But he knew the closer he got to his goal, the weaker he’d become. Her hands were bound and she had no way to loosen herself from the rubies. There were too many of them.
It was an impossible task. Impossible.
Impossible for a vampire whose Asthenia was rubies.
A labored twisting on the floor to look behind told him Lerina had gone, perhaps fearful that if he gave up on saving Maia he’d come after her.
He collapsed on the floor, his face and bare torso grinding into the grit even as he used his toes, his fingers, to try to propel himself closer. Just a little closer. The length of a fingernail. The distance of a flea jump. He dragged, writhed, heaved, trying to make himself move.
The power from the gems emanated from Maia more strongly than the flames and smoke, but at last he moved himself to where he could see her again.
“Maia,” he gasped.
“Corvindale,” she said, then coughed. She seemed to be more awake now, more lucid. She’d regained her strength, only to die?
“I…can’t…” he choked out, his throat closing with emotion. “Ican’t.”His fingers dug between two wooden planks, but they were so weak he could barely fit them into the groove. It was too much. Something stung his vision, gritty and bitter.
“I know,” she said, somehow mustering the strength to speak over the choking smoke in her lungs. “I know it.” Her beautiful face was streaked with black, her hair messy and sagging, her gown filthy and the malevolent rubies shining like dancing red beacons in the roaring flames.
“Maia. God, Maia…I’m…sorry,” he groaned, tears stinging his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” she said, holding his gaze somehow through the smoke and darkness. “I love you…Gavril.”
I love you.The emotion flashed into his own mind, burning there like some great revelation. Truth.
At the same time as that self-realization, that long-denied truth, a sharp slice arced through him. For a moment he thought something had fallen, landing on his naked back. Or that a stake had stabbed him, piercing his heart. But it wasn’t that, it wasn’t external. It was something inside, cracking, splitting. Pain blazed through him and his muscles collapsed at last, his face slamming into the dirt. He couldn’t lift his finger. Could barely blink. His breath was short and restricted, his mouth filled with dirt and ash.
Dimitri squeezed his eyes closed, the pain overtaking him. With one last breath, he heaved himself up, lifted his face to look at her once more. He had to tell her. He couldn’t let her die without knowing the truth.
He couldn’t even speak the words, but hethoughtthem, sent them to her with his gaze.Ilove you. Maia, I love you. I have always loved you.
The pain snapped and sizzled, centered at his Mark and raging through his flesh, his muscles and organs, and down through his limbs, radiating torture like never before. He cried out in agony, seizing and shuddering, trying to throw it off, to escape.
Never. Never anything like it.
It burned like a thousand fiery whips laying into his skin until he thought he would explode, go mad, scream until his throat was raw. And then, impossibly, he saw Wayren…nodding, with a quiet smile.
Then…nothing.
Black. Darkness.
21
IN WHICH MIRACLES BECOME CURSES
Dimitri opened his eyes to darkness and a roaring that filled his ears.Heat. Roiling heat.His thoughts were confused, sluggish, and as he lifted his head, he remembered.
Pain.But it was gone now.
Maia.Oh, God.
Emptiness and fear stilled him for a moment, then he dragged his eyes back open and looked around. Golden and red flames swirled and danced; heat seared him. His lungs burned; his eyes were raw. Beyond the flames, darkness loomed.
He’d died. He was in Hell.
Where is Lucifer?
He’d seen Wayren for that one, odd moment…but nothing of the fallen angel.
