“Soul-marked you say?” he demands. “Fuck, your Fanginess—excuse my language—but that’s a heavy spell. The Necro Don must really want her!”
“I am afraid he took a liking to her the very night you brought her over,” I say grimly. “But she is under my protection—I cannot simply allow her to be taken. She must be returned to the Human world within the next twenty-four hours—the sooner the better.”
Whistler runs a hand through his hair in obvious agitation.
“But my Lord—that’s going to come at a huge cost!” he protests. “I mean, it can be done, but whoever does it will have to make a very expensive and difficult sacrifice to provide the energy.”
I expected as much—the Shadow Realm demands payment for every impossible thing.
“Let me worry about that,” I say coldly. “I will pay the necessary price—I will make the sacrifice.”
The words taste like blood in my mouth but I don’t try to take them back.
“Prepare the portal,” I tell Whistler. “She must go back by tomorrow morning at the very latest.”
Whistler stops pacing and bows deeply.
“Yes, my Lord.”
He does not call me Your Fanginess again. The humor is gone—he understands now…and so do I. This undertaking will be an enormous effort…and the price tag won’t be cheap.
The Vox dims as Whistler vanishes back into the In-between, leaving the chamber eerily quiet. The red glow fades, but the echo of power lingers—along with the ache of what I know is coming.
A direct portal through the In-between. Not a gradual crossing…not a guided slip but a forced passage.
The magical expenditure will be ruinous. I will have to give up what I love the most.
I close my eyes for a moment and Julia’s face rises unbidden—her laugh…the warmth of her body against mine…the way she looked at me this morning when she trusted me without reservation.
I want to push the knowledge of what must be done away but honor binds me tighter than any spell.
Hanna is my Curvy Queen’s friend, which means Hanna is mine to protect.
And Malthus?—
My eyes open, burning, as anger washes over me.
That son of a bitch made of bones!
How dare he invade another Don’s realm? How dare he lay claim to a woman under my protection? How dare he reach into my lands and mark her soul like prey?
This is not politics…this is not negotiation.
This is an insult, pure and simple. And it will be answered as such.
I turn toward the far wall, where the sigil of the Bleeding Court is carved deep into the stone—my symbol… my dominion.
Malthus thinks his power over death gives him the right to take what he pleases.
He is wrong.
And before this is over, the Hollow Necropolis will remember exactly why the Crimson Spires are not to be tested.
56
Jules
By the time I get Hanna into her room, she’s barely holding herself upright.
