Page 127 of Amethyst and Iron
“Glasswake?”
I started.
Off my reaction, he told me, “Victor Halrow mentioned it when he attacked us. I put some of the pieces together. People died, right? It was an accident.”
“It was a setup.” I sank against the wall. “Masterminded by Corvin Morvain. Hearrangedthe whole nightmare, had me murder all the residents of the Glasswake Settlement. I thought they were Animated Fleshwork, but… they weren’t. And in my shock and… grief… he extracted a portion of my necromantic core, injected me with his specially made poison that caused this sickness that’s been plaguing me ever since. And what you saw, it was me trying to fight off the flashes of that… the guilt… the pain.”
He stared at me for several moments, obviously fighting to process.
I didn’t blame him.
I could still barely process it and I’d lived it.
I swallowed hard, realizing how much his reaction to it was weighing on me.
How much I needed it to be… not disgust or horror toward me.
And then he threw his arms around me. “I’m so sorry. So fucking sorry, Sylas.” He breathed me in. “I’m really glad you told me. You’ve been carrying this for so long all on your own.”
“Without my magic, it’s heavier than ever. I guess… letting you in… it could help.”
He eased back and smiled at me. “That’s one of the most emotionally healthy things you’ve ever said.”
“Well, I’m sure it’s a fluke.”
“I doubt it,” he said, kissing my cheek. “You maddening bastard.”
“How well you know me.”
He chuckled.
But then the seriousness returned, as it had a knack for doing of late.
Constantly.
“So long as I’m careful and discreet while I’m back above ground, I’ve got some time. It’ll give you time to think about the transplant, make sure you’re ready. I told Velra and Cassius to expect me, so come with me and we’ll have it out together, figure it out together as a unit.”
I was about to respond when he suddenly swung his head toward my bedroom door.
Not a split-second later, a thunderous crash sounded, wood cracking, glass smashing.
Lazriel burst toward the bedroom door and threw it open, a curse escaping him.
I came up beside him and looked to see a familiar hulking bastard standing at the threshold of the front door to my house. The front door that was now in pieces over the living room.
Victor fucking Halrow.
“No one is going anywhere,” he hissed, his fangs dropping, features twisting as he vamped out, his talons digging into either side of the door frame as he leaned in all creepy casual. “You’re mine to play with,” he told Lazriel. Then his gaze flicked to mine. “And you won’t make it through the night, necromancer.”
Well, then.
19
~Lazriel~
Screeching.
Too much screeching.
