Without thinking, she ran forward.
She dropped, catching him just before he fell. But the damn demon was huge, and she would have fallen too if he hadn’t found awareness from somewhere and steadied himself at the last moment.
He gripped her shoulders. His head lolled, hanging forward, but he was semi-conscious at least.
Slowly, he lifted his chin, his long hair a mess from the gusting wind. His clothes were singed but he looked otherwise unharmed. That was until she saw his face.
He met her gaze, and she gasped.
His eyes were solidly black. Dark veins spread out around them and spidered down his cheeks. His face looked extra hollow, his skin so pale it was nearly as white as his hair. His lips were bloodless and stained black at the same time. If he’d looked eerie before, it was nothing compared to now.
His claws tightened on her shoulders, and he leaned in. Or maybe he was still swaying on his knees, fighting to stay awake. But when he drew near, she heard him very clearly whisper.
“The spell …”
“What? What happened?”
“Failed. Again.”
And he slumped forward, unconscious.
COLD,COLDHEART
WHENMURMUR’S MIND CREPT BACK TO CONSCIOUSNESS, he heard the crackling of the fire. He felt warm, which was a rarity for him. He was always cold. He was so cold, he’d justbecomethe cold so he didn’t feel it anymore. But he felt warm now, and it was pleasant.
He opened his eyes. He was lying on the rug by the fireplace in his library, covered by a blanket. He turned his head and saw Suyin, fast asleep. She sat beside him on the ground, leaning against the couch, which she’d pulled closer to the fire. There was a book open in her lap, but she’d nodded off while reading, and her head slumped to the side. He smiled a little at the sight.
His gaze dropped to her forearm, resting carefully over the open book, and his smile faded.
Blood soaked her bandage.
Blood that hadn’t fucking worked.
Whyhadn’t it worked? He’d been sure her sacrifice would be strong enough. But obviously, he was still missing some crucial step, and he didn’t know what it was.
He was running out of chances to try. Every time he failed, it drained him of power and took him days to recover. This time, he’d gotten further than ever before, and it was only a matter of time before the High King figured out what he was doing and incinerated him with hellfire.
Even with Suyin’s willing blood sacrifice, he wasn’t strong enough to break through the final barrier of protection around the Nine Rings. Reinforced with the archangel’s blood, the outer lines of the sigil had held, and there was more than enough strength in the hellfire. But something was lacking to complete the portal.
He needed more. An even greater sacrifice. It was the only explanation.
But he had already taken twice as much blood as he needed from Suyin to make the offering. And she was as willing as it was possible to be. She knew exactly what he was doing, and she wanted to help of her own free will. Why wasn’t it enough?
Slowly, the truth sank in, and with it, his blood ran cold.
There was one terrible form of sacrifice he had not yet considered. One very final, terrible form.
And, given his fondness for the witch, he could only conclude that it would be an astoundingly powerful one. More than powerful enough to do what he needed it to.
Murmur turned to one side, pushed into his palms, and sat up. His head spun and his stomach churned from his realization. He felt like death warmed over. He always did after practicing strong necromancy, and this was easily the most difficult spell he’d ever attempted. But this time, his epiphany made him feel worse than the magic.
He’d told Suyin to leave if anything went wrong, and him face-planting after the spell finished was easily classifiable as a complication. Yet she had stayed. And she’d somehow dragged his unconscious body over to the fire, though it must have been difficult.
Whenever she was around, he became fixated on her presence, whether she was arguing with him, sitting in the corner reading quietly, or offering her body to him and obeying his commands. He had made compromises for her. Henevercompromised, but somehow she had convinced him.
She was fucking with his head. And while he couldn’t lie and say he didn’t enjoy being fucked with—especially when it involved bending her over his desk—it was making it harder to think clearly, clouding his judgment.
His souls still screamed at him, and his multilayered plans grew more intricate with every complication. His impending death still loomed on the horizon.
