Bloodspell (The Cruentus Curse, #1)(48)
"That's forbidden too, in case you forgot. Not that I don't mind a little witch blood myself from time to time. We always crave the illicit, don't we? I just didn't think my straitlaced, uptight brother would indulge in such criminal inclinations."
"Think what you will, Lucian. Do not send any of your people here again, or I will return them to you in pieces myself. Food or otherwise, the witch is not your concern." Christian's words were final, indicating the subject was closed, and he disconnected the call.
The tension drained out of his body. If Lucian refused to leave Victoria alone, Christian didn't want to think of what he would do. A tendril of unease crawled up his neck—what did the Watchers know? What had they said to Lucian? And worse, what did he know?
Was Victoria in danger? Was she the one?
WHEN VICTORIA FINALLY awoke, it was to inky darkness, much like the very first night she had slept in Christian's house. She floundered weakly for the window switch and opened it a crack; no light, which meant nighttime. She closed her eyes and had to take a few minutes before she could focus properly, trying to remember the words Leto had taught her for the spell.
"Illustro," she rasped, illuminating the lamp in the far corner of the room. Her mouth felt like dry cotton and her eyes hurt as if they had grit in them. When she tried to sit up, the agony that stabbed through her back and neck was excruciating, and she gasped, falling back against the pillows. After a few minutes, she hauled herself up and inched her way into the bathroom.
She looked like hell. Her face was pasty with huge black circles under her eyes and a large purple bruise covered the side of her temple. A thick white bandage encased her shoulder, and she winced as she touched the edges of it. Splashing some cold water on her face, she finger-combed her hair and made her way downstairs where she found Christian sitting in the den, still and in repose, hands clasped against his chest. His lips moved soundlessly. Was he praying?
"Hi," she said, startling him.
"How are you feeling?" His voice was rough like sandpaper.
"Like I got hit by a truck." She smiled weakly and sat beside him, grimacing from the effort. "Thank you for coming for me," she said. "I don't know what—"
Christian put a finger against her lips and mindful of her injury, pulled her into a gentle embrace. He felt her familiar curves settle into his body and he swallowed painfully, tensing from the sheer proximity of her elegant, so elegant, throat.
Victoria felt his tension and propped herself up, noticing his very pale face and stormy dark slate-colored eyes. There was no light in them, just a latent hunger blackening their edges. His arms were rigid and she could see the muscles bunched tightly beneath his white skin. He looked hungry.
"Have you ...?" Christian shook his head, and she could see the effort it cost him. He wasn't even breathing.
"I couldn't leave, not while you ..."
He was very quiet and her eyes softened as she realized that he hadn't fed because he'd been afraid to leave her side. But at what cost? she wondered. He looked haggard, but it only heightened the perfect surreal beauty of his face. Victoria understood in that second why people could fall prey to vampires so easily—their beauty enticed and compelled, especially when they were hungry.
"I'll be okay," she told him. "I'll wait. Go." Victoria stood up and literally shoved him out the door. It was snowing again and she watched his lithe body disappear into the trees, their dark evergreen branches heavy with snow.
With Christian gone, Victoria returned to the chair he had vacated and pulled her mind into focus. Her body ached but her mind felt uncluttered. Even her magic felt more malleable, different. Something new had arisen within her, something intense and strong and frightening. It excited and terrified her at the same time.
Who are you,really?
The amulet pulsed as if it held the answer. Victoria held the stone. She knew that she had only survived because of its protective power and magical knowledge. She thought about the fire curse that had incinerated the creature, and her blood boiled in response, the amulet scorching her icy hands. She remembered what Brigid had written in the journal about the inhuman exchange between the blood's magic and sacrifice, and her face paled in horror. In that single moment, everything became crystal clear.
She had killed last night!
Victoria closed her eyes and whispered a summoning charm, the music box from her bedside table materializing in her lap. She removed the journal, and found the letter that Brigid had written to Marcus, rereading the lines she wanted, "the price of the blood had always been mine to set" and the piece about the diamond amulet, "this is everything that was best of me."
She set aside the journal and removed the amulet, her brow furrowed as she examined the diamond. One thing was clear: somehow, the amulet had protected her with its own magic of its own volition. Tentative, she pushed her consciousness into the stone, prisms of crimson light dazzling her, and found herself in a blood-red cavern. The air felt heavy as if she were swimming underwater. Drawing her mental hands forward, sifting through it, her fingers left a trail of silvery-blue phosphorescence in their wake, and she stopped fascinated. Magic!
This was the legacy that Brigid had left—a living testament to her fathomless power, a part of her own consciousness existing forever in the amulet. The stone undulated, embracing her with familiar strength, and she felt renewed.