In the bed lay Irene, dressed in a blue silk gown soaked in blood. Her heart was barely beating, only a few thumps per minute. Bruises and cuts covered her neck and arms. My blood stirred as her blood called to it like a siren.
Lovely Irene.
Rage pushed out my fangs. My senses sharpened as I wished to kill whoever had hurt her. I hadn’t sought her out to keep her safe because I didn’t trust myself and because I had no right to involve her in a world of danger and magic.
A wave of guilt overwhelmed me. If I’d stayed with her, if I’d made sure she was fine, this wouldn’t have happened.
I didn’t have her ability to experience other people’s feelings, but her suffering became mine.
“Who’s the bastard who did this?” I gritted out.
“I gathered only a few bits of information. His name is Mr. Sean Lewis.” Myrtha unsheathed the silver blade she used for the ritual of creating a new wili. The woman had to be on the threshold of death, and Myrtha would offer her blood to the dying woman to form a bond of life. “Tall, broad, dark hair, pale blue eyes. It’s a miracle he didn’t force himself on her.”
The information wasn’t much, but it was a start.
Darius made a noise at Irene’s sight but didn’t say a word.
“Let me transform her.” Myrtha swept into my field of vision, blocking my view of Irene. “Please. She deserves justice. I can’t deny her that. I’m sorry that I disobeyed your order, but her pain was too intense to be ignored.”
I was ashamed that the smell of Irene’s blood made me want to drink it. She was the first one I’d fed from. The taste of her blood was unforgettable. After all, her blood had transformed me. But above all, wrath filled my mind and heart.
“Ravenhill?” Myrtha raised a hand, maybe to touch me, but thought better of it.
“Save her.” Because Irene’s other option was to become a vampire, and I’d rather be hugged than do that to her. “But I have a condition.”
Her surprise turned into a frown. “What condition?”
“She’s mine. I’ll give her my blood.”
Fury exploded out of her in a white glow so blinding I had to look away. “This is blasphemy. A wili will never serve a man.”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Darius leant over Irene. “Her pulse is slowing quickly.”
Myrtha’s light flickered. “She will never be your blood slave.”
“I don’t have blood slaves.” I clenched my teeth. “But she’ll belong to me. Not you.”
She breathed heavily as the light dimmed. “This is an affront.”
“Make your decision.”
Under Myrtha’s control, Irene’s strength would never grow, and she would soon become weak and eventually fade without me being able to do anything. I’d ordered Myrtha not to create new wilis until we understood what was wrong with her power.
She’d lost dozens of wilis in the past months, and their deaths hadn’t been painless. There was a limit to the number of women I could watch die in agony. Some wilis had suffered for days before fading. I wouldn’t allow that to happen to Irene.
“Myrtha.” Darius checked Irene’s pulse. “There’s a chance the duke’s blood will make her stronger. She’ll have more time to develop her power and survive.”
Myrtha stared at me with hatred. Great. First Graves, now her.
“If you mistreat her, I’ll leave the Dark Court.” She didn’t blink. “And take her with me, even if you’re her master.”
She would never leave the Dark Court, not because she cared about me, but because she didn’t have anywhere else to go, and with her power dwindling, she didn’t have another option but to stay here.
I turned around. I loved blood, but seeing Irene like that caused a knot to swell in my throat.
Myrtha raised her silver dagger. “If she has to be yours, you must make your offer now. Stretch your arm over her mouth.”
