Covet the Night, page 44
"She's sick," the familiar voice of the ghastly mask shot back.
"What the fuck do you mean, she's sick?"
Gwen blocked out their arguing and tugged uselessly at her new bindings. There was give to be had but nothing meaningful.
Pain riddled her body. The force of the last electric shock drained her of her anger and adrenaline. In its place was concern, reassurance, and love. Her heart lurched.
William.
Warmth diffused from her soulmark. It sought to soothe away the harsh edges of her pain, but despite its best efforts, it still radiated from her bones.
"Will she even survive the ceremony?"
The caustic words drew Gwen's misty eyes to her right. The woman in the ghastly mask stood nearby with her arms crossed over her chest. Adjacent was the devil woman. Gwen shuddered a breath. She wouldn't survive their ceremony.
A new flutter of concern danced across her soulmark. She drew her focus inward. If she could just figure out how to reach him. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and growled in frustration when nothing happened.
She didn't understand what to do. The connection was there, but it was just outside her reach. If she could just convey to him somehow where she was or tell him who her kidnappers were—
Gwen's eyes snapped open and darted about the room as recognition sparked inside her. Her gaze leaped from sorceress to sorcerer. They numbered somewhere around ten—no, twelve—but that wasn't what concerned her. Their robes, however, did. She slid her gaze back to the arguing sorceresses.
Each clan wore its colors religiously. Those who the Roux employed—or rather, had employed—wore red with silver accents. Among the court, she noted an array of jewel-tone robes: rubies, sapphires, and citrines. Gwen didn't know which clan claimed which color.
Except for one.
The sorcerers and sorceresses here all wore robes the color of wild cherry, a rich congregation of violet, burgundy, and black. The deep purple belonged to the Tempest Clan.
"Where is she?"
The sorceresses stopped their bickering and turned to Gwen.
"Who?" the owner of the ghastly mask retorted.
"Valdora." Gwen spat her name like a curse. The pair looked at one another briefly before the sorceress in the devil's mask stepped forward. "Where is she?"
"And here I thought the clans beneath the notice of the Royal Households," the devil woman commented.
"Come out and face me yourself, Valdora!" Gwen's shout rang out across the cavernous room.
The devil woman cursed and closed the distance between them. Her heavy footfalls clanged loudly against the metal floor, reminding Gwen vividly of Becca's fall. She pushed her hood back, revealing pale blonde hair, and then took off her mask.
"Darci—"
"It's fine, Murphy," Darci, the blonde, said. She stared down at Gwen with a pleasant smile that reached her eyes in the most disturbing of ways. "She's not here. Valdora adores taking the higher road," she huffed, eyebrows rushing down, "but we refuse to stand by and let our brothers and sisters continue to be slaughtered for you."
A staff was produced out of thin air. Darci slammed it against Gwen's stomach.
"Gods, Darci! I told you, she's fucking sick. We'll be lucky if she makes it through the first part of the ceremony—"
"Enough, Murphy," Darci snapped. "I know what I'm doing."
The strike left Gwen starved for breath, but her pain was remarkably short-lived. The skin around her soulmark prickled and heated as the pain from the assault drifted away. Gwen prayed her gratitude reached William.
"You know," Darci remarked, watching Gwen closely, "they don't usually turn your kind into vampyrés. Invalids."
"They'll turn me," Gwen panted.
Darci snorted. "You'll be dead long before they get their fangs in you."
Unceremoniously, a cloth was shoved in Gwen's mouth. She breathed heavily through her nose. The damp, musty air was barely tolerable. She squirmed as Darci hovered.
"Here's what we're going to do. My sisters and I are going to perform a spell that will let us communicate with our fallen brother and sister—the ones left for dead during your little initiation. We know the story your sisters have been spreading is nothing but lies, but first, we'll give you the chance to answer. Remember what Murphy said earlier. If you cooperate, your death will be swift. If not…."
Darci looked pointedly to Becca, then took the cloth from Gwen's mouth.
"What happened the night of your second initiation? When our brother and sister put you in a deep sleep only to be slain for their work?"
"I don't know. It was their own dark magic that took them down."
Darci, fast as lightning, grabbed Gwen's neck and squeezed. "Don't lie to me."
"I. Don't. Know," Gwen bit out against the suffocating hold.
"We know you were there, you and another. We did our homework and worked out all the details and clues the Roux failed to hide. And since the other one is dead, that leaves you as our only means to contact them in the beyond. Now, are you going to stop spitting out the same lies the Roux spouted off? The Tempest Clan is the most powerful here at court. Do you really think they would off themselves or lose control?" Darci's glower intensified. "Something happened down there, and you're going to tell me what."
"Go fuck yourself."
The pressure on her throat tightened, then vanished. Darci bent close, brushing her lips against Gwen's ear. "I was hoping you'd say that." The cloth was shoved back in Gwen's mouth. "It's go time!"
Sweat gathered at the back of Gwen's neck; her hair clung there in sticky clumps. The clan swarmed as one, taking positions at each point of the table. Gwen's chest heaved with daunting anxiety. And no matter how much the soulmark stirred in an attempt to soothe her, nothing worked. Her panic overrode the comfort it gave.
"We call to Fiona first. Hands and wands at the ready," Darci instructed, taking one of the corners by Gwen's head. The sorcerers and sorceresses obeyed, stretching their arms high above their heads with wands pointed heavenward. In unison, they tipped their heads back and chanted. Their words were blunt and held their own gravity.
Seconds later, dark matter shimmered into existence above Gwen. Fragments drifted down, slicing through her with remarkable ease. They’re like razor blades, Gwen thought as she whimpered and squirmed on the rickety tabletop.
"Fiona! Heed our call!" Darci commanded. The dark matter rushed together to form a vortex—a tornado. Its color took on a reddish hue. "Heed our call!"
Dread coursed through Gwen like a dam unleashed. The cloth muffled her scream as the tornado began to crumble and produce more fragments.
"Argh!"
Gwen shut her eyes and thrashed against her restraints. Her dress was sticking to her now, damp not only from sweat but blood. She couldn't stand it—couldn't take it. Her heart was racing into overdrive while the rest of her shut down. The room went dark.
"Be still," a calm voice commanded.
Gwen shivered as a clammy palm pressed against her forehead. Her eyes fluttered open to spy a skeletal mask.
"Will she make it for another?"
Gwen glanced to the end of the table where the question came from and was shocked to find her body free from any blood. How is that possible? Confusion warred with the visceral pain she'd experienced seconds ago.
"Yes, I've transferred her some strength. She should last for another round—and then some playtime if we hurry."
The palm left her head, and a wave of dizziness struck Gwen. She groaned, stomach rolling as acidic bile rose up the back of her throat.
"We call for Gavin," Darci said, her voice offering no room for argument. Her icy regard dropped to Gwen. "You better hope this works," the sorceress hissed.
The clan took up their chant again, and as before, dark matter materialized above Gwen. Fragments drifted down onto her. The sensation of their sharp edges piercing her skin was worse than the last time. They sank deeper, slicing their way through her already damaged body with cruel efficiency.
"Gavin! Heed our call!" Darci cried.
The dark matter rushed together, but this time it formed a different image. As the dark matter solidified, the falling fragments lessened. Gwen lay limp against the table, energy spent.
"Gavin!" Darci yelled at the bust-like figure that hovered in the air.
The head vibrated, its lips parting to answer in an omnipresent voice. "Darci?"
"Gavin, what happened?" Darci's voice cracked on each syllable.
"Darci? Where am I?"
"You're on the other side, brother. Tell us how you got there. What do you remember?" Darci's voice lost its vibrato as she commanded the ghostly apparition, which took several moments to reply.
"Shadowmancers," the voice said. "Wards. Bloodmag—blood." Cracks appeared in the apparition's facade. "B-b-b-bloodmage. Blood magic. Shadows! Shadows everywhere. Run! Run, Fiona!"
"Speak slowly, brother," Darci commanded as the bust shook. "Sisters, brothers, steady yourselves!"
Someone grunted. "It won't hold."
"I said steady!" But it was no use. The visage continued to crack and disintegrate into thin air until nothing remained.
"That's enough, Darci," Murphy barked. "Go wake up the last one," she ordered a sorcerer in a skeletal mask.
"We're not through here," Darci argued viciously. Gwen's eyes rolled weakly to stare at her. Her creamy complexion was bright red. Tears streaked down her face. When she caught Gwen staring, she snarled. Spittle hit Gwen's face. "Give her more strength, and we can get Gavin back to explain.”
"No." Murphy tore off her hood and mask. Long chestnut hair and glinting green eyes glared at Darci. "We've wasted enough time and got the answer we needed. There are few in this court who would dare mess with blood magic. We'll weed them out by process of elimination. Now, do as I say and help untie her."
"But—"
"No buts, Darci. Kill her and be done with it. We still have to get through the last one and find out what she knows about those meetings the Royal Households were having."
Darci glared at Murphy's order and stomped away, the metal floor reverberating with each step. Murphy spared Gwen a pitying glance, then departed as well.
“Kill her and be done with it.”
Gwen's blood ran cold, but the grave alertness allotted her one final burst of energy—and she wouldn't let it go to waste. Tugging at her restraints, she miraculously freed one leg. Her cry of relief was short-lived as she noticed Darci stalking toward her. A blade with edges like the ocean was in her hand.
"Nph!" Gwen gagged around the cloth in her mouth.
The blade arced down and embedded in her abdomen. Hot anguish flooded her as the table, and her body rocked from the force of Darci's wrath. The sorceress said nothing as she hovered over Gwen. Her expression held no sense of satisfaction or justice. But her downturned lips spoke volumes of her contempt.
"Useless," Darci muttered, sweeping her eyes over Gwen's shaking form. She walked away from her without another word, leaving the blade protruding from her.
Tears rushed down the sides of Gwen's face as she stared at the wicked blade. This can’t be happening, she thought numbly.
After all she'd gone through.
After surviving this long.
A bitter sob ripped through her. She had tried. She had fought. Gwen's hands inched toward the blade—when had they been freed? Who untied her?—and loitered around its wicked design.
She didn't know what to do. Pull it out or leave it in?
Her entire body was shaking, goaded by Antonia's shrieking from below. Gwen glanced at the scene, watching Antonia's thrashing body and finding inspiration. Taking the cloth from her mouth, she formed a haphazard plan—she would pull out the blade and stem the bleeding with the cloth. It wasn't much, but it was something.
She repeated the sentiment a dozen more times to herself just to wrap her quaking hand around the blade's handle. Gwen's entire body seized at the slight movement her grip caused. Her eyes widened in horror.
She couldn't do it. She would bleed out.
"Ugh! No, no." Her teeth rattled as she lost her nerve.
This is where I’ll die. Skewered to a table without—
A frightening howl pierced the air. It drew every hair on Gwen’s body to a point. She glanced over in time to see a streak of magenta lightning spear across the room, aimed right at her soulmark. He spirited out of its path, only to be the target of another.
Black spots dotted Gwen's vision as she tried to keep track of the scene. Menacing thunder shook the room, and magical lightning was shooting from every direction—a guttural cry cut through the chaos, followed by an anguished feminine scream.
"I'm here!" Gwen shouted as best she could.
The room sizzled with magic. Orders and snarls echoed everywhere. Her vision grew murky….
Another feminine scream lit the air. Antonia was darting up the stairs to Gwen but was struck down on her hands and knees by a burst of red starlight. She hit the floor with a groan and wobbled back to her feet, her face colorless as she took a hesitant step toward Gwen.
"Becca," Gwen said hoarsely and gestured in her direction weakly. Antonia bobbed her head and stumbled away.
The short exchange left Gwen winded and tired. So tired. All the magic in the world couldn't save her now.
"Gwen!" William's voice raised her senses, and he was suddenly above her. "Gwen… gods, what did they do to you? Here, don't move, sweet. I've got you." She wheezed as he helped stem the bleeding. "Gwen? Can you speak? Just hold on."
He was bleeding, bruised, and scorched, but the fire in his eyes was blazing brighter than she'd ever seen before. Mercurial silver glinted furiously in the light.
"William?"
His face crumpled, and, with great care, he rested his forehead against hers. "Don't go," he begged. "Here, take my blood." He reared back and bit into the flesh of his wrist, pressing the open wound to her parted lips. He'd not felt this kind of terror in centuries—nor pain. But seeing Gwen like this? Every fiber of his being burned in despair. He couldn't lose her. He wouldn't. "That's it. Keep swallowing as much as you can."
She couldn't stop shaking. William didn’t know what else to do.
"I don't think so," a woman growled with menace behind him.
Even with his hybrid speed, he couldn't avoid the direct attack without jeopardizing Gwen's already precarious state. He didn't know if his blood would do any good—but he'd had to try. As the magic hit him, his body convulsed, and he dropped to the floor.
"Did you really think you could come in here and save the day? Even with your strength and speed, you're outnumbered."
William spat blood, regaining some semblance of balance as he hiked himself up on his forearms. "Tell that to your friends."
Her second strike hit before his barb was finished, catching him in the lower back and sending electricity through his muscles. The metal groaned beneath the sorceress's weight, giving away her position all too easily. William waited with bated breath for her to be in striking range. He would take her off guard and pounce when she was within reach, but the bitch had other plans.
Darci's wand was raised by the time he spun and lunged. A soft blue light emitted from the tip of her wand, encasing his body in its cold embrace and freezing him mid-lunge.
"Your kind should never have been allowed to live. You're an abomination. A monster." Darci ran her eyes over him in disgust. "I'll be doing the supernatural world a service by ending you here and now."
As her top lip curled triumphantly, fear curdled in William's stomach that turned swiftly to shock as the point of some jagged knife spiked out of the sorceress's chest. She gasped.
"The only monster here is you."
The freezing spell collapsed, as did Darci and Gwen. William caught her just in time. Her face was deathly pale, their soulmark bond a phantom presence waning quickly. Fresh screams erupted behind them, but he couldn't care less.
The faint struggle of her pulse registered in his ears. Gwen stared vacantly back, her breathing growing shallower by the second.
"I love you," he told her fiercely.
Her lips tilted tremulously upward. "Love you."
Gwen experienced a swell of affection and great pride, an unadulterated pouring of love through the bond, weak as she was. She tried to focus the last precious minutes of her life on the man before her, but it was stolen from her in a violent blow.
William careened sideways as soon as the metal pole finished striking his head, taking Gwen with him. The world tilted on its axis anew as she was gently pried from his limp embrace by cold hands.
"Hold on, pet. I've got you. We've got you now." Laurel pressed her bleeding wrist to Gwen's mouth, her eyes a chilling ruby red. "Drink," she half begged, half commanded.
Gwen wasn't sure if she did, taking death's hand as it was offered to her instead.
XXVII
G
wen awoke cocooned in soft sheets with her head snuggled against a cool pillow. She relished their comfort, a sigh of contentment drifting past her lips. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so relaxed or rejuvenated.
Had Laurel given her something new for her pain?
The moment she opened her eyes, confusion seeped in. She didn't remember taking another potion or tonic—she knew she couldn't stomach them. Did Laurel give her another enchanted piece of jewelry? Memories slogged forth, blurring together in messy clumps. Their entanglement further knotted as she took stock of the room she was in.
This doesn’t look like my room. Wait—is it my room?
Gwen propped herself up on her elbows. The walls were decorated with black-and-white blowups of famous monuments around the world. Lush plants covered nearly every available surface: shelves, dressers, a desk. Even the bed set blanketing her was different, dyed rich indigo rather than pure white.
She didn't know why, but her stomach clenched at the sight of it. There was something about its coloring, so heavily blue but kissed by violet, that left her quivering.
