Page 91 of Depths of Desire
“Esme is a witch. She and Nico are extremely close, like sister and brother,” Leonardo explains.
Like a sister. I take in a deep breath, and it’s like a thousand-pound weight has been lifted off my chest. I’ve been trying not to be hurt, not to give in to jealousy, but it’s been killing me. Now I know; Esme is a sister.Thank God.
“We need to get inside,” Kael reminds everyone. “Nico said if he wasn’t out in an hour, to tell you all. That was several hours ago. The church is cloaked in magick. I’m not sure what kind of spell, but it’s a strong one.
“Listen,” I say.
“What is it?” Julien asks.
“It’s the hum. The same one that I noticed when we were…over there. Now it’s over here.”
Renzo stills, a grim expression on his face. “Shit. She right. That’s not good.” He glances at his father as if asking a question. Luca seems to join in and then I know that they are communicating telepathically.
“So fucking annoying when they do that,” I grumble.
Julien chuckles. “Always drove me nuts too.”
“You can’t do it?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No, that’s only their bloodline.”
“Okay,” Renzo says. “We’re going in. Luna, this is your last chance. Are you sure you don’t want to stay out here?”
“I’m sure.” My words sound firm, but my resolve is anything but. Still, I have to make sure Nico is okay. I can’t take the not knowing.
“Okay then. Be prepared for anything,” Renzo says, and then follows his father toward the duomo.
Part of me wants to ask if we should try to creep up, glance in the windows first? Or maybe even spread out so if there’ssomething going on, we won’t all be pinned down at once. At least that’s how it works in the movies.
Julien glances at me. “Vampires are stronger together. If there are creatures in there, it’s better for us to be in a pack, so to speak, than spread out.”
“Thank you,” I murmur. I hold my breath as we climb the steps.Please don’t let Nico be in trouble. Please let him be okay, I pray.
We reach the top and Leonardo slowly opens the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The stone beneath my back is ice. Cold, ancient, soaked in old blood and something worse—something that vibrates with every beat of the chant echoing through the sanctuary. My wrists are bound with a cord that burns with magick, not fire. It seeps into my skin, dulling my strength, anchoring me in place.
I can smell the ritual. Burnt herbs. Charred bone. Copper and incense and the faint, bitter sting of shadow magick. Every breath tastes like the edge of death.
My mother—Nerezza—stands at the head of the altar, her robe glinting with silver runes. Her red hair is wild, sweat-dampened at the temples. One arm hangs limp. The other lifts in rhythm with her voice, which slices knife-sharp through the silence. Ancient words, fast and sharp, each syllable summoning more power.
The room pulses with energy. Magick thickens the air like fog. My body is burning from the inside, like my blood is being rewritten. I can feel her pulling on me—at the bond we share, at the spells she cast when I was born. I’m not just her son. I’m her anchor. Her key. Her final piece. She’s going to steal everything I am to become something more.
I can’t let that happen, and yet I can’t seem to move.
The candles flare. The obsidian bowl at my feet hums with dark light. The skull stares back at me. The mirror—the one framed in bone—reflects nothing but my chest rising and falling.
My thoughts turn to Luna, and I cry out to her in my mind. I am so sorry I wasn’t there for her in the chamber. I regret that bitterly. A wave of sadness engulfs me as I realize the likelihood of surviving this dims with each passing moment. I wanted to spend the rest of her life with her and then spend the rest of mine mourning her loss. I can only hope the opposite is not true. I want her to be happy no matter what. I take comfort in the fact that I had Kael rewrite my will, leaving my entire wine empire to her. She will not have to marry anyone else unless she wants to, and she can have whatever life she wants. I am grateful that I can do that for her. It’s funny, I swear I can hear her voice. The magickal energy in the room must be playing havoc with my mind.
The scent hits me first. Burnt herbs. Blood. And something worse—something unnatural, metallic and sweet, like the air after a lightning strike. The light is all wrong—flickering torches cast warped shadows that dance across the walls as if they’re alive. At the center of it all stands the altar, slick with runes drawn in blood. Candles—black, thick, and dripping—line the floor in a perfect circle, burning low. The flames burn without flickering, too still, too quiet.
And on the altar— I spy Nico. His shirt is torn open, his wrists are bound with a cord that glows, as if enchanted. His face is pale, but his eyes are still sharp. He’s surrounded by thea bevy of odd items; a skull with hollow sockets that seem to follow us, a bowl of shimmering black liquid that pulses with its own heartbeat, a dagger with a gleaming obsidian blade... and a mirror—framed in…is that bone?—angled so it reflects the altar and nothing else.
“Oh my God,” I mumble and then take a step forward, but Renzo grabs my arm.
“No.” He shakes his head. “Magick is dangerous. We must proceed carefully, or we might hurt Nico.”
