“Jesus, Hellsing…what the hell?!”
I didn’t answer right away. I just looked at her, felt the tremble still in my hands, the pounding of my heart.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whispered.
Her eyes widened. “What happened?”
“He came to me,” I murmured. “Bael. He’s in. He knows.”
“Knows what?”
I ripped down the neckline of the t-shirt, exposing the sigil that sat atop her breast.
“That you bound yourself to me. And that the mark isn’t working anymore.”
“Hellsing…” was the last word I heard before the roaring in my head began.
GRACE
The moment Peter dropped to his knees, the world tilted.
One second, he was looming over me, the next, he had crumpled. His hands clutched his head, and I watched as I witnessed something inside him trying to tear its way out. The sound that escaped him wasn’t human. It was deep and ragged, a growl swallowed by pain.
I hit the floor beside him without thinking. My hands caught his face, fingers trembling as I tried to make him look at me. His skin burned under my palms, his breath came in shallow bursts, and when his eyes finally met mine, they weren’t blue anymore. They were black, bottomless, and violent.
“Peter,” I whispered. “Look at me, please.”
He didn’t. He couldn’t. His body shook, muscles rigid, the veins straining along his neck as sweat ran down his temples. Every instinct in me screamed to hold onto him, to drag him back from whatever abyss was pulling him under. I slid closer, gripping his shoulders as his body bowed forward.
“I’m not letting you go,” I said, my voice breaking. “You hear me? You’re stronger than this.”
Then the heat hit me. It came from deep inside. I screamed as I tore at my shirt. My sigil, it burned against my skin, pulsing like it had come alive, answering some unseen call. The air thickened and the energy shifted. I didn’t need to think; I knew what I had to do.
The words rose from memory; from the last time I had spoken them to him. From that ancient text that lay hidden in my bag. I began to chant, the syllables falling from my tongue like sparks catching flame.
“Sanctum invocatum… protectum in veritate…”
The room hummed, heavy and charged. Peter’s breathing stuttered, then hitched, and suddenly his eyes locked on mine. There was fire in them again, blue flames, desperate and alive.
His hands shot out, clamping around my wrists, grip unrelenting. “Grace,” he rasped. “Keep going.”
I didn’t stop. The sigil on my neck glowed brighter, the light casting sharp shadows over the walls. He dragged me closer until I was straddling him on the floor, our chests almost touching. My voice wavered, my breath mingling with his as I whispered the final lines.
He exhaled hard, shuddering in exhaustion, his body losing its fight as the tension drained from his frame. His hands fell to the floor, and for a long moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound was our breathing, ragged and uneven.
Then his voice came, low and rough. His words mumbled as I had his head held to the side of my neck. “Let go, Grace.”
I moved slowly, careful not to disturb whatever was hurting him. “Are you okay?”
He shook his head. “I need you to sit down, Grace.”
It wasn’t a command I could refuse. My body obeyed before my mind could catch up. I sat beside him, pulse racing, the heat between us still electric.
He ran a hand over his face, dragging in a slow breath. When his eyes found me again, they were searching, angry and demanding. “What the hell was that?”
“You tell me,” I whispered, still catching my breath. “You were the one possessed.”
He leaned closer. “You were chanting.”
