Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 128374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
My body jerks in the water as if some invisible hand has shaken me. Lark’s eyes flick up to the surface. I see it now—ripples of light as the surface grows closer.
“Remember your deal with the false king. He will be true to his word. Choose your path wisely, Princess.” Her eyes sparkle in delight as she leans forward and whispers in my ear, “Now breathe.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“BREATHE!” HANDS ON MY SHOULDERS, shaking me, Sebastian’s commanding voice fills the room. “That’s right, Abriella, breathe!”
I pull in a breath, and it burns—like breathing water or drowning on air, but I take another breath. And another. Each hurts a little less.
He gathers me against his chest and strokes my hair. “I heard her,” he says. His arms wrap around me, almost too tightly, but his fear is palpable, and I can’t deny him this embrace. “I heard her singing your name.”
The Banshee. It wasn’t a dream. “Sebastian.” My voice sounds like crushed glass.
“Shh, I’ve got you.” He rocks me, but I can feel him shaking. I can feel the grief rolling off him. As if he’s already lost me. “I’ve got you. I won’t let death be the end. I promise you.”
“What?” I flatten a palm against his chest and push him back. “What does that mean?”
“Did you see her?”
I nod. “Does it really mean . . . Sometimes she’s wrong.” We saved Jalek. He didn’t die.
Sebastian shakes his head. “I don’t know. I just . . .” He swallows, anguish in his eyes. “I don’t know.”
“You said you won’t let death be the end. What did you mean by that?”
He looks away.
“Sebastian?”
When he meets my eyes, his shoulders sag. “I never imagined how helpless I would feel, loving a mortal. But it cuts at me, Brie. Every time I don’t know where you are, every time I don’t know if you’re safe. I could lose you so easily. And then I woke up to the sound of her singing your name and—” He squeezes his eyes shut. “If you die, I can’t bring you back. Once you’re gone, I can’t give you the Potion of Life.”
“You mean you can’t turn me fae.” My voice is tired and brittle.
He cups my face in his hands. “I heard her sing your name,” he whispers. “And all I could think was that the potion wouldn’t work, because we’re not bonded.”
I stiffen. “Humans have to be bonded to the fae to use the Potion of Life?”
He blows out a breath. “Whoever created the potion believed that humans might steal the magic if the bond wasn’t required.”
“I . . .” I just want to be me. To be enough for him without becoming a faerie. I never wanted to be fae. I didn’t think I’d ever want that. But with the sound of the Banshee’s voice in my head, the world looks a little different. “Bash, I’m scared.”
His eyes go shuttered. “Of the bond?”
Of what I need to do. Of losing you. Of the sound of my name on the Banshee’s lips. Of never having the chance to give you the bond you want so badly.
He doesn’t wait for an answer but settles back onto the pillows with me, stroking my arms and pulling me closer and closer. Reassuring us both.
When my heart rate returns to normal, I turn in his arms. “Tell me how it works, the bonding ceremony.”
He holds my gaze for a long time before he answers, and I get the impression that this conversation is a little heavier for him after hearing the Banshee. “The ceremony is elegant,” he finally says, “in the way that only what is pure can be. It begins with us selecting the rune that will symbolize our bond, and then I’d say some words and you’d repeat them.”
“Is there an audience?”
“Not typically, though my parents chose to perform theirs in front of a crowd in conjunction with their wedding vows.” He smiles. “I was five, and I remember being so embarrassed when they kissed and kissed, waiting for the bond to solidify.”
“You were five when your parents were married and bonded?”
His smile falls away. “My father always said it took him years to convince my mother he was worthy of her. Lately I’ve begun to sympathize with his plight.”
I nudge him with my elbow and almost smile. “Would you want an audience?”
“No. I’d want it to be just us, if only because we have to maintain a . . . a physical connection until the bond snaps into place.”
I bite my lip. “You mean sex?”
He grins and pinches my side. “Not necessarily. The magic demands a physical representation of the empathic bond. Some bonded pairs will simply hold hands, but when the connection is romantic, most couples let the intimacy of the moment guide them. The magic—it’s . . . intense. Powerful.”