The threat was pure and simple, delivered with the calm certainty of someone who had never once failed to follow through. Angelo never went back on a promise—whether it was a reward or a punishment.
Killian visibly flinched at the words, his face going even paler. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he swallowed hard, the sound audible in the oppressive silence. He nodded once, a jerky movement that spoke of a man who had just signed his soul away.
“I’m not lying,” he insisted.
Perhaps. But lying seemed to be second nature to Killian.
“Stick out your palm.” Angelo placed the blood stone in Killian’s shaking hand.
I stood perfectly still, waiting to see whether Killian was telling the truth or lying. Beads of sweat rolled down his temples, and I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
I was desperate for his blood, and my fangs descended as I waited to lunge if he lied.
The stone began spinning in Killian's palm, faster and faster until it became a dark blur. The air around his hand shimmered with unnatural heat as the stone suddenly seemed to melt into his skin like a hungry leech, disappearing beneath the surface with a sucking, viscous sound that made my stomach turn.
Killian's eyes went wide with shock before he hissed sharply between clenched teeth, his face contorting in agony. "Ah, god!" He clutched his wrist with his free hand and dropped to his knees on the cold marble, his body convulsing as if lightning were coursing through his veins.
The terrible sound filled the office—wet, rhythmic, like something feeding. It echoed off the high ceilings and made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Even Stefan shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
Killian threw his head back, tendons straining in his neck as he cried out in pure anguish. His scream bounced off the walls, raw and broken. Sweat poured down his face as if he’d just stepped out of a shower.
Was this supposed to happen? My pulse quickened. The stone had absorbed into his skin, but was it actually working, or had something gone wrong? Killian's pain looked real—too real. What if the spell was killing him instead of extracting his blood?
Bit by bit, the stone began to show through his translucent skin, changing color slowly—from deep black to pale pink to bright orange that pulsed like a warning beacon. My heart sank. The bastard was lying to us after everything.
I bared my fangs in fury at his treachery and took a menacing step forward, my hands clenching into fists.
Angelo's iron grip clamped down on my forearm, stopping me mid-stride. "Wait," he commanded, his voice cutting through my rage. "It's changing colors."
I forced myself not to break away from his grasp, every muscle in my body coiled tight with frustrated anger. My patience had evaporated completely. But Angelo was right—the orange was deepening, shifting to dark red, then to almost black as midnight.
As if suddenly satisfied with its meal, the stone began to separate from Killian's palm, rising slowly like a dark pearl emerging from flesh.
I couldn't look away. The stone lifted with an almost hypnotic slowness, slick and gleaming, leaving Killian's unmarked skin behind. Was this supposed to happen? The dark magic fascinated and repulsed me in equal measure. Had it worked? Was the blood inside somehow, or had the spell failed? I had no way of knowing—no reference for what success looked like. All I could do was watch this impossible thing unfold and hope Tinker Bell had been right.
His eyes fluttered shut, and he toppled backward in slow motion. His body crashed into the jagged remains of Stefan’s bookcase with a sickening thud, sending splintered wood and leatherbound volumes cascading around him like fallen leaves.His head lolled to one side at an unnatural angle, blood from his earlier cut now smearing across the marble floor.
The stone rolled from his limp fingers, skittering across the polished marble with a series of sharp clicks that echoed in the sudden silence. I wrenched free from Angelo’s grip, my boots slipping slightly on the smooth floor as I lunged forward and seized the stone before it could disappear under Stefan’s desk.
The moment my fingers closed around it, the stone pulsed with unnatural warmth, almost hot to the touch, like holding a coal fresh from the fire. Worse than that—I felt a heartbeat thrumming against my palm, steady and strong, as if it was alive. The hair on my arm stood straight up and I shivered.
Stefan shot to his feet, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. “Is he alive?”
I felt nothing for Killian either way. But the unborn child—that innocent life—didn't deserve to be fatherless because of our actions. If Killian died, that baby would pay the price for our desperation. That was the only reason his survival mattered to me.
Anton jumped up from his chair and raced over to Killian. He dropped to his knees beside him, heedless of the blood and debris. His hands shook slightly as he pressed two fingers against the pale column of Killian’s throat. The seconds stretched out like hours.
“He’s got a pulse,” Anton finally announced with a sigh. “Weak, but it’s there.” He focused on Stefan with a worried look. “He needs medical attention. That thing nearly drained the life out of him.”
Dimitri whistled low, a sound that was equal parts impressed and disturbed. "And here I thought vampires were the only ones who knew how to properly drain someone. That little rock just put us to shame."
Stefan pressed an intercom button again. “Guards, get in here. We have a medical emergency.”
The stone grew warmer in my hand, and I could swear the heartbeat was getting stronger while Killian's life seemed to be slipping away. I stiffened, every sense on alert, as I realized what might be happening.
Was the stone still feeding? And what had Tinker Bell really given us?
