Page 66 of Possess Me at Midnight
Mathias’s mental claws rake through my consciousness like razors, seeking the memories I guard most fiercely. I slam every barrier I can muster around thoughts of Sabelle—her taste, her touch, the way she surrendered to me completely. I’ll die before I let this monster defile those moments.
I shove at the evil wizard, barring him from every memory possible, judiciously protecting the events of the last few days. That joy is mine and mine alone.
Undeterred, Mathias attacks my mind like a demon, serrating my shields with determination. I divert my energy to my mental defenses and allow my legs to crumble. I stop pretending I’m immune to the pain and let out a rough howl of agony. Pride means nothing if it keeps Sabelle safe. Instead, I focus my remaining energy on locking down my thoughts, trembling with the effort to bar Mathias. Thankfully, I still have pools of powerful energy generated from our night of passion. And the knowledge that, somewhere beyond these walls, Sabelle is alive and free. That knowledge burns brighter than the agony tearing through my body. As long as she’s beyond his reach, I can endure anything.
The snap of the whip lands again at the small of my back, slicing through skin and tendon, straight toward bone. I gasp out, then roar, doing my best to dodge the next lash and more pain.
Mathias steps back. My tormentor falls still. What the devil is going on now?
I lift my head. Blood. Lots of blood oozes out of my pores, runs down my face—the cost of my effort to resist Mathias’s mental invasion. But at least without Mathias’s hands on me, the fucker can’t get back into my head.
I manage to stumble to my feet and lurch. But dizziness assails me. My energy flags. Since breaking would doom Sabelle, I put everything I have into protecting my thoughts. My knees crumple to the ground again, this time sliding toward the black void of peace. Here is a shitty place to die. But to defend my princess is the most valiant reason to do it.
As darkness claims me, the whip bites into my flesh one last time, but the pain feels distant now, muffled by the approaching void. Blood pools beneath me on the cold concrete, my life seeping away with each labored breath. For two centuries, I’ve carried the crushing weight of failing Gailene—my little sister’s screams echoing in my nightmares, her death a constant reminder of my inadequacy. I hope she’ll forgive me when I see her in my nextlife.
But tonight, bloodied and broken in this godforsaken dungeon, I’ve finally done something right. I’ve protected the woman who owns my heart, kept Sabelle safe from the monster who destroyed my family. I’ll never hold her again, never see her smile or hear her laugh, but she’s alive and free, carrying the strength of magickind in her soul and the memory of our night together burned into mine. I’ve given her my devotion, my protection, and now my life.
When my final breath tastes of her name, I pray that’s enough.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
Sabelle
* * *
Duke, Tynan, and I arrive at Sterling MacTavish’s estate via auto a few hours after leaving Ludlow. From the moment we walk in the door, everyone is in an uproar about different events. The mood is bedlam, and it’s all I can do to hold in my icy panic about Ice’s captivity. If I give into it, the rest of the Doomsday Brethren will ask too many questions. And Sterling MacTavish, whose help and support we desperately need, will write me off as a hysterical, lovesick female. I can’t risk that.
“Is this even possible?” Lucan demands of his uncle Sterling. Caden sits by his side, Sydney in his lap, looking both rapt and confused.
Sterling MacTavish, nine hundred if he’s a day, is a lean post of a man with gray hair and whiskers, well-groomed and well-dressed. I’m used to seeing the haughty, learned man in a position of power. Now he simply looks scared.
“Well, it’s not impossible.” Sterling frowns. “What are we to do? With Thomas dead, Bram unconscious, and Helmsley Camden deep in hiding… Carlisle Blackbourne may be our Council Chancellor, but I don’t trust him. I’m not particularly close with O’Shea or Spencer. And they’re often swing votes, you know.”
Of course I do.
“You must call upon one of them,” Lucan insists. “The threat is too serious to do nothing.”
“Which particular threat?” Duke asks, appearing in the door and beating me to asking the question.
Trembling, Sterling looks across the room and stands. “Mathias sent a missive to all the remaining Council members, declaring that he will run for MacKinnett’s empty seat. Carlisle Blackbourne has backed him.”
Ice could be dying right now while we discuss politics. Foreboding floods my system, but I force back my panic and listen, looking for my opening.
“Thomas had no heirs,” Sterling goes on, “and Mathias’s grounds are that he’s kin, albeit distantly, to the Chillingham line, who sat on the Council six centuries ago.”
“Unless he’s willing to admit that he and the Anarki murdered Thomas MacKinnett, how can he possibly know about the man’s death?” I challenge. “I told Camden so he could protect himself, but I doubt he’s told anyone else. So how will Mathias explain that to the Council?”
Sydney winces. “I transcasted the news nearly an hour past to all magickind. We thought it wise to inform the public quickly of the murder of one of their leaders.”
Of course. Mathias isn’t stupid. At least it sounds like Sterling is finally a believer.
“And,” the former reporter continues, “I contacted my old boss Holly at Out of this Realm. She’s unhappy, but willing to keep the story out of her paper for a time. So only magickind knows the truth.”
“You did the right thing,” I reassure Sydney.
“Mathias declared he’d been nominated for the Council a quarter hour after Sydney broke the news.” Sterling sighs, looking defeated. “Blackbourne then sent a message, championing the vile wizard.”
