Page 26 of Crimson Devotion
“What? How is that possible?”
“I don’t know,’’ she breathes out. “But that mark that you have on your neck?”
“Yes, what about it?”
Slowly, Ophelia rolls up her sleeve, revealing her wrist to me. Immediately, my mind goes blank. I’m staring at the same teeth mark that I have on my neck, in a light pink shade. It almost looks like a scar — but vampires don’t have scars. They all heal upon turning.
“What?” I whisper, staring at the two dots.
My eyes flick to hers, and I don’t recognize what look she’sgiving me. It’s half sympathy, half hatred. It’s a mix of complex emotions, much like her character. Her lips thin into a line, and for a moment, she lets me process what I’m seeing.
“That…’’ She looks down, the thumb of the opposite hand brushing the mark. “That is a mark.’’
“I can see that,’’ I say, unable to stop sarcasm. “Why do we have a matching one?”
“Do you know what fated mates are?”
“Yes.’’ I nod. “It’s believed that fated mates were once one soul, split into two. A lot of people, most, actually, never meet their other half. It’s similar to what humans believe to be soulmates, though this one is for the supernatural only. I’d say, from what I’ve read, that fated mates fit more into the twin flames category, rather than soulmates. They are two sides of the same coin, and once the souls find each other, it’s like the hottest fire burning. It’s usually displayed in...’’ I pause, realization hitting me, “marks.’’
Ophelia nods slowly.
“That means,’’ I stutter out, abruptly standing up and stepping back, creating more distance between us. All of a sudden, a lot of things start making sense. From the way I’m addicted to Ophelia’s scent, the way her touch, and her presence, is able to calm me down in an instant, to the fact that we even started smelling the same.
My eyes close for a moment, and all I can see behind the closed lids is the image of the night she turned me. The way her eyes were wide in shock, the way she repeated those same words over and over again.
No, not me. Not with you.
It all makes sense now. And the way she’s looking for any reason to be near me, why she’s actually trying, despite not saying it out loud, to take care of me. It’s because she can’t resist. It’s because our souls — or whatever is left of them — are now molding back into one.
That’s why she wants to keep me near her. Because if we’re apart for a long time, our hearts won’t be able to take it, and they’ll burst from the pain. And that’s fucking why my heart is still beating, and why hers started beating again.
I was debating whether to bring it up with her, because now I can hear birds chirping in the trees miles away, I can definitely hear her heart beating from such a close distance. Now, it all makes perfect sense.
It makes sense why the anger disappeared, why I no longer want to kill her.
Because Ophelia is my fated mate.
ELEVEN
Faith
Iran out of the room, and Ophelia didn’t follow after me. For the first time, it seems she’s gotten the hint that her presence isn’t wanted. Although the thought of being away from her is tugging on something in my chest, I need time alone to think all of this through, to try to understand why this has happened, and what I’m supposed to do next.
I’m wandering the halls of the castle, the parts I haven’t gotten the chance to explore yet. Every corridor resembles the previous one, and just as I’m about to turn around and walk back in the direction I came from, something causes me to freeze.
On my right is a flight of staircases leading down to the basement, and I remember the warning Ophelia gave me. Lucifer is down there, and given the tiny, quiet voice I’m hearing, my curiosity piques.
Is Ophelia not hearing this? Because from where I’m standing, the voice is evident. Although it’s hushed, it’s there, and Ophelia would’ve told me if any of her other siblings were coming.She’d at least have the decency to mentally prepare me for the chaos this family represents.
The torches don’t light the way down; instead, they’re on the walls, covered in cobwebs, as if they haven’t been used in centuries. Slowly, and as silently as possible, I walk down the stairs, my vision adjusting to the pitch black of the narrowed stairs. On the bottom is a door made out of metal. It looks heavy, and it’s opened just enough to let in the breeze from the massive windows upstairs.
I push the door open, and the scene in front of me shocks me to my core.
There’s a casket in the middle of the room. It’s made out of snow-colored wood, and the cushions inside are in the same red as their eyes. There lays Lucifer, his hands clasped together just below his chest, his long hair let loose to fall over his chest.
But next to him is Yvonne.
She’s wearing one of her floor-length, satin dresses in a deep shade of green. Her white hair falls past her waist, decorated in emeralds, her hand stroking Lucifer’s hair softly.
