Page 40 of The Fated and the Damned
His hand cupped my jaw, his thumb trailing along my chin. “There is nothing I would not do for you, Kitarni. I was born a killer, it’s what I’m good at. If the price of that gift means protecting the one I love, I will gladly pay it. I’ll enjoy it. For you, I would be questioner, judge, and executioner. And I won’t regret any of it.”
I blinked, shifting slowly as what he’d just said sank in. The enormity of that one word and how utterly fucking amazing it felt to hear him say that. I studied his face, my heart thumping beneath my ribs.
“Dante, I …” I licked my lips, shaking my head. Some part of me found it hard to believe those words—and harder still to come to terms with what it meant after everything we’d been through.
A deep laugh rumbled through him as he watched me, those lips I loved so much curving into a crooked smile. “I’ve felt it for a long time now, maybe even since the first day I saw you in those woods. Your hair was wild, your eyes like pure murder as you threw a fucking dagger at my head.”
“You …” I swallowed once and the only stupid words I could manager were, “You really love me?”
“Oh, Freckles, do you really not know?” He tucked one of my stubborn curls behind my ear, shaking his head even as he smiled—the double dimple, which he seemed to save only for me. “My sword was yours the moment you asked for it. My life was yours the moment I swore to protect you. My heart? That you claimed for your own, tooth and nail and bloody beautiful murder. It was always yours. It will always be yours, from this day to my last.”
PART TWO
The Curse of Foresight
EIGHTEEN
Kitarni
“You’relate,”Margitsaidsternly, a sly smile breaking her composure as she watched András, Dante and me descend into her creepy basement.
I grinned, charging like a bull as I engulfed her in my arms. She chuckled, hugging me with a lot more grace befitting her station. When I’d decided I’d squeezed her enough, I pulled back, looking at her carefully.
Her smile was true, but even beneath the classical beauty she always held, I saw the markings of sleepless nights and stress. She was thinner than I’d last seen her. Dark shadows underlined her eyes, stark against the moon-pale tone of her skin.
“Don’t hold back on my account,” she said drily, noting my studious gaze as she strode forward to hug both András and Dante at once. Even András—who was muscly, but not nearly as bulky and tall as Dante—dwarfed her as they greeted her warmly. “I’m the picture of good health, am I not?”
“You’re beyond beautiful,” I remarked. That would always remain true. “Not that you care for such things.”
“You’re right,” she admitted, swiping a wine goblet from the table and draining it to the dregs, then patting down her gown until she found a small vial. “But my inner ego does so like to be stroked. Among other things.” She huffed. “Barely back in the castle and both of you have already had more rolls in the hay than I’ve had in weeks.”
“Always so dramatic,” András said, looking around the room with disdain. “Maybe if you left this dungeon more often, you’d remember what it’s like to be among the living?”
She unscrewed the vial, tipping it back like a seasoned patron who’d seen one too many taverns. Her eyes flashed a brighter blue momentarily as the liquid trickled down her throat. I’d never not find it disgusting, but if it made her visions easier to bear, I would always be fine with it. That was so long as it wasn’t killing her slowly, which was something I’d been meaning to research, given I knew nothing about bloodmorphia except that the cultists thrived off it.
“András, darling, the living remind me how perfectly happy I am in my own company, with a good book and a stiff drink.”
She had a good point.
“Are you okay, cousin?” Dante asked as he took a seat at her table, the rest of us following suit. “Have the visions been troubling you?”
She levelled him with a look, unimpressed as always. “Lately, it’s been just the one. Repeatedly, in waking hours or when sleeping, not that I’m getting much these days. This vision is a stubborn bastard, it won’t piss off, even after trying draughts.”
No wonder she looked so weary. I rubbed a hand over her back, trying to be comforting. The silence stretched in the room as we waited.
Dante cleared his throat.
András rolled his eyes. “Are you really going to make us ask?”
“Obviously.” She smiled devilishly, but her shoulders sagged, and the smile crumbled like dirt slipping through one’s fingers. “It’s the same sequence every time, only, the person it affects varies. In one dream I will be looking through Kitarni’s eyes, the next will be Dante’s, myself, or you, András. There’s a dance—a masquerade ball to mark Kitarni’s coronation as High Witch. The covens will be there, as well as neighbouring táltosok clans. Everything is going so well, we’re all so happy …”
Her sentence trailed off as she swallowed, her hands fidgeting in her lap.
“Until?” I urged, squeezing her shoulder.
Her piercing blue eyes pinned me beneath their weight. “Until one of us is murdered.”
Silence blanketed the chamber, thick and stuffy in the windowless room. Hadur’s balls. Once again, it seemed like the gods were ready to fuck us over. I closed my eyes and tipped my head back, which only worsened the churning in my stomach. I knew Margit’s visions were reliable, but I couldn’t accept this. No fucking way was I going to let any of them die. Not before we’d even taken our shot against Sylvie.
