Page 7 of Amethyst and Iron
My hands were trembling.
I felt sick to my stomach.
I couldn’t… I couldn’t breathe properly.
I looked out at the residences.
That voice startled me, speaking again, an echoing boom through the dark this time.
“Oh, they’re very real. The reason you couldn’t Soul Track them was high-level illusionary magic with a hefty dose of Celestial Power gifted to me to ensure it would fool even the likes of you. I killed them. I got bored while I was waiting for you. And I couldn’t have them left remaining for you to save and take the sting out of this massacre that you perpetrated with the others.”
I stared at the ashes of the fallen.
Using Risen Reckoning on the living… it just wasn’t done. It operated very differently. It… erased them. There was no bringing them back, not even for somebody like me.
They were just… gone.
I collapsed to my knees before them.
And then I was retching and vomiting all over the ground, my fingers sinking into the muddied grass.
I’d only just stopped when I felt a surge of powerful magic, just a second before blue shimmering chains were wrapping around me rapid-fire, locking me in a full-body bind.
I was too pained, too distressed, to react in time.
And then something was drilling into my throat—into my veins.
A literal drill conjured by magic, glowing ominously with the same shade as the chains.
As I shuddered and spluttered, a hand grasped my shoulder and held me steady with a whole lot of strength on my other side. I was just about able to make out Reese there grinningsmugly, before he plunged a syringe into the side of my neck opposite the drill. “Have fun with this,” he said, a moment before stepping back, just as a rush of movement swept through the area.
Then somebody else stood beside him, that same blue magic flaming from his palms.
He was a preppy fuck—short blond hair slicked back and tightly styled, wearing a checked blue and white blazer giving way to navy tailored pants. He was wearing a ton of flashy jewelry too.
I’d never met him, but I knew of him. I’d seen file photos from my contacts in the supernatural underground.
A Vampire-Sorcerer hybrid.
“Masquerade,” I choked, as that magical drill drove deeper into my throat.
“Yes. That’s my beloved moniker.”
“He prefers Corvin Morvain,” Reese said. “Show some respect.”
“You… did this.”
Corvin flashed his fangs as he held his magic steady, continuing to drive the drill deeper, tearing through my flesh, while he held me immobile with the chains—and the devastation of what he’d set me up to do.
“Yes. The great Sylas Morgrave has been outmaneuvered.”
Reese snickered. “That Scotch you were drinking? Had the entire crate spiked with a very useful concoction for tonight’s festivities. It dulled your necromantic senses enough for us to ensure you couldn’t see through the illusion and that your Soul Track ability wouldn’t override it and pick up on the living residents beneath the illusion.”
“Why?” I groaned. “For your… amusement?”
“No. For this,” Corvin said, as an agonizing burn tore through my entire body, making me convulse in the chains and scream out into the night.
The magical drill was ripped from my flesh, making me bleed all down my throat and over my coat, and then Corvin was at my other side with a burst of vampire speed and grasping it in his hand.
