Page 45 of Until the Heart Stops
Mael gave a hum, dipping his hand into his pocket for a small black phial. He flicked his thumb, broke off the wax seal and pressed it against my lips.
“Oh, little girl, the horrors are yet to come.”
Chapter 25
Black water surrounded me.
It filled my mouth. Churning waves crashed over my limbs, turning me until I floated onto my back. I blinked and moonlight shined down across my face. An ornate iron chandelier twinkled with hundreds of candles. Another wave blotted out the light.
Heat.
Cold.
The hum of voices.
Something crawled up my arm and I writhed to shake it off. But another slithered up my leg. Around my waist. My scream was garbled in my ears, mouth thick with the black tar of the water. I thrashed my head from side to side, struggling as more creatures crawled up my body, twined around my throat and squeezed.
The vaulted ceiling appeared, moonlight shining through the stained-glass windows. I took a deep breath and air whistled through my lungs. Another person screamed, but it was inside my mind. Banging echoed faroff. My magic gave a soft, thoughtful hum, and warmth trickled through my veins.
It ate away the cold and, as it grew, it threw off the invisible creatures clawing at my skin. I blinked again and Mael’s face came into view, just as cold and dispassionate as ever. He raised something high above his head, metal glinted in the light. I lifted a hand, though it moved as if through tar, and pushed my feet into the table, sliding back.
His arms swooped down and pain exploded through my stomach. The room brightened as I gasped before iron coated my tongue. I coughed. Wet warmth dribbled out of the side of my mouth. And yet my magic hummed louder, the screaming grew closer, the same tenor inside my mind.
“How”—I swallowed, black spots spread out from the corners of my eye, threatening to my take my whole vision—“how would he ev-ever f-follow you now?”
Mael stared impassively, but did not answer, only observed my wheezing, the blood spilling from my lips with each pump of my heart. It was beyond pain, so much so I almost didn’t feel it—as if my body had become nothing but the agony pulsing through my stomach. The tang of iron filled the air and his nostrils flared, hunger glazed across his eyes.
“You drink it…don’t you?” I rasped with a humorless laugh.
He didn’t need to say anything. Those ancient fangs sharpened, his black eyes impossibly brightened, and the thrum of his heart was visible through the vein at his temple. All the signs of bloodlust that went with drinking from a living source—signs immortals lost as they drank the synthetic equivalent.
In a swirl of white hair and red robes, he turned away, disappearing in the next moment. I coughed, bloodsplattering my cheeks as I tried to turn onto my side, but a white-hot zing of pain stopped me. The handle of a silver blade protruded from my belly. Nausea roiled and I coughed again. How long could one survive this?
My magic hummed, repairing what it could even as the blade continued to reopen the wound. I wasn’t sure if pulling it out was the right choice, but I wrapped my hand around the hilt. But I paused as Mael reappeared, carrying with him a limp body clad in a beautiful cream nightdress.
As he approached, the head cradled in his arms tipped to the side and Gabrielle’s black hair slid off her face. Her eyes were closed, lips pale—she appeared to be sleeping, but was far too still. Mael set her down on the floor beside the table, just outside of the ring of blood, and appeared to position her deliberately. He brushed her hair back from her cheeks, adjusted the nightdress and its sleeves, even going so far as to cross her hands over her stomach.
“You would kill…your own progeny?”
Male’s eyes snapped up and there was another flare in his face. I couldn’t tell if it was indignation or merely annoyance. But he circled the table, breathing deep and eyes fixed to the wound pumping blood across the silk of my gown and onto the table.
I took another breath, the word coming out as more of a wheeze. “Why?”
He rested his hands on the stone beside my waist and observed me with much more interest than before.
“Control can be achieved many ways,” he answered in that even, cold tone. “Callum will submit or you will die. Henry will submit or Gabrielle will die—or, more truly, be driven to insanity by the things she will witness.”
“A-and Mateo?”
He pursed his lips, but the answer didn’t come from him.
“He knows there is nothing in this world I love more than my family. I have lost everything else,” Mateo answered in a trembling tone.
He stood at the double doors, warm light streaming in from the hall, and beside him stood Callum, eyes wild and hair messy around his face. Henry lingered a little farther back, his attention fixed on the prone form of Gabrielle.
“You fuckingbastard,”Callum rumbled, low and menacing.
Mael gestured to me with an open palm as if offering a feast. “It is your choice, son?—”
