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)
“I have no choice,” I say. “You know as well as I that there must be a sacrifice to call a reverse portal.”
My voice echoes more than it should—my blood magic has awakened it in a way it hasn’t been in centuries.
“True, true…” Whistler nods slowly, rubbing his chin. “But this is a big one—giving up your Fated Mate. That’s something no man should have to do.”
“Enough!” I growl. The chandeliers tremble, crystal chiming softly as my temper leaks into the wards. My heart is sore enough already—I don’t want to discuss it.
Whistler falls silent at once, wisely so, and I turn my gaze back to the sigil at my feet before my expression can betray me.
Fated Mate.
The words scrape raw places inside me I did not know still existed.
Last night bound me to Julia in ways no ritual could undo. The partial bond—born of blood, desire, and shared need—has already taken root. I can feel it like a thread pulled taut beneath my skin, humming with her presence even now. When she leaves, that thread will not break cleanly.
It will fray…it may even pull me apart.
I know the cost. I have known it since the moment I resolved to let her go.
I may fade—slowly, imperceptibly at first but then faster until I am gone altogether. Or my Blood Lust may return unchecked, turning me into a raving monster. My strength may wane. Or I may simply end myself one night, when the silence grows too loud and the bond aches too deeply.
But none of that can be helped. Julia would never forgive me if I allowed her friend to be taken. And I would never forgive myself.
Honor is not a luxury—it is the core of who I am. Without it, a Don is nothing but a monster with territory.
I straighten, clasping my hands behind my back, forcing steadiness into my posture.
At least I can give her a future.
She will return to the Human Realm untouched by the politics of the Shadow Courts and her friend will be safe from Don Malthus. Julia will be free to live, free to laugh, free to grow old surrounded by those who love her. I cannot walk beside her there, but I am not powerless.
I cannot cross the barrier between our worlds but there are watchers I can set—guardians who will never reveal themselves. Accounts seeded quietly and wealth that will appear when she needs it.
She will never know how closely she is guarded—that is as it should be.
Still—Gods help me, I want to hold her one last time.
I want to breathe her in…to memorize the warmth of her body…to hear the sound of her voice saying my name. I want to press my forehead to hers and beg her to stay, even though I know I must never speak that word.
The pentagram awaits…the sacrifice must happen.
I lift my head, drawing in a steadying breath.
“Make ready,” I tell Whistler quietly. “When they arrive, we will not delay.”
Because if I wait any longer…
I may not have the strength to let her go.
65
Jules
The maid leads us down a corridor I’ve never seen before—one that feels older than the rest of the Crimson Spires, like it was built when people still believed in cathedrals and curses with the same unwavering certainty.
The air changes as we walk. It gets cooler…stiller. Even the carpet beneath my shoes seems to muffle sound—swallowing our footsteps as if the Spires themselves are holding their breath.
Hanna leans on me—light as a shadow. Every few steps her knees wobble, and fear spikes through me so sharp I taste it, like pennies on my tongue. I tighten my arm around her waist, trying to give her some of my steadiness…trying not to think about what Lucian said.
A week, he’d said. A week and she’ll be drawn behind the Bone Gates. But it hasn’t even been a whole day and she’s already fading!
I can’t let my mind go there—I can’t. If I imagine Hanna fading away into that skeletal nightmare kingdom, I’ll start crying and I won’t stop.
The maid opens a pair of towering double doors—dark wood carved with thorned roses and chalices and strange sigils that make my skin prickle when I look at them too long. She steps aside with a small curtsy.
And we walk into—
Oh my God.
It’s the biggest ballroom I’ve ever seen but it isn’t just a ballroom—it’s a cathedral dressed up as a palace. The ceiling soars so high it feels impossible, ribbed like the inside of a vast stone beast. Crimson draperies fall in heavy folds from iron balconies and arched floor-to-ceiling windows that stretch upward. The light in here isn’t sunlight and it isn’t candlelight—it’s something in-between—a low red-gold glow that makes everything look like it’s caught in permanent autumn dusk.
The floor is a sheet of glossy black obsidian, so polished it mirrors the room like dark water. When I take a step, my reflection slides beneath me like I’m walking on a frozen lake.