Without anything left to do, I pulled her into my arms and cradled her limp body. But as soon as I lifted her, my dagger slipped from her hand. A choking sound tore free from my throat when I saw it tumble into a puddle of her blood. She’d tried. She’d tried to save herself.
“Claire, I’m here,” I said, smoothing back her hair with my bloodied hands. “I’m here.”
Beside her, a woman with long white braids, covered in black pustules, began to laugh. She was weak. Near death herself. I hadn’t paid her any attention until now.
I knew Shayla’s face, and this wasn’t Shayla. Which could only meanthiswas Angelina Prideaux.
Beat.
Beat.
Beat.
There was too much space between Claire’s heartbeats. But before me was a gift. If I killed her mother, the originator of the curse on her necklace, then perhaps I could save her life.
“You,” I snarled at the witch. “You have tortured her for the last time.”
Carefully, I eased my wifeoff my lap, but the motion was too much for her injured body, and the beatingstopped. I leaned down and pressed my forehead to hers, my body shaking. “No,” I whispered. “You can’t leave. You can’t go.”
She was gone. And I was…nothing.Not a prince. Not a warrior. Not a general. Not even a vengeful reaper. The only thing left of me… was nothing at all.
Chapter 41
Requiem
CLAIRE
The moment I opened my eyes, I knew something was wrong. I wasn’t inside the fort, watching Shayla guzzle a potion given to her by one of her witches before transforming into a werewolf. I wasn’t even lying in the cold mud. Face up. I wasn’t even holding Bastien’s dagger.
I was lying on something soft, and the air was thick with incense smoke. I drew in a deep breath, inhaling the biting scent offrankincense. Above my head, the vaulted ceiling stretched on and on.
Sitting up too fast, I groaned against the sudden dizziness. What had happened? The last thing I remembered was collapsing onto the ground. Blood was everywhere.
I lifted trembling fingers to my throat, and I realized the choker wasgone. The only thing left behind were the ridges of scars. I was still wearing my bloodstone. I wrapped my hands around it and closed my eyes, hoping to call Bastien to me.
Maybe I had survived. Maybe Mama’s blood had worked, and I’d been put here to recover. Yes, maybe Bastien was simply in anotherroom.
"She’s awake," came a gruff, annoyingly familiar voice.
Even though I didn’t want to, I turned toward the sound, clutching the bloodstone in my palm like it could protect me when Bastien couldn’t. I found myself in an elegant private dining room, lit by red-tapered candles dripping wax from iron candelabras.
"We were just talking about you, love."
Sitting at a polished obsidian dining table, set with plates of food and goblets filled with deep red wine, were two men. The first, I recognized instantly. Black curls and a single horn framed a face that looked far too pleased with himself. He still wore no shirt or cravat beneath his black jacket.
Gorrath.
But I thought he’d died. Mama had killed him. If that were true, then that meant I was in... the Underworld.
No. No. No. No. No.
I couldn’t have died. I clutched my stomach, tears swimming in my eyes. I’d lost everything. Everything. The sounds that came out of my mouth were inhuman. Screeches. Wails. I felt nothing and everything all at once. A loss so profound I could hardly breathe. I went on for what felt like hours. Crying and sobbing and screaming until there was nothing left inside of me. Until, finally, I covered my face with my hands and closed my eyes.
A chair scraped loudly against the floor. Footsteps. Then I sensed the demon hovering over me.
“You’re not going to let a little thing like death stop you? Are you?” I pulled my hands away from my face to glare at him. He was clearly amused by my reaction. “Come sit down at the table. I want to introduce you to an ol’ friend of mine.”
I peered around Gorrath’s frame to see who this friend was. He was a collection of hard edges and sharp lines, including the two black horns that spiraled from his brow.
