Page 39

Shapes come in and out of focus. Cloudy, discolored, wrong.

I blink, barely able to make out his jaw, the slope of his nose, the curl of his hair. His words are slightly muffled, as if we’re underwater. A wave of his large hand parts the clouds obscuring my vision and hearing. Awestruck, I gaze upon him. So beautiful, this vampire I once called mine.

“It’s too late,” Vivvy snarls, reaching for the silver stake at her waist.

Quill’s attention flicks to her for merely a moment.

She screams. It’s a sound of blood-curdling, bone-chilling terror. Spiders, thousands of them, crawl all over her. They burrow into her mouth and in her ears, and she collapses onto the ground as she claws at her face, her throat. More screams, more horror as every single person in this garden crumples beneath some kind of fear. It is so real, I cannot fathom it. I cannot figure out how Brutus is overrun by rats or some hunters appear to be drowning.

A tan-skinned vampire with dark, endless eyes bounds up the stairs and peeks over Quill’s shoulder. “It’s not looking good, brother.”

“Rory.” Quill tears the ribbon and vines from my arms and rips the fabric from my mouth. “I can help you.”

A female is here now too. “You cannot do both, Quill.” She shakes her head, blunt black hair bobbing. “It’s her or the king.”

It’s her or the king?

What could that possibly mean?

Quill’s arms wrap around me as he lifts me into his lap. He gently caresses my cheek with his thumb. “Rory, do you want to live?”

But I’m already dead, aren’t I? That’s why none of this is real. Not the three dozen versions of him or the rats or even the lightning striking through hunters who have defeated their fears.

Still, I whisper, “More than anything.”

Another ridiculously tall and pale vampire frowns down at me.

“Listen to me very closely.” Quill’s voice is velvety as it wraps around me. It’s a cloak of safety, of reassurance. “The only way for you to truly live is if you die, love.”

I blink up at him; that doesn’t make any sense.

“But your vow, Quill.” The blond-haired vampire stares at him, his features laced with concern. “You know the risk. It’s far too great. Mihal and the Seven⁠—”

“I will deal with both Mihal and the Seven.” Quill’s tone brooks no argument. “Eivor, go with Risna to the Shore of the Damned and prepare for the Embrace.” He grins at the first vampire, the one with friendly dark eyes. “Carver, when was the last time you beheaded a king?”

There’s an exchange of worried glances before two of them disappear, hand-in-hand, into the myst. The female’s parting grimace is one that sends a shiver down my spine. She almost looks… frightened.

“I hope you know what you’re risking,” Carver mutters, scanning around us. He wrinkles his nose at the witch beside him, sand pouring from her orifices . “I will make the king’s death swift, so long as you do the same with Rory. There’s no telling how long it’ll take for the witches to figure out how to free themselves from your illusions.”

My brow furrows at his words.

Quill grunts as he tears into his wrist, splitting the skin with his teeth. “Rory, you need to drink from me.”

“This dream is truly strange,” I say, voice weak even to my own ears.

“This is no dream, tiny monster.”

I twist away from him, from the blood dripping from his wrist.

The only way for you to truly live is if you die.

He means to change me—to make me like him.

A creature. One of my sister’s sworn enemies.

“Quickly, love.” He brings his wrist closer to my mouth, heedless of my uncertainty. “Your pulse is fading.”

Either way, my heart will stop.