have soured at
the interruption. As it was, I lifted a single eyebrow at the metal doors as they slid open.
The lack of a heartbeat gave away the Vampire that stumbled through them, falling onto the floor of the amphitheater. Loose white pants and a long-sleeved shirt covered most of his features. A turban had been wrapped around his pale blonde hair, but there was no mistaking the red eyes that looked upon me.
This was going to be good. Made never came into the Council chambers. Not without the greatest of reasons.
“We found her,” he said, getting to his feet. His eyes squinted as he looked at me, as if unsure whether I was the one he should be addressing.
“Found who?” I asked, knowing already of whom he spoke. There was only one person that could strike fear into a Vampire’s heart.
“Selena Fortescue.”
A light touch skimmed by back, the only announcement that Victor gave as he came to my side. His cool fingertips gripped my hip, pulling me closer. The gold thread between us flared to life once more. My chest squeezed, though I assumed it had more to do with the precipice I was on.
This night had been a glorious night. I’d died and come back. I’d killed Ivan the Cruel. I’d cemented my place.
And now, it was time for the most important thing of all.
Revenge.
“Where is she?” I asked, my voice high and ringing with authority. Victor’s nails bit into my hip but he didn’t reprimand me.
“Marrakesh,” the Made said. A hint of indecision ran over his features, and I narrowed my eyes. “We believe she was trying to make contact with the Witches, and we attempted to intercept . . .”
He hesitated, and Victor stiffened against me. I kept the smirk off my face with some effort. If there was one thing my signasti despised, it was those that hesitated. It made him think they were weaving lies. His paranoia had climbed to an all-time high these past months, and while that likely wasn’t the case here, I wasn’t going to tell him that.
Vessel of Destruction (Daizlei Academy Book 4) Page 13
