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Panic struck a chord in my chest. I shook him vigorously, and his head lolled back so I could see his slack jaw and closed eyes.
“Isaac, open your eyes,” I said. “You need to keep your eyes open.” I could barely see his face. Martina fell to her knees at my side. She had tried to kill me, but I knew I was still safe with her son in my arms.
Slowly, his eyes opened, and Martina tried to pry him from my arms.
“Why aren’t you healing?” she demanded. Then, after a beat, she said, “Have you been using Ash again?”
Ash?My heart skipped a beat.Continuous use could inhibit Blood Magic.
San Volcán.I’d been right.
Slowly, Isaac opened his eyes and nodded his head. “Perdón, mamá. Los… últimos dos semanas han sido horribles…” he stumbled over every word and I watched his chest, transfixed by the stuttering breaths.
Martina wretched him out of my arms and rocked him like a small baby.
This was my fault. I had told him to stop once. But he never did. In fact, it had gotten worsebecause of me. Because I had ignored him.
Guilt crashed over me like the mighty sea. The same sea that had taken my brother from me. I wanted to take it all back, but I couldn’t speak the words.
My hand inched across the floor toward the young man I’d wanted to marry. I held my breath when Isaac’s eyes fluttered closed again. There wasn’t much time left.
Martina’s face clouded to the color of a vicious sea-storm. “Isaac, she’s not who you think she is. She’s a vicious pretender, and is only trying to use you. You shouldn’t have stepped in. You—” her voice broke alongside my heart.
Then Isaac’s eyes opened once again. They were bloodshot, and his face had turned ashen.
I watched, wide-eyed, as Martina looked at me with such venom it could corrode my heart. “You will not die wantingher,” Martina pleaded. Her voice shook with anger. “Renata isn’t even her real name, mijo.”
I stared in horror as Martina revealed my secret once again.
“¿Qué?” Isaac strained, frantically looking back and forth between me and his mother. I pulled back, wanting to run, but fixed to my spot by concern for Isaac.
Martina smoothed back Isaac’s silken hair. It was such a loving, maternal gesture that it made my heart ache.
“She is the bastard orphan of a whore, and her name is Carmen.” Martina sneered.
The waning force of Isaac’s attention landed back on me. I felt my chest tighten, a strange and unbearable sensation. My heart, already a fierce and beating thing, seemed to burrow deep inside my body. I felt sick.
“Renata,” he started slowly. “Is what she says true?”
My mouth fell open. Denying it would only make my story unravel faster than I could bear. He had saved me, and I owed him truth. With my heart in my throat, I nodded my head.
“Yes.”
The situation had escalated, and I was helpless against the aftermath. Isaac’s eyes turned into pools of night. He glared at me with bloodshot eyes, and I shrank under the weight of his pain. Technically, I hadn’t asked to compete, nor become a part of his life. I hadn’t lied to him, only kept the truth from him.
Isaac shook his head, his expression growing more enraged by the moment. I knew I was lucky he was immobile, but a part of me wished he could hurt me and I could atone.
“Isaac,” I said. “You know me. It wasn’t like that.”
“I don’t think I do.” Isaac choked. “I thought you were different, but you’re a liar.” He looked at me like he hated me. Like he could burn everything between us—all the trust and friendship, all the intimate moments, the passionate kisses.
I saw the moment when Isaac’s face dimmed. The air had gone still. Then, he took one last laborious breath before his chest stopping moving.
The merriment of the evening was washed away in this horrific mess.
Isaac’s dying memory of me would be the depth of my lies.
Martina released him, pushing herself away from the lifeless body. She had killed her son.
