Page 88 of Twilight Destiny

“Yes,” he said impatiently. “How long will it take to make the talisman?”

“Magic cannot be rushed.”

“How long, dammit?”

“As long as it takes!” Setting the cat on the floor, she eased out of the rocker. “But I’m very good at what I do,” she said with a touch of arrogance, and glided out of the room. The cat padded in her wake.

Saintcrow stared after the witch, trying to judge her age. It wasn’t easy with witches. They had the ability to change their appearance. She could be twenty, she could be a hundred.

He tensed as wisps of black magic crawled over his skin.

Five minutes passed.

Ten.

Saintcrow paced the floor, his agitation growing. He tried to contact Kincaid, let out a shudder as excruciating pain exploded through him. What the hell was Luca doing to him? Muttering an oath, he closed the link.

Twenty minutes later, Izabela reappeared with the cat at her heels. She carried a small, clear bottle in one hand, and a copper band etched with runes similar to the one Kincaid wore in the other. “Hold out your right arm.”

He did as she asked, flinched when she locked the talisman onto his right wrist. He muttered, “What the hell!” as magic slammed into him.

She uncorked the bottle and held it out.

Saintcrow stared at it a moment. When comprehension dawned, he bit into his left wrist and held it over the small flask, which slowly filled with his dark, red blood. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Whatever I wish. Kincaid’s blood is very powerful. I can tell yours is even stronger.”

“My thanks.”

“If you need help with Luca, call me. As I said, I’m very fond of Kincaid.”

Saintcrow ran his hand over the copper band on his wrist. “If this doesn’t work, I’ll be back,” he said, and vanished from the house.

Izabela frowned. He was a powerful vampire. More powerful than she had suspected, she mused, for his threat lingered in the air like thick, black smoke even after he was gone. She would be wise not to underestimate him.

Kincaid stared at the thick iron bars that imprisoned him. In spite of what he’d said to Saintcrow, he had expected to be dead by now. It would have been preferable to this. He flinched as Luca jabbed a needle into a vein in his arm and began draining his blood into a large, brass container.

Helpless to resist, Kincaid lay there, watching his blood flow through the tube.

He didn’t know what spell the witch had conjured, but it had left him unable to move. Was the magic in the spell itself, or in the manacles that shackled him? The silver had drained his strength as surely as the needle that was stealing his blood.

Pain clawed at his vitals as his need to replace the blood he was losing became overpowering. His insides turned to fire even as he grew steadily weaker. Being drained of blood wouldn’t kill him. It was worse than that. He would truly be a living corpse then, a dried husk with no power to move or speak, an empty shell aware of what was going on around him but unable to respond.

He glared at Luca, who smiled wolfishly. The witch hadn’t drained him completely, only enough to leave him weak and helpless, the pain of his hunger excruciating and unrelenting.

“Rest well,” Luca cackled as he stood. “In a week or a month, my guillotine will take your head.” Laughing wildly, he picked up the blood-filled basin and vanished from the cellar.

It was only then that Kincaid noticed the guillotine standing in the corner. It was old, the wood faded, the steps cracked and uneven. But the deadly blade at the top shone brightly even in the dark.

Kincaid groaned low in his throat at the thought of lying there for another minute, engulfed by the worst pain he had ever known. A pain that would only grow worse as the hours and days passed by.

“Rosa.” Closing his eyes, he summoned her image. If she was safe, whatever price he had to pay was worth it.

Rhinehart took a deep breath, hoping he wasn’t making a fatal mistake as he invited Saintcrow into his house.

Rosa ran toward him. “Where’s Jake?”

“Still at Luca’s.”

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