This is me.
This is who I am.
For once, I am in charge.
And I must decide.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
My life has been marredby death. Before I’d even taken my first lungful of air, I had murdered my mother, my father quickly following. Why do I always end up killing the ones I love? Why does it always have to end in death?
There must be another way.
I don’t want to save my brother from eternal unrest by killing the man I’ve fallen in love with, the man I’ve given myself to, the man who has made me feel alive.
Valdemar’s question comes back to me.
“And if I hadn’t killed your brother?”
And my response hits me full force in the chest.
“Then I would be falling at your feet.”
He didn’t kill my brother. He couldn’t pull the trigger back then any more than I could pull it in the dream.
And it comes to me, the answer I’ve been searching for to the question Valdemar asked me. What will make me happy? What is the only outcome that would deliver my happiness?
Snapping my eyes open, I find Valdemar and Ed staring at me, waiting, watching as I clutch the knife in my right hand, bracing myself.
“Open your shirt,” I tell Valdemar.
He doesn’t hide the gulp or the sadness in his eyes as he reaches for the buttons, his fingers releasing the material to reveal the smoothness of his chest.
I straddle him, his eyes never leaving mine as I run my hand along his skin, smoothing down the canvas I’m about to deface. Will it be the raven’s head, a wing, or a tail the knife punctures?
“Quickly. Don’t hesitate,” Valdemar says, but as I place the knife on his skin, he grabs hold of my hand, his eyes widening before they soften. “Before you do this, I want you to know that I wish things could have been different. I wish I could have been someone else to you. I wish I could have been what you are to me.”
I lean closer. “And what is that?”
His lips brush mine, his other hand gripping my thigh. “Everything.”
As I drag the blade slowly across his chest, it punctures his skin, blood leaking from the open wound. I sit back slightly, admiring the colour and the richness of his blood as it runs down his body.
Keeping his attention trained on me, I ask him, “And what makes you think I don’t feel the same about you?”
As Valdemar absorbs my question, its hidden meaning filtering through his brain, I slash my palm quickly with the blade, the sting making me feel alive.
His eyes go from my face to my palm, realisation not dawning on him quick enough to act before I place my hand against the open wound on his chest.
His eyes meet mine, wild, frenzied.
“What are you doing?” He tries to pull away, but the force of my hand pushes him back as I speak.
“I, Evangeline Bransby, swear the Blood Oath to you, Valdemar Montresor.”
“No!” he cries.
The words come to me as if I’ve always known them and they’ve just been waiting for this moment. “I bind myself to you and you to me, body, mind, and soul, in life and in death, forever joined, releasing you from any previous Blood Oath you may have sworn.”
