Bad Blood

Sunlight seared his skin. At the pain, the beast broke free and hurled him back into the room’s shadows. He lay staring at the ceiling, wishing like never before that he could end it all. “Velimai,” he whispered, sorrow giving him the strength to use his own voice one last time. “Open your mouth and kill me.”

The fae sobbed. Not for him, he was sure, but for Chrysabelle. Still, he took the sound as a yes and braced himself.

A soul-deep gasp shattered the room’s silence, penetrating the chaos in his head. He turned. That wasn’t the sound he’d been expecting.

Chrysabelle arced off the bed, her eyes open, chest heaving. Her signum were lit up like they were on fire, like they had been at the signumist’s.

The beast stumbled in confusion. Mal got to his knees, control returning to him in waves.

She shook like she was freezing. Gold sparks filled her eyes. “I was dead,” she whispered. She glanced down at her stomach, one hand coasting over the bloodstain on her robe. She stopped suddenly and held her hands out in front of her. “My signum. What’s happening to me?”

“You can see that?” he asked. He pushed to his feet and went to her side. He wanted to gather her into his arms and crush her against him, but he held back.

She nodded, still trembling. “I feel… strange.”

“It happened when Atticus finished. Your whole body lit up like that.”

“The ring of sorrows.” She shook her head, pulling her robe aside to look at her legs. “The power is in me. It must have reacted with your blood. And Samhain.”

“You’re alive.” He sat on the bed. Every muscle that had ached with grief now tensed in relief. “That’s all that matters.”

Her mouth turned down and she looked toward the bathroom. “Is the portal still open?”

Velimai, tears long gone, stepped into Chrysabelle’s line of sight and shook her head.

“It’s not open, or you don’t want me to return?” She swung her legs off the side of the bed opposite Mal and got up, wobbling slightly. She grabbed the headboard. “Doesn’t matter, I’m going back. Get me my sacre. She knows my brother’s name, and this time she’s going to say it so I can hear it or—”

“No.” Mal stood. “She killed you. Do you understand? You’re not going back. Ever. It’s over. We’ll find another way.”

Velimai nodded. Chrysabelle, her tremors worse now, looked like she wanted to argue, but her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped to her knees. Mal was beside her a half second later and had her in his arms. He put her back in bed. Stubborn, stubborn woman. But alive and he planned to keep her that way.

She stayed unconscious, but her heartbeat never faded, her breathing never faltered. He pulled up a chair next to the bed and settled in. Doc and Fi stopped by, tried to tell him something about a vampire being kept on the freighter with the comar then something else about Doc being the new pride leader. Creek came with news of Samhain night. Then Mortalis to get an update for Dominic. He waved them all away, refusing to listen or talk. Nothing mattered until Chrysabelle was awake again. And no way was he leaving her side again until she was truly recovered from everything that had happened.

Hours slipped by. Velimai checked in on them from time to time, even bringing him a glass of blood once.

The edge of light beneath the curtains brightened, then warmed to gold, finally darkening to purple before vanishing completely. Still she slept, sometimes moaning softly, sometimes thrashing like someone was attacking her. There was little he could do but sit and watch. And hope.

When she quieted, he leaned over and brushed a strand of hair from her face. Eyes tightly closed, she turned her face into the pillow and uttered a single word.

“Damian.”