I pulled up my sleeve but left the glove on. When Myrtha stepped closer, I stiffened, but she didn’t touch me. She made a quick slash with the silver blade, and I hissed as smoke rose from the cut. Cursed silver.
Drops of my blood fell into Irene’s mouth. The urge to stroke her face sent a jolt through me. For years, the thought of touching someone had been repulsive to me. But one glance atIrene, and I wanted to touch her, hold her, and promise her she would be fine. She was turning my world upside down.
Crimson coloured her lips, covering the cuts. If she didn’t want to kill the bastard, I would. Gladly.
I stared at Irene. “When she wakes up, ask her to write down everything she remembers about Sean.”
“I will. Now leave. Both of you.” Myrtha shook her head. “This is madness.”
White light burst out, and I walked out.
After I shut the door behind Darius and me, I slouched and leant against the wall.
Darius looked worried. “Irene might not be happy to be yours.”
“Better mine than dead.”
“Wait and see how she reacts when she learns you can control her.”
Irene shouldn’t be here. Not like that. She was supposed to live a long, happy life without darkness.
But if she sought revenge, I would fight with her.
17
WHITE SILK
Irene
The pink rays of dawn lit the bedroom. A bedroom I’d never seen. A glossy mahogany dresser, a thick damask carpet, and a large cast-iron stove took up the space.
The large, soft bed smelt of lilies, and the cherrywood nightstand and dresser were spotless. Not a speck of dust in sight.
I didn’t know how long I’d been like that, staring around, following the dance of the rays of the sun and not thinking of anything.
My body didn’t hurt, my lips were whole, and my face wasn’t swollen although fatigue weighed me down. Someone had taken care of me and carried me here. The possibility Sean was close made me sick to my stomach.
Sean. Confused memories flooded me mercilessly. The dinner, the thugs, the fire. Papa. My papa was dead.
I pressed my face to the pillow and cried until I drifted to sleep.
When I woke up, the long shadows of dusk were lengthening on the polished floor.
Someone must have kept the fire burning, and a tray with a pot of tea, sandwiches, and grapes sat next to me. A large bunch of white myrtle flowers brightened the room.
The door inched inwards, and I drew in a breath. If it was Sean, I would fight him.
A dark-haired woman slid inside. I remembered having seen her at my house. “You’re awake. I’ve kept checking on you.”
“Where am I? Who are you?” I craned my neck to see past her and caught a glimpse of a well-lit corridor.
“I’m Myrtha, and you’re in Raven Hall, a mansion on the outskirts of London.”
That didn’t mean much. “I thought I was dying.”
I tried to release my power, but it flickered weakly in my chest, too exhausted to work. I pushed harder, and it leapt out of me. Myrtha’s aura was a pure silver light with blue tendrils floating around her.
She moved with ethereal grace, her feet barely touching the floor. Her beautiful white silk gown seemed made of water, so nicely it flowed over her curves. The gown was simple with a fitted bodice adorned with pearls and white velvet roses, and a flared skirt with flounces and a white underskirt. The whole effect was light and fluffy as if the skirt weighed nothing.
