Page 76 of Blue Embers
Raising the dagger up toward my collarbone, she moved the neckline of my sweater aside to touch my skin with the cold material. She slid it across my flesh lightly, being sure not to make a cut.
“If I hurt you,” she said. “He’ll come. He’ll know.”
“They already know,” I said, gaining a small spurt of confidence. “They’re coming.”
“I know,” she said, unsurprised.
Her eyes met mine and I could see so many more layers to the blackness. Like onyx, her eyes were filled with rippling, faint hues that seemed to change subtly as she spoke. The men said she was a vessel for Haera, the real red witch, and the coldness in her stare only confirmed that for me. She seemed robotic and almost vacant of any emotion at all save for those tiny shifts in color.
“We’re ready,” she continued. “But he’s not.”
Suddenly the knife made a vertical slice down my sternum so quickly I didn’t even react until she drew the blade back. Gasping, I stumbled away, pressing a hand to my chest. Haera grabbed me by my chin, pulling me close. Her lips were almost on mine and from her breath I smelled something akin to ginger. A spicy smell that suited her sharp presence. She was beautiful in so many ways, but so ugly in others. I shook at her touch, the pain from the cut starting to spread through my chest like the blade had been poisoned. It was as if acid had leaked into my bloodstream and was spreading.
“I am as old as they come,” Haera hissed. “I’ve suffered things you can’t imagine. I deserve to get what I want and Iwantto set things right.”
“Set things right?” I said against a sudden burning in my throat.
Haera raised her chin, looking down the bridge of her nose at me, her fingers tightening on my face.
“Gods don’t let insects win,” she said.
I was pushed to the ground with her forceful shove and as I watched her slowly pace, running one finger down the blade of her dagger, the burning sensation grew like a wildfire spreading through my lungs.
“Wha...what did you do?” I asked.
“I’ve given you a small amount of time,” she said, rubbing my blood between her fingers.
The burning moved swiftly toward my waist where Killian had left his hand print. I bit my teeth against the searing pain, pushing myself across the floor to lean up against the side of the sofa.
“What are you talking about?” I asked between potent pangs.
“He’ll come here ready to burn this place to the ground,” she spoke, slowly turning to meet my gaze once more. “But if he cares about you, he won’t do that. His mark won’t be able to save you in a few hours.”
I understood then. The burning only worsened with every passing second and something in me felt as if it was already crumbling. Like a wall being chiseled away at, my strength was beginning to wear out. I could feel it like fire weakening a log.
“You’re reversing the bond?” I said, devastated over the idea. “How?”
“We invented the bond in the first place. Of course we have a way to destroy it. Phyre Glass attacks the dragon side. In an Ashling, it destroys the link that binds you.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because once it’s done, you’ll be as good as dead.”
“No...why!? We don’t know anything!”
“That’s untrue.” She walked toward me, slowly crouching down to my level like a cat perched on a ledge. “Someoneknows where the child is and with enough convincing,someonewill get him to talk. Like I said, I’ve been around for longer than you can imagine and I know that the one thing that will break all men and even beasts of men is love.”
32
Persephone
. . .
I sat by the fire for hours enduring a kind of pain I’d never felt before. It was like I was burning from the inside out. I screamed a few times, writhing on the wood floor of the cabin, but for the most part I tried to keep my agony at bay for the benefit of the others outside. If Everly heard my suffering, chances were she’d do something to try to intervene and the last thing I wanted was to get the Archon’s mate killed.
Finally, once night had fallen, the pain had subsided and was replaced by a kind of exhaustion that left me feeling almost paralyzed. If this was even a taste of what the Draak felt when injured by Phyre Glass, Lukan and Malice were in Hell. I sat by the hearth, clutching my chest where the incision had stopped bleeding but was now dried up and tight along my skin. The blood that soaked the front of my sweater had browned, making the fibers stiff. By the heat of the fireplace, I felt a little better in terms of temperature. I stared into the embers wondering if I would burn myself now that the mark had supposedly been stripped from me. I hadn’t gotten a chance to check, but by the way I felt, I imagined I’d been robbed of Killian’s presence. The effects of it, at least. I didn’t feel strong or even alive. I could only imagine what Killian was thinking. Would he think I was dead? If Everly’s cut arm could call Draven back, what would my hours of agony do to Killian?
Haera...or rather her vessel, stood by the window the entire time like a statue, staring out into the snow-covered woods. She’d barely moved, even just to adjust her posture. She just peered out of the frosted glass at the trees, arms crossed over her chest. I glared at her with disdain, my jaw tight. That woman had forced me to inflict injuries on myself once and now she’d taken Killian from me. She’d made me suffer again in ways I didn’t think possible. I hated her.
