Page 72 of Of Spindles and Nightfall
The broken shaft of the vampire scepter sat in the case, about half the length of Aryana’s forearm. A red ruby rested in the center ofthe intricately carved golden metal. They simply needed to break the protective spells, and then Zarathos could whisk them out of the castle through the shadows.
“Hello, Aryana.”
She spun around. A spark ignited the brazier, and her uncle emerged from the darkness. He smiled wickedly at her. “I hoped this wasn’t the reason you had returned, but I’m sad to say my instincts were correct.”
The entire room seemed to drop several degrees. She shivered. “This isn’t what it looks like—”
“So you aren’t helping our sworn enemy, the demon arch king, steal the sole thing that ensures the vampire’s freedom from the demon nations?”
Shit. It was exactly what it looked like.
The communication concoction must have worn off because she no longer heard Zarathos’s voice in her head. The arch king gave her uncle one look and spun toward the case, lifting the Neutrolisis Potion. She hoped it worked quickly. She bent, retrieved her sword, and held the weapon defensively to prevent her uncle’s attack.
The vampire king’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll give you a final chance, Aryana. Stop him.”
“No.” The word slipped from her lips, sharp and certain. A fire of determination burned through her, a quiet rebellion made real. And yet, beneath that, a tremor of trepidation shook her body. It was like stepping off a cliff, exhilarating and irreversible.
He sighed. “I feared that would be your reply.” He reached into his own pocket and pulled out a doll consisting of straw in a clothdress, and with long dark brown hair woven of yarn. The resemblance to Aryana was uncanny.
Zarathos had the lid off the vial and lifted it toward the casing on the wall.
Uncle grabbed the doll’s arm and bent it behind its back.
Agony filled Aryana’s cry as a force yanked her arm behind her, pressed it upward, and shoved it to an unnatural angle, making her bend and gasp. Tendons tore and muscles screamed.
Zarathos stilled, glancing over his shoulder at her, then met Uncle’s calculating gaze.
“What is this?” he snarled.
“Getting this traitorous nuisance out of the way so I can stop you from taking my portion of the scepter.”
Aryana fought to breathe through the pain. Once, when out with her uncle as a young child, some hedge witch traveling through had made a straw doll of her. She’d thought that it was merely some passing trick. Her uncle had purchased the likeness and insisted on keeping it to remind him of her when they were apart. Aryana had thought the gesture sweet at the time, but now, as the memory came flooding back, she realized the true meaning of his actions. An effigy. A doll that had magic woven into it allowing him to control her. He’d been holding onto it since that day to use on her just in case.
Because her uncle would go to any lengths to ensure her loyalty.
Zarathos snarled again, his gaze flicking between the scepter and Aryana.
“My succubus friend told me something quite interesting,” Uncle said in his smooth, unruffled way Aryana had come to fear. Itwas the moment of calm before everything went to shit. He held the doll over the brazier. “Tell me, did you really act so foolishly as to Bloodbind yourself to my niece? Surely you knew this wouldn’t get you any closer to the scepter. So why did you do it?”
She touched her left side as her skin heated. The agony seared into her body as the smell of burning flesh reached her nostrils. She tried to endure it, but the flames didn’t relent. It burned into her, insistent, constant, consuming. Her muscles spasmed, and a scream ripped from her throat.
Fire could kill a vampire.
Uncle’s smile widened, like a beast savoring toying with his prey. “Go ahead, Zarathos. Take the scepter, but this disrespectful little bitch will pay for it with her life.”
The words had a taunting quality. All Aryana could think was that it wouldn’t work. Uncle didn’t know their binding had been an accident. She was only here to get Zarathos the scepter. That was all he wanted. He’d gladly sacrifice her to attain his goal.
And she’d die a horribly painful death at the behest of her uncle.
She remained on the floor on her hands and knees, the relentless heat slicing through her body, destroying it layer by layer.
She didn’t know why she expected that her life would end in any other way. Once her uncle realized he was unable to control her, she was as good as dead. At least she’d die performing this one act of defiance.
“Take it, Zarathos,” she spat through parched, trembling lips.
Uncle’s hold on the effigy doll loosened. It dangled over the fire like a marionette on a string. Aryana’s burning skin spread fromher side to her torso. The stench of her own charred flesh became all-consuming, making her gag, and tears of agony coursing down her cheeks. This would be it. Oh gods, just finish it. This torture was beyond her endurance.
And then the doll fell full into the brazier and Aryana’s body lit ablaze. A scream ratcheted up her throat as she collapsed to the floor and the world ended.
