There's a quiet shuffling sound as if someone is setting things down, and then a hand brushes hair from my forehead. Thathand drifts down to press just below my clavicle, the touch so brief and methodical that it doesn't trigger my haphephobia.
Silas's hoarse voice murmurs, "I don't understand. You're breathing, so where is your heartbeat?"
It's obviously a question for himself, and I'm surprised by the raw frustration and vulnerability in his tired voice. Then he begins chanting in fae, and I know he's casting a potent healing spell because my hair stands on end. But otherwise, I feel nothing.
Because only one type of magic can heal me, and it's not blood magic.
That's why I've been hell-bent on avoiding any situation where this might happen—because it just raises more questions I can't afford to answer.
But he doesn't know that his magic is useless on a creature like me, so he tries and tries. Again and again and fuckingagain. It's a wonder he hasn't died of blood loss himself at this point.
"Why can't I heal you,ima sangfluir?" he whispers.
His desperation is…touching.
At least, it would be if my muddled brain didn't choose now to remember Everett's words at the inn.
We thought getting you in bed would be a challenge, but here we are. One day of fawning over you, and it opened you right up. Now we just have to decide who won their prize.
Assholes.
Someone else enters the room, and Silas's formerly soft tone turns razor-sharp. "You still haven't hunted today, therefore you're still a threat. Get the fuck out before you hurt her."
Baelfire's voice is guttural, unhinged. "I wouldneverhurt my mate."
"As if your dragon leaves you with a choice. You were mid fucking shift when I hit you with that immobilization spell earlier. Between you and putting no less thanninehexes onthat godsdamned DeLune to temporarily lock him in Limbo so Everett could get her back to this apartment for me to heal, my magic is annoyingly depleted. If you lose your shit again?—"
"She lookeddead." Baelfire chokes and then breathes out slowly like he's trying to diffuse a bomb in his head. "Of course, I lost my shit. I'm in control now."
"I'm not taking chances with her. Leave."
"If you think I'm leaving her in this fucking condition, you've lost more of your mind than you realize. Shut up and heal her already."
"I'mtrying," Silas grits, and I feel his hand brush lightly over my hair again. "It's not working."
I'm perplexed. If I was just a bet to them, why the hell do they both sound so worried over me right now?
Guilt. That must be it.
They must somehow feel responsible for this happening, and even though they're descended from monsters, they can’t handle the guilt. I cling to that reasoning, refusing to entertain any other possible reasons for their panic.
Because they hurt me. I can’t let it happen again, so I carefully tuck all of my emotions away in a metaphorical cage in my chest.
Right now is about survival, notfeelings.
"What the fuck do you mean, it's not working?" Baelfire demands. "You're a damn prodigy. I watched you turn raindrops into diamonds when you were seven. You just trapped Crypt fucking DeLune in Limbo—not even his immortal father has ever managed to do that. Why the hell can't you heal?—"
"I don't know," the blood fae snaps. I hear more shuffling and then a savage swear. "I need to feed to boost my magic. Give me your blood."
Bael growls, but a chair shoves backward, scraping on the floor. "Fine—forMaven. But you are not fucking biting me."
Through the hallucinogenic haze of agony clouding my brain, I listen to the sounds of them leaving the room, presumably to find something to collect Baelfire's blood in. I find the fact that the proud Decimus is donating blood in such a fucked-up way kind of…morbidly sweet.
But that thought disperses as the familiar sensation ofleavingtugs on whatever remains of my soul. The release is swift as I feel my body go cold, now completely incognizant of anything in the mortal world as I slip away.
Your first success is done.
Images flicker at light speed through my mind, a cacophony of randomly sickening scenes. Hordes of shadow fiends slinking through a maze filled with bloodcurdling screams. Rotting flesh. Green fire burning piles of corpses. Snow stained with blood and a dark throne made of bones—and, briefly, Lillian.
