Her voice resounded unfamiliarly in her ears. As the two words left her lips, one of the figures stepped forward, revealing a small knife resting atop their gloved hand. Irene stared at it, blinking.
“What is that for?” she asked, eyes darting around the room.
“With an offering of blood, you seal the covenant. Let it fall upon the emblem.”
Irene stepped forward, grabbing the knife from the figure’s hand, and retreated to the circle. She lowered the blade onto her palm, slicing clean through, and squeezed her fist closed. The blood gathered within her palm, a steady stream dripping onto the emblem carved beneath her.
Instantly, the floor began to tremble. The blood on the ground simmered and moved, drifting like a current, until the entire emblem was drenched in it, a crimson river beneath her feet.
And then, as if lit by an invisible match, the emblem caughtfire.
And so did Irene.
The fire shot up toward her, engulfing her, the towering flames covering every inch of her skin.
But even though the blood burned—Irene did not.
Her skin remained unharmed. Her body untarnished by the raging fire around her.
Something rose up within her…a hunger. It was a fleeting moment of power, the slightest taste, but Irene wasstarved, and the feeling washed over her in an irresistible high. She would do anything to prolong the moment—to seize the power and claim it as her own.
“Congratulations,” whispered a voice somewhere beyond the flames. “And we wish you luck.”
With those words spoken, the flames dissipated, snuffed out as if swept away by a sharp breeze. And when Irene’s vision cleared—the figures had vanished, disappearing from one blink to the next.
Irene looked around the room, chest rising and falling as she let in shallow breaths.
The laughter started off as a wavering chuckle. But it wasn’t long before Irene was practically doubled over, overcome with a hysterical fit. It was a torrential downpour—a sweet release.
Because Irene Manette Bamford had done it…she had been chosen.
And now she’d burn them from the inside out.
Part II
A Promise of Darkness
8
EMILIO
Emilio had a notorious habit of getting into trouble—though, in his defense, it was almost never his fault.
Shortly after finding Emilio, Masika and Olivier sneaking around her office, Catherine had dragged the three of them to the Battle Room, flanked by two guards armed with corporeally infused swords. Nobody uttered a single word, nothing to keep them company but the echo of their footsteps resounding in the narrow corridor as they made their way out of the Southern Wing. And now here they sat, awkwardly shifting in their seats, while Catherine simply looked at them and waited for someone to speak. She sat on the other side of the oval table, hands clasped in front of her. The cerulean sheen of the chandelier washed her features in an icy breath; her narrowed hazel eyes were cold and unfeeling, her petal-shaped lips pulled into a withering frown.
But it wasn’t any of them who broke the tension.
The little creature curled on Emilio’s lap let out a sudden bark, shattering the silence.
Catherine’s eyes snapped in its direction. “What is that thing?”
Emilio should probably have left the puppy behind, but he couldn’t bring himself to let Masika destroy him—even if he really was just a product of magic.
He wrapped his arms protectively around the puppy’s neck, tucking him in closer. “Benji.”
Catherine blinked. “Pardon?”
Olivier groaned. “I believe he means that infernal creature’s name is Benji.” Olivier’s gaze skated to Emilio before he added a softly whispered, “When on earth did you name it?”
