“You recharge.”
Embers of heat spread from my chest, down my legs, and into my toes. It tickled like pins and needles after you’ve slept on your hand too long. It was my magick, coming back to me.
“Is that you?” I asked quietly. “Are you doing that?”
He chuckled.“Look at you. Smart and reckless. I’m liking you more by the second.”
Quiet settled over us again as he worked. I was grateful his horn wasn’t needed for this. Or his hands. He seemed to be able to send me power through our connection.
In the space that the quiet provided, I thought of all that had happened. Of Mellie, the girl with the hollow eyes that reminded me of myself, and the man that she’d killed.
Tears pricked in my eyes. “Why couldn’t I save Devlinn?” I asked the demon.
He didn’t say anything right away, and I wondered if that meant he’d gone. But I could still sense his presence. Finally, he replied, “There are some spells that even my magick can’t fix. Like death spells.”
My throat tightened, and I went to reach for the lace choker around my neck even though I knew I couldn’t make my hand move.“It can’t stop death spells?”
“No,”he continued. “Including the spell on your choker.”
I said nothing, accustomed to keeping my mouth shut about Mama’s curse.“I live inside you, Claire. Of course, I know about your curse.”
I’d wanted these powers so that I could save myself. To stop Imogen’s prophecy from coming true. But he was telling me I couldn’t do it. A sob caught in my throat. And even though warmth was pushing into every corner of my body, I started involuntarily shivering.
“Sleep,” Gorrath said. “I’ll take care of the rest.”
I awoke before my body was fully mine again, floating in that strange in-between place, aware but useless. So I didn’t fight it, as the demon advised. I just waited. Listening to the sounds in the background as they became louder and louder.
But truthfully, the only person I was listening for was Bastien. Instinct told me he was close by, but that wasn’t enough. I needed to see his face, hear his voice, touch him.
Time stretched on, whether it was minutes or hours; I wasn’t sure. Until finally, after trying to move my hand for what felt like forever, my fingers twitched.
It was the smallest victory in the world. I was coming back to myself. Recharged and ready. But my body was still catching up.
Slowly, clumsily, I dragged my hand across scratchy wool blankets. The effort was exhausting and made my head swim, but I didn’t stop trying to reach him. My fingertips brushed smooth cotton, then the cool curve of a button.
Bastien.
I followed it upward, mapping by touch alone. Button. Seam. The edge of a collar. Then cold fingers found mine, threading carefully through them. Twining us together. I tried to say his name, but found my voice blocked by the warm press of tears. I was so unbelievably happy and relieved to feel him again.
After everything that happened in the tunnel. And in that circle. I just needed him.
Bastien lifted the inside of my wrist to his lips, and my heart stuttered. “Chérie,” he whispered against my skin. “Have you come back to me? Or is this another dream?”
The sound of strain in his voice—the pain in his whisper—broke something open inside my chest. “You don’t dream,” I managed, trying not to cry. “You’re a vampire. Remember?”
He tried to chuckle, but it dissolved into a cough that shook his shoulders. “You’re right.” He pressed my wrist to his mouth again, kissing it once more. “But I’ve been in a nightmare ever since you lost consciousness.”
“Where are we?” I asked.
“Chastity’s Stronghold.”
I forced my eyes open and blinked until the blur cleared.And when I finally saw him, tears flooded my vision so fast it hurt.
Bastien was propped up beside me on a narrow bed. There was dried blood everywhere. Even in his hair. The pale strands a mix of sticky red and black. Deep tears in his shirt revealed angry claw marks over his skin. My head swam with dizziness, but I fought through it, forcing myself to catalog each of his injuries. Including his swollen and bruised jaw.
I went to touch it, but stopped short when he flinched away. “Why hasn’t anyone helped you?” I asked.
“I’m not a very good patient.”
