Page 52 of A Heart Of Bitter Poison
Bianca’s smile broadens at Ashen’s Italian greeting, but there’s a tightness to it. As the leader of a powerful coven with an ancient and dangerous Reaper in her safe haven, I don’t blame her. “Welcome, Ashen. I hope you find our coven in order during your visit.”
Ashen only replies with a nod. All the light and radiance I saw in him just moments ago is shuttered away. It’s not only a little sad to see it disappear, but frightening. It leaves me feeling cold. I’m not sure which man is the true Ashen - the one who teases and laughs, or the one who is remote and full of darkness. It’s so easy to convince myself to see what I want that I don’t even know what’s real.
I’m still watching Ashen and trying to figure him out when Bianca stops at the end of the island. I feel her waiting eyes on me and I hop down from the counter with a sigh.
“Ciao, vampira. I hear you have redecorated my bathroom,” she says with her ever-present grin. She doesn’t seem troubled by the fact that I bloodied up her white plaster walls. If anything, she seems a bit apologetic. I can take a guess as to why.
“Yes, I’m sorry about that. Would you like to see it?”
Bianca’s smile widens. “That won’t be necessary.”
Fuck.
Quick as a snake, she strikes me in the chest with her needle, piercing my heart.
“Goddamn,” I wheeze, clutching a hand to the blood that stains my shirt. I lean against the counter and Ashen pulls me back, stepping between me and Bianca. Black smoke curls across the tiles.
“Explain yourself, witch,” he seethes at her, but she’s busy tasting the needle with a languid stroke of her tongue. Her eyes turn gray with diaphanous clouds.
“She’s a Seer,” I grit out as my breath comes in pants. Ashen looks at me from over his shoulder. His eyes already blaze with flame when they dart down to the blood seeping through my shirt. “It’s how she sees.”
“I am not the only one, am I,vampira?” Bianca’s eyes have cleared and she watches me over Ashen’s shoulder. Her smile is filled with secrets. “You have seen when you didn’t know you could.”
I barely have time for the question to form in my skin when she repeats the first words of my spell.
“Gasaan tiildibba me zi ab.”
Queen who gives life to the dying.
I blink and when I open my eyes, I’m no longer in the kitchen.
I’m in the blizzard.
I’m standing in a break between the trees. Maybe a crossroad of old paths, maybe a small clearing, it’s hard to tell. There’s snow flying around me in a bitter wind. It clings to the leafless tree branches and the evergreen boughs. It skitters across my exposed skin. I look down and it’s almost to my knees.
I know I’m not alone here.
I know I’ve run because I had no choice.
My lungs burn. The tip of mykatanadisappears into the bank of snow to my side. My grip on the handle tightens. My palm is sweaty but my face feels cold, like I’ve been out here for a while.
I smell pine needles. Woodsmoke clings to my hair as it whips across my face. I smell unsmoked tobacco and ink, the scent of Ashen. And something else. Something musky. An undertone of sulfur.
Shit.
The snow in front of me moves in a fast-approaching serpentine. I back up. I raise my sword.
No more running.
A gaping pink maw bursts from the crystalline bank. A body of white scales trails behind.
I fall back in the snow just as Zida’s fangs aim to strike me in the chest. I press my eyes closed, preparing for the fatal hit.
When I open them again, the sky above is a brilliant, crystalline blue. I hear the sea. It laps at my bare toes. I can taste it on my lips. I press my fingers into the ground and feel warm sand, not snow.
I sit up, confused and soaking wet, a thin linen gown stuck to my skin. My hair is longer, down to my waist and encrusted in wet sand. I look down at the thin thread of the beach and the sharp rock that spears through the water. I know this island well. I know these cliffs.
Anthemoessa. The island of the sirens.
