Page 28 of Hospital for Immortal Creatures

And together they had just figured out why he hadn’t been able to reach any of his brothers or his parents in the last couple of weeks.

Valeria’s soft lips widened into a sinister smile. “Killed in the Moscow house. Exactly where the letter from your father said they’d be. I guess that nowadays even manticores can’t regenerate quick enough from a bullet wound.”

“You betrayed them?” he shouted.

“Of course! But don’t you worry, my love. Soon, you will be with them, because you will not leave this room alive.”

He grasped her shoulders. “Why, Valeria? I didn’t think that you would betray me.”

She raised her hand, dug her black knife-like nails into his chest, and tore through his shirt and skin. Mikhail looked down, surprised by the blood gushing out of the wounds. He reached for her.

“Don’t you dare touch me, you horrid animal! You are an abomination!” She hissed, already turning her back on him.

Mikhail stared at her, stricken by her betrayal. His knees buckled and he tumbled to the floor. Blood kept pouring out of him while he lay there, powerless. Yet the sting from the wounds was nothing compared to the invisible claws that clenched around his heart and squeezed it until he couldn’t breathe.

A loud noise snapped him out of his thoughts. They were coming for him.

He pushed off the ground and rose on weakened legs. With painstaking movements, he straightened to his full height, his body already changing into the shape of a winged lion. When he leapt out into the street, a cloud of bullets poured over him.

Amelia writhed on the bed and woke up drenched in sweat. She ran trembling hands up and down her chest and stomach, but found no claw marks or bullet wounds. Yet the dream had been so vivid, she could have sworn she’d tasted the blood.

Bile filled her mouth as she rushed to the bathroom.

11

“As soon as I leave this room, you will forget everything about me.” Constantine held the singer’s vacant gaze until she nodded in confirmation.

“When you leave this room, I will forget everything about you.” She headed to the vanity by the bed, dressed in a luxurious lace bra and minuscule baby pink thong.

Constantine glanced at her one last time. She truly had a talent, but it wasn’t singing. He threw on his shirt and pants while the woman, as if in a hypnotic trance, brushed her silvery-blonde hair, as well as the contraptions she’d attached to it. Constantine had found out about them the hard way when their night play had got rough, and those things she called extensions had ended up in his clenched fist.

“When you leave this room, I will forget everything about you.” She smiled at her reflection in the mirror.

She had a snub nose, full, pouty lips and a body that could shame the top supermodels. No wonder the preppy rich boys were piling up at the nightclubs where she sang. But last night, their golden chains had done little to impress her. A single glance at Constantine’s six-foot-seven athletic frame, and she’d sent her guards away and crawled into his booth. His brown monolid eyes, accentuated by dark straight hair, had the power to place thoughts in humans’ minds, true; but in this case, it was his charisma that had ignited the singer’s desire for him. Then the same old story had followed, just like with any other singer. And any other woman, in fact.

He laced his shoes and headed for the door. Erasing her memory would cause her to have unpleasant side effects such as nightmares and confusion, yet repentance didn’t reach him today. As a necromancer, he could see deep beneath the surface, and what he found underneath her exquisite exterior was ugly, to say the least. Not that he was some sort of moralist. Quite the contrary – that was exactly how he liked his lovers.

A moment before he walked out of the room, her smile turned into a grin, offering a full view of her perfect white teeth. She sang out, “When you leave this room, I will forget everything about you.”

Constantine strode out in the elite neighbourhood, frowning through his dark sunglasses. For an area touted as the Orange County of Sofia by real estate agents, it sure had fallen short. Though it had been built on empty lands and had expanded over the last twenty years, Constantine could find no appeal in the potholes littering the road, rows upon rows of buildings, and lack of green spaces. He appreciated beauty and style, and thus couldn’t comprehend why humans attributed value to shit that didn’t possess any.

He got into his black SUV. Constantine admired quality, that much was a fact. His suits were tailored to fit every inch of him to a T, much like the one he’d worn last night – the sporty elegant pants, highest thread cotton sea-blue button-up shirt, and matching linen blazer. His shoes and belt were leather, his watch was an Audemars Piguet limited edition in twenty-four carats of pure gold. And his car, well… Five hundred and fifty horsepower roared under the hood in anticipation. Now that was something worthwhile.

The powerful vehicle started down the road. Lately, his day-to-day resembled a mundane old movie that would replay over and over. Yes, TV screens had expanded by inches, cars had gained horsepower, women had emancipated and shed their restraints, but Constantine… Well, he was still the same.

Beyond the centuries, beyond the wars, beyond the empires he’d seen rise and fall… Hundreds of years had come and gone since his birth in the tenth century in the Byzantine Empire, and aside from a few additional wrinkles, he hadn’t altered physically.

When the Changes had occurred, he’d felt there was an end to his road, a final and paramount goal. A new chapter, where the real Beyond began. But nothing had really changed for him. Every day continued to be a chaotic drive through life’s miserable roads. And Constantine was getting so damned tired of it all.

Ten minutes later, Mikhail’s name appeared on the dashboard as the car’s smart system announced an incoming call.

Constantine hit a button on the console and the manticore’s voice boomed in. “I need a favour. At the Hospital. ASAP.”

“Be there in thirty.” Constantine steered the wheel towards the Ring Road, taking a shortcut to the Hospital. Already, his mind was whirling with possibilities – what could Mikhail want that required his immediate presence?

Constantine had been a member of the Council of the Twenty for many years now, although he’d never engaged in healing practices. He didn’t see himself as a scientist, even if he did enjoy astrophysics from time to time. And who would ever trust him as a healer, anyway?

He was one of the few necromancers who walked the Earth. Almost all of his kind had been killed after 1744 just for being what they were – mediators between the living and the dead. A bridge to the other world. To most, however, the word necromancer equalled death, so he was used to the hostility that came along with it. In his teenage years, his peers had avoided him, and then when he’d reached immortality at thirty-three, they’d trembled with fear before him. But they had never accepted him.

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