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What a crock of shit.
“You’re just telling yourself whatever you need to hear,” I snarl at him. “But I know the truth. You’re fucking evil.”
He tuts. “Oh come now, Rose. Evil is such a contentious word, don’t you think? So…close-minded. I choose to think you mean decisive. It’s much more apt.”
“If you don’t like evil, I have other words. Cowardly, cruel, despicable,” I spit them out at him. “Most of allpathetic. You’re a desperate old white man clinging to his youth, no different than your average sack of shit in a mid-life crisis.”
His lip curls into a toothsome snarl and he jerks his hands, making my body feel like it’s being torn apart.
I scream. I scream and let the pain and the anger churn through me like waves, creating chaos in my veins. I look up at the ceiling and I pray, wish,askfor the lightning to strike him.
With a deafening buzz, the electric energy inside me bunches up and releases right out of the top of my head, shooting up through the market’s arched ceiling and then blasting back down through one of the windows.
Shattered glass rains down on us as the lightning strikes Bellamy dead-on and everything turns white for a moment, my eyes reeling from the light. There’s a singed smell and smoke and I’m expecting his power to release me at any moment.
But it doesn’t.
I’m still stuck, being pulled in different directions.
And then I hear the laugh.
Low, rich, evil.
And then the smoke clears and Bellamy is standing there, not a hair harmed on his head.
“Foolish girl,” Bellamy says, his old mouth curving into a malevolent grin.
Then he flies through the air until he’s knocking me to the ground. He presses his hands at my chest and my throat and green electricity crackles as it stabs at my skin, burning me from the inside out. It’s his magic and it’s draining my life force, draining my own magic, until I’m turning into just a husk of what I used to be.
Are my organs going to go up in flames before the rest of me does?
The pain is blistering and I can’t even think anymore.
This can’t be it.
I’m not done.
All of Dahlia’s knowledge is in you, Lenore had said to me.
She was right. I am still Dahlia and there was one thing that Dahlia knew how to do best. I’m losing consciousness, succumbing to the power of his spell while I feel the heat starting inside me, but I have just enough strength to try one last thing.
Bellamy is immortal. Lightning can’t hurt him, nor can any of my powers.
But he is only immortal because of the blood of a vampire, and that should make him immortal in the same way that we are.
Meaning there’s a fatal flaw or two.
The lightning didn’t seem to set him on fire, and I’m not sure I have enough strength or magic left to try and slice off his head. But I do have one thing.
And he had taught me to use it well.
With my last bit of strength I bring my knees half-way to my chest, just enough to reach into my boot, the handle of the blade seeming to leap into my palm. I curl my fingers around it and yank it out with a cry of effort, my muscles straining as every movement feels harder and harder, like I’m moving through tar.
Bellamy looks down in time to see me bring the blade up toward him. It’s glowing blue, lighting up his whole face, not from his presence but from mine.
His gaze narrows on it and I feel his power intensify. The wave of power is so strong that it’s holding me in place and I’m screaming, trying to move.
Because he knows. He either knows or he fears it, he fears that this might be the thing to undo him.
