Page 66 of Cursed Heirs

My heir.

My greatest creation.

My eyes snapped open,commotion pulling me from my favorable recollections.

The place I ventured to within my mind in order to escape the torment Constantine and his acolytes continued to subject me to.

I found myself still bound to the chair, burning fire coursing through my veins from the solution they continued to pump into me through the IV attached to my left wrist.

After we’d made our blood vow and he’d come so close to getting what he’d wanted through me, he’d been so worried that I would do something to thwart him before it happened that he’d had his people keep me weak and in utter agony so that I could do nothing but put everything I had into fighting to endure it, rather than developing any strategies to stop him once we reached the location of the Orb he desired so intensely.

Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t simply walk to the Dark Fae Realm gates without raising alarms all over the place that would instantly alertExemplar, for it was known by the leader of them all, Abigail Rose, that the Orb of Vorlav resided there.

So he’d had to wait and create a smokescreen in the form of chaos—his attacks all over the supernatural world currently drawing fire, attention and resources there instead of toward what he coveted the most.

It took me a moment in my less than stellar state to realize that the commotion had been a magical one.

A flare of intense power the likes of which I hadn’t felt since he’d been raised. And before that, not since Abigail had forced her way into the Kingdom three years ago. Any great power equal to or beyond my own that was suddenly invoked drew my attention.

I watched as the shimmering crimson ward that Constantine had erected around the room of my captivity shuddered over and over, before finally shattering.

I heard the turn of the doorknob, and then the door opened and I got a surprise, as none other than the Nephilim herself walked on in.

She was in lounge wear, relaxed attire that really didn’t fit the situation. Her pink hair swished around as she looked curiously about the room, before her eyes landed on me through the dark.

Frowning, she drew closer, then released a gasp. “You’re him. Saryan Hart. Orpheus’ father. The King.”

“That I am,” I rasped.

She drew closer still and I was able to make out her eyes. Striking cerulean blue upon first glance. But as I strained to peer closer, I was able to see the black flecks tainting them.

My gut twisted.

Constantine had infected her.

With black magic.

Withhim.

“You shouldn’t be here, Nephilim.”

“Neither should you. A lot of people are looking for you.” She frowned at the IV and reached out, touching the bag. “What is this?”

“Pain and weakness.”

“Oh my God, they’re torturing you?”

“That they are.”

“Does Constantine know about this?”

“It was his decree.”

She stilled for a moment, then drew back, shaking her head. “No. He wouldn’t do that.”

She was most definitely infected. Deeply so, it appeared.

“He would most definitely do that and more.”

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