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I nod. “Jasper… is still alive.”
Chapter13
Jasper
Iwake to a gentle touch on my forehead, but it’s not my mother’s.
No, my mother is long dead.
Ishara Doyle, the witch I was assigned to kill, is wiping away the blood from my face, throat, and chest with a damp cloth. Her movements are slow, deliberate, and almost apologetic.
Gripping her wrist, I stop her as her intense gaze burns into mine.
I’m not sure what I should say.
I’m sorry? That seems too simple and hardly encompasses everything I’m feeling.
I tried to kill her.
Multiple times.
And now I know that I’ve put her in a terrible position, one where she might as well be dead already.
Because the Houses aren’t going to allow her to live after this.
They won’t let any of us live.
I’m not as upset about that as I should be, at least when it comes to my own life. I’ve gone through every day seeking a blade, seeking blood, and never quite finding it.
Today… Ishara Doyle gave it to me.
“My angel of death, how beautiful you are,” I say instead.
She must not be expecting my words, because she blinks at me a few times before laughing.
The sound would cut anyone else down with its raw power, but I let it seep through me like needles through water. The effects leave behind a warm tingling sensation that has me craving more of her voice.
She licks her lips before replying with a barely audible whisper. “Nolan might take offense to me being called an angel.”
“That oversized bird?” I offer, smiling when my mate laughs again. “I don’t care what he thinks.”
“Clearly,” she says, then turns somber while I run my fingers over the inside of her wrist.
Her skin is so soft, and despite my recently slashed throat, all I want to do is pull her on top of me and explore more of her.
“If cutting you open has this effect, I’d hate to see how you react when I’m nice to you,” she replies. “I’ve never laughed in front of someone else before. It’s… nice.”
I like that her voice is huskier now, my touch having its intended effect.
Because we are still fated mates.
And now, we’realone at last.
A frown overtakes my face when I recall speaking those words, but it wasn’tmewho said them.
It was the spirit of a patriarch named Daithi. Which is why Ishara was forced to slit my throat.
Not to kill me… but to save me.
