Page 163 of Eternal Obsession

Catherine was unsettled. After enduring so much, this danger felt like the last blow—this time it might truly end her.

End all of them.

“Sunaria, what do I have to do?” Alex said.

“Watch me,” Sunaria said. “I will pour my blood onto them, and then you must do the same.” Sunaria bit into her left wrist.

Blood poured, flowing over and around the many ashes, moistening both them and the garment beneath.

The ashes glistened and glimmered, a shining, magical thing, like stardust. Shimmering with echoes of a soul not yet fully gone. Light danced across the surface, as if memory itself clung to each molecule, refusing to fade. It was beauty born of ruin, fragile and defiant, whispering that even in death, something sacred remained.

“Now you, Catherine,” Sunaria said.

Catherine shook her head and glared at Alex.

“Then you, Alex.” Sunaria stepped toward him and thrust up his shirtsleeve. “Your brother needs you.”

Alex froze in wonder and terror. Then he extended his arm to her, trembling, every movement soaked in a desperate longing it to be real.

“Hold still.” Sunaria bit into Alex’s wrist. “The wound must be deep.” She bit again.

Alex flinched, his jaw tightening, eyes clenched shut against the sharp, unrelenting sting of pain.

His blood flowed readily.

“Alex, please,” Catherine warned too late.

“See how the ashes react.” Sunaria wiped her mouth. “It won’t be long now.”

Tears rolled down Alex’s cheek. “And my brother?”

“Will be formed, like nothing ever happened,” Sunaria said. “Though with the revival comes great hunger.”

Chapter Sixty-Six

SNOWSTROM

It was too late.

I entered the dungeons and found her, Alex, and Catherine.

There in the corner, half-hidden in shadow, was the whirling ash over marbled tile.

Swirling into vague form. At first, just a breath, an exhale from the polished stone itself, like the world sighing in anticipation. Then, slowly, reverently, the dust whirled inward, drawn by a force that was not life, but something deeper, older . . . insatiable. Sunaria had done the unthinkable.

A corporeal moan emanated from the thing.

Horrified, we were witnessing a violent birth.

“Snowstrom,” Sunaria said, “you are not welcome here.”

“This is work for the elders,” I said. “You have overstepped your mark.”

A mortal presence caused us to turn. Ingrid stood at the doorway. She had followed us down.

Ingrid entered.

She blinked into the darkness, heart hammering, mind grasping at shadows, unable to make sense of what her eyes were seeing. All at once, disbelief and terror collided. Her thoughts echoing . . . what the hell is this?