I need to get my head straight. Need to start thinking clearly again. A shower will help. It has to.
The hot water hits my skin, and I let out a long breath, feeling some of the tension start to melt away. I tilt my face up into the spray, letting it wash over me. The water pressure is perfect, pounding against my sore muscles. Steam rises around me in thick clouds, and I close my eyes, trying to empty my mind.
My shoulders slowly start to relax as I massage fragrant shower gel into my skin. The events of the day seem to swirl down the drain with the soapy water – the attack, Marcus’s frustrating protectiveness, the growing certainty that someone betrayed us—
I stop.
Something feels off.
I open my eyes and freeze. The water running down my body isn’t clear. It’s a deep, dark red. Blood red. My heart grinds to a complete halt as I stare at the crimson streams flowing over my skin.
“What the hell?” I whisper, stepping back from the spray abruptly. But the red follows me, coating my arms, my legs, pouring from me in rivers. I scrub at my skin, but it won’t come off. Panic surges.
No!
No, no, no, no!
The temperature plummets suddenly, despite the steam still filling the air. Goosebumps rise on my arms as my breathcatches in my throat. The air I exhale turns to mist in the warm air. The shower feels wrong now, tainted. Dangerous.
A whisper threads through the sound of running water, so faint I almost miss it.
“Do you think you can hide from me, witch?”Lucien’s voice, silky and menacing.
My pulse spikes as I spin around, but there’s no one there. Just red water and steam and that bone-deep wrongness.
“I can always find you…”The whisper comes again, closer this time. My heart thumps in my chest as I press my back against the cold tile wall.
“No! It can’t be…!” My voice is rough. Panicked. I leap out of the shower, grabbing for a towel. My wet feet slip on the tile floor as I stumble back, away from the crimson water.
The steam swirls around the mirror, condensing into a face I’ve grown to hate. Lucien’s aristocratic features materialize in the glass, his lips curved in that infuriating smirk.
“Such a waste of effort, little witch.” His voice drips with false sympathy. “Do you really think Nightshade’s protections can keep me from finding you?”
I clutch the towel tighter, fury mixing with fear as I glare at his reflection. “Get away! Get away right now!”
“But we’re having such a lovely chat.” His smirk widens, showing a flash of fang. “Besides, I thought you might like to see how your grandmother is faring.”
The mirror ripples, and suddenly, I see Gran surrounded by white mist, magical bindings glowing around her wrists and throat. She’s chained like an animal. Her usually immaculate silver hair hangs in tangles around her face. Even through the mirror, I can feel the dark sorcery pressing in on her.
“You sick bastard,” I snarl, my magic pulsing around me in response to my anger. “If you’ve hurt her—”
“There’s nothing you can do, little witch,” Lucien purrs through the mirror. “I’ll find you. I’ll find all of you. Your sister, your parents… Not one of you is out of my reach.” His smile turns cruel. “And Marcus. Poor, noble Marcus, thinking he can protect you.”
“You’re wrong. You think you can get away with this?” My voice shakes with rage as my fingers dig into the towel. “We’re going to stop you.”
“Such spirit.” Lucien chuckles. The sound is an icy fingertip that traces down my spine. “Your grandmother has the same defiance. See?”
The image shifts again. Gran sits straighter despite her bonds, chin lifted in that regal way I’ve seen a thousand times. Her green eyes, so like mine, flash with contempt as she stares up at Lucien, who’s materialized beside her.
“You’re going to fail,” she tells him, her voice hoarse but strong. “Just like every other power-hungry fool who’s tried to destroy us. You’re going to fail, and we’re going to end you.”
The crack of Lucien’s hand across her face echoes through the mirror. Gran’s head snaps to the side, a red mark blooming on her pale cheek.
“NO!” Magic explodes from me in a wave of fury. The mirror shatters, shards raining down into the sink as Lucien’s laughter echoes through the room. The last image I see in the shower of glass is my grandmother’s stricken face. Blood rains down.
And I can’t help myself.
I scream.
