“The pages may be dead,” he continues, “but the book’s malice lives on.”
The memory of the book’s impulses thrums through me, at which my claws suddenly itch to be released.
“Take control of the light and the dark,” I say, repeating the clear instinct that raged through me when I tore through the book’s center.
There’s a pause behind me, and even if I listen hard and try to scent the air, it’s as if Emil has vanished again.
“That was the command of one of the darkest beings who ever walked this Earth,” Emil says with a soft snarl. “He was the one who wielded the arcane magic that turned soil to ash and rain to blood. His command has echoed through time, enduring despite the sacrifices that were made to defeat it.”
The nearness of Emil’s voice tells me he’s close to my right shoulder now.
I could simply turn around, but I’m not ready yet. Not when he’s giving me information I desperately need.
My fingers haven’t left the black rose and one of its thorns pricks my skin. Black blood seeps from the wound and drips, very slowly, onto the table.
“Take control,” Emil whispers at my shoulder. “Of the lightandthe dark.”
I stiffen as I suddenly realize…
That’s what my father has done.
I can’t stop my surprised whisper. “My father was obsessed with this book and now he controls both light and dark.”
“A feat that only a creature born of both light magic and dark magic could ever truly achieve.”
While Emil speaks, my fingertips leave the rose and brush the book’s torn edge.
Then, my focus flickers to the fireplace on my left. “I could burn what remains of this book.”
He’s so near to me that I sense the way he shakes his head. “External forces?—”
“Can’t affect it,” I say. “But I’m not talking about external forces.”
Again, I sense his reaction, reading the small silence to mean I’ve given him pause.
Taking a guess as to his exact location behind me, I step directly into him, satisfied when my back connects perfectly with his front.
“I’m talking about a fire of my own making,” I whisper, holding my breath as I take everything I can from the physical closeness between us and the illusion that I can sense my heart again. “This place is of my creation. Surely, I can create a fire hot enough to burn these broken pages. Turn them to dust?—”
I catch my breath as his arms wrap around me from behind, one at my waist, and the other across my shoulders above my breasts. He draws me close enough that every hard plane of his chest and thighs presses against me.
“You told me we were bonded in fire and betrayal,” I say, raising my arms to press them over the tops of his, as if I were the one holding him and not the other way around.
“What do you want from me, my Veda?” he asks, his voice more broken than I was expecting. “Why did you come inside this place when you could have remained free of me?”
What do I want from him?
I want to drag my claws across his chest and make him feel my heartache.
I want to sink my teeth into his neck and taste his blood.
I want to scream at him that I will have every vengeance that is owed to me.
But more than all of that, I want to forget all the ways in which he shielded me, protected me, healed me, soothed me, helped me, fought for me, bled for me…
And now I want to forget what Anarchy so aptly warned me about:he lies.
“I want you to tell me the truth,” I whisper. “I want you to tell me what my mother said to you before she died. I need to know why she looked at you as if…”
