A Shield of Glass (A Shade of Vampire #49)(13)

The last Daughter’s voice echoed around the mountain, sending chills down my spine and filling my soul with grief. The future had changed already, but not in the way we’d hoped. The tragedy was still unfurling.

When none of the Daughters spoke, the Daughter scoffed.

“Of course. Silence. That’s what you’re good at. You’re worried about us, but you still fail to consider the fact that Phoenix is exposed. That Draven has become far more dangerous and deadlier than Azazel. What makes you think he’ll keep Phoenix alive? And in what state? Whatever happens to him, I experience as well, and you know it! And yet you’re silent and—”

She stilled, her eyes widening, her lips parting. Her body was stiff, her arms out in a gesture of exasperation, when a deep red stain bloomed on the silk over her chest, spreading outward with an alarming speed.

She looked down and gasped, and the Daughters froze with horror.

“He… He killed Phoenix,” the Daughter managed to say before falling to her knees.

The Daughters screamed and rushed to her, their hands moving frantically over her chest, glowing pink as they desperately tried to heal her. But it didn’t work.

My stomach churned and my heart broke as I watched the Daughter give her last breath, her violet gaze fixated on the pink waters, blood trickling from her mouth. The Daughters cried and wailed around her, helpless before her. I cried as well, realizing that Phoenix had been killed. I couldn’t bear it. I could only imagine what Serena would go through if this version of the future came to pass.

I wanted to curse at them. I wanted to slap each of them and talk sense into them. Whatever was happening, they had the power to stop it.

But my vision faded, rushing me off to another scene. My eyes burned as the darkness swallowed me once more.



I was taken to a red desert, reminding me of Phoenix’s descriptions of Marton. The sky was a faint orange, and a sandstorm was brewing somewhere in the west, troubling the dunes as it traveled east across the horizon.

A clear river flowed at my feet, with a bank naturally made of black stone and lush palm trees arching over it. The water brought life to these parts of Marton; I could almost feel the soft grass and wildflowers, and could even smell the citrus fruit hanging from trees in the oasis on either side of the river. It looked like a little paradise, so beautiful and peaceful and untainted.

Movement caught my attention somewhere to my right. I saw someone kneeling in front of the water. I walked forward and noticed more people moving around, picking fruit, sharpening their swords, or drinking straight from the river. I recognized Bijarki as he washed his face, my turquoise pendant dangling on its slim silver chain around his neck.

I stilled, my heart fluttering in my chest at the sight of him. The years had been kind to him, his deep-set, silvery eyes still vivaciously scanning every movement around him like a predator, even in moments of peace. His head was shaved and heavily scarred on one side, the result of what must have been a serious injury.

He sat down, then put his feet in the water. They’d been severely burned, the skin crackled in a shimmering black. A pang in my stomach made me get closer, and I noticed the burns on his arms—symbols seared into his skin with hot metal, from what I could tell. He’d been tortured and branded.

My breath hitched as I reached out, desperately in need of his touch. I hadn’t seen him in only a couple of days, yet it felt like forever, especially since I was looking at an older version of him. I was somewhere far in the future, from what I could tell. Some fine lines had settled at the corners of his eyes, and his gaze was heavy with grief and unpleasant experiences.

My hand went through him, immaterial and not really there. I sighed, then looked up as I saw Anjani move toward him. She’d matured into an even more beautiful succubus, the spitting image of Hansa, but with a sharper nose and wider eyes. She bore the same burned symbols on her arms, along with several battle scars on her neck and chest.

She sat next to him, sinking her feet into the cool water as well.

They both said nothing for a while, looking out into the distance, where the sandstorm was wreaking havoc many miles away. I gazed around to get a better idea of who was with them—incubi and succubi, dozens of them, coexisting in what looked like peace. Some returned from the desert carrying dead animals on their shoulders, which the others pitched in to prepare for dinner as the sun set in deeper pinks and oranges, darkening the sky.

I didn’t see Hansa or any of the young succubi I’d met at the mansion. The only familiar faces were those of Anjani and Bijarki. I sat down next to them, watching my incubus with a full and painful heart.

“We’ll be together again soon. You promised,” I said to him, gently.

He couldn’t hear me, of course. But it felt good to speak to him, even in that form. They both looked so sad and lost. I had a feeling this version of the future hadn’t been good to them.

“How are you feeling?” Anjani finally asked him, her voice weak.

“It’s the same every day,” Bijarki replied slowly, his fingers touching the turquoise stone he’d given me. I felt tears burning my eyes as I understood what had happened. “It’s been years now, and it still hurts deeply. I miss her so much. If only she hadn’t sacrificed herself to save me… She’d still be alive.”

His voice broke.

“I know. I feel it too. Jovi died for me. They died for us, and Draven has lost his way.” Anjani let a heavy sigh roll from her chest.