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)
“Hanna?” I rush forward, pounding on the rickety wooden panel. “Hanna, are you okay? Answer me!”
She does answer me but not with words—all I hear are more horrified screams and even worse, the damn door won’t budge an inch! It looks rickety but I can’t get it open, no matter how hard I try.
Suddenly, our bodyguard is there, shoving me firmly aside.
“Stand back,” he growls and kicks the door in with one powerful blow.
Inside, Hanna stands frozen, eyes wide with terror and facing her is something wrong.
I see a ghostly figure, half-formed, its shape wreathed in shadow. One skeletal hand stretches toward her, a single finger extended.
“Get the fuck away from her,” the bodyguard growls. He lunges at the thing—but the specter moves faster.
It presses its finger to Hanna’s forehead, and I think I hear a faint hissing-sizzling sound—almost like it branded her somehow.
Then it’s gone. One minute it’s touching her and the next it has completely disappeared.
“Oh God!” Hanna gasps and collapses to her knees.
“Oh my God,” I cry, rushing to her. “Are you all right? What was that thing?”
“I don’t know,” she whispers and begins to cry as she covers her forehead.
The bodyguard searches the hut and the vines beyond, but there’s nothing. I barely notice him—all my attention is fixed on my friend.
“What did that thing do to you?” I demand, pulling Hanna’s hand away from her head.
For just a second, I see it—a symbol burned into her skin—a black sigil shaped like a skull half-hidden in shadow.
Then it fades and there’s nothing there at all—or at least, I can’t see it. I have an idea it’s still there, right between her eyes—I just can’t see it anymore.
“Did it hurt you?” I ask.
Hanna shakes, still sobbing.
“I don’t know. I think so. I don’t know. Please, I just want to go home!”
“Of course you do,” I say, trying to soothe her. “We’ll go right away.”
The day is utterly ruined, of course. We just need to get someplace safe, I tell myself—someplace Hanna can feel calm, and we can find out what happened to her.
We’re ushered back to the carriage. The sommelier, who was so cold to us earlier, is now frantically apologetic.
“My Lady, I have no idea how this could have happened! Please accept my personal apology,” he babbles, packing bottles of wine—including the Passion Wine—into the carriage with us. “To settle your nerves,” he says, when I tell him that’s enough, we need to go.
This much wine could settle anyone’s nerves—even a raging alcoholic, I think, but don’t say. At last our bodyguard slash carriage driver manages to push him away and leans into the carriage.
“If I had to guess, my Lady,” he says grimly to me, “I’d think that was some kind of spy from the Hollow Necropolis.”
Hanna goes pale.
“You mean…the place ruled by the skeleton Don?”
The bodyguard looks sorry that he spoke.
“I don’t know for certain, my Lady,” he says formally. “I’ll have to speak to Lord Lucian about it. For now, let’s get you home.”
He shuts the carriage door firmly and I wrap my arm around Hanna’s shoulders. She’s still shaking and pale with fear so that her freckles stand out like ink spots on her parchment-pale skin.
“Do you think…think he’s following me?” she whispers. “Do you think he marked me, somehow?”
“I’m sure he’s didn’t,” I lie. “You’re okay now—it’s safe in here.”
I hope.
Hanna nods shakily, clearly willing to be soothed.
“Thanks, Jules. Can I have some more wine?” she asks.
“Sure.”
Without checking the label, I open a bottle and start to pour it into one of the glass tumblers that Etienne packed with the bottles. Then I stop myself—this isn’t exactly the time for propriety.
“Fuck it,” I mutter and hand her the bottle.
“Thanks.” Hanna takes a swig and hands it back to me with a sign.
“That helps.”
“Good—I’m glad.” I take a swig as well—it does make me feel calmer even though the wine makes my head feel swimmy and my body tingles strangely. I pass the bottle back to Hanna.
She drinks…I drink again…we just keep going.
The wine calms me…warms me.
I have no idea what it’s about to cost me.
53
Lucian
The first sign that something is wrong is not a scream or a magical flare—it is the sudden tightening in my chest, sharp and instinctive—like a blade drawn close to my heart.
The connection between Julia and me—born from me tasting her blood—is still new, still fragile but I know enough to listen to it. It goes taut, vibrating with unease. Not pain…not terror. But something cold and wrong, like frost creeping across warm stone.
I am already standing before I realize I have moved.
The Blood Lust stirs, a restless coil awakening beneath my ribs. It is not hunger this time—it is alarm. My magic responds before my mind can shape the thought, surging up my spine, demanding action.
I cross my study in long strides and retrieve the Crimson Eye from its obsidian stand. The artifact is heavy in my palm, its surface dark as dried blood, threaded with veins of dull crimson light that pulse faintly as if sensing what I intend.