Page 3 of Blood

“Planning is overrated,” I murmur, already turning back toward the window of the train. Tiny cottages dot the landscape, their mushroom roofs dwarfed by the tall trees on either side of them. I wonder how much farther we need to go before we arrive at our destination—a destination, I might add, that has been warded against magical travel. Hence, why we’re on a train to begin with. I much prefer Alex’s “wham, bam, thank you, ma’am” method for travel, a.k.a. traveling through dead bodies from one place to the next.

“Death is overrated too,” he snaps, his tone laced with sarcasm and something else. Something more pronounced and unexpected from him.

And then he winces, the color draining from his face, when he realizes what he just said.

I ignore him and press my face flush against the window, no doubt leaving smudges on the glass.

Death.

Mason.

Dead.

Mason is dead.

Alex growls something and tugs at my shoulder, forcing me to face him. Those eerie, russet eyes are as hard as granite.

“I’m not just going to allow you to stare morosely into the distance when we’re about to do something immensely dangerous and possibly deadly.”

I push my lips out into a pout. “I’m not staring morosely into the distance,” I protest...as I turn to stare morosely out into the distance. Dammit.

Alex’s pierced brow arches as he gives me a knowing look. “The monster council is not your biggest fan,” he tells me, as if I need the reminder. “They’ll kill you in a second if they think it’ll benefit them.”

I wave a hand in the air dismissively. “I’ll be fine.”

Probably.

Well, I’m like...twenty-two percent sure I’ll be fine. It’ll move up to a solid twenty-seven if I choose to wear a cape.

Facts, my friends.

Pure facts.

Something dark paves its way across Alex’s face. Before I can comment on it, he lunges forward and captures my wrist in his tattooed hand. He leans forward until he’s hovering over me, his eyes intent on my face and radiating an emotion I can’t quite articulate.

“Do you think Mason wants this for you?” he hisses. “For you to be suicidal? Do you think your other mates want you to die in your quest to save them?”

“What—?” I try to pull my wrist away from him, but he only tightens his grip.

“They’ll be lost without you, Violet.” His eyes beseech me to understand...something. What that something is eludes me. “It’d be better at that point for you to stab them in the chest yourself.”

I gasp. “Don’t say shit like that.”

“It’s the truth.” He releases me, as if my skin has burned him, and collapses back into his seat opposite me. Folding his arms over his chest, he scowls. “Now, can you stop being a selfish little bitch and get your head in the game?”

I know the reaction he probably hopes to elicit from me—anger.

And while I do feel an insurmountable amount of rage, it’s eclipsed by my all-encompassing determination to succeed. To fight and live and learn to love without one piece of my soul. Will it be hard? Yes. But is it impossible? No.

I know Alex is right. If I die on my quest for vengeance, then I’m sentencing my other mates to death as well. I’m not being vain when I state that they won’t be able to live without me. It’s just the way things are.

I need to survive...for them.

For myself.

Alex must see that fire returning in my eyes, because his own lips curl upward a fraction of an inch. If I hadn’t been studying him so intently, I might not have noticed it.

“Are you ready to get an army, Violet baby?” Alex asks darkly, leaning forward in his seat so his face consumes the entirety of my vision.

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