45. Chapter Forty-Five - Desiree
Hours after my explosive argument with Jaxson, I enter the tomb inside the abandoned mausoleum to raise the Balam.
I bite my fingernails.
Soon, I’ll have proof of who hurt Vyvyan.
As I step into the crypt, light flickers up the stairwell.
I freeze when I see the candles we dropped off arranged in a perfect pentacle with Jaxson at their center.
The flames dance, casting sinister shapes over the pilfered stone coffin at the back of the room.
Slowly, I shake my head.
He’s here.
After I hoped he had enough of my drama.
I only meant half of what I said earlier, the words born out of frustration and fear.
I haven’t stopped thinking about it because when Jax leaves, I’ll be disgustingly alone.
Jax is my only friend; without him, I’d have nothing.
“Hi,” I mutter.
Jax lifts his gaze from the spell in his hands.
“Hi.”
“You set up without me.”
Everything matches the diorama from what Zev gave Leigh and Wilder in October.
Jaxson’s lines are as straight as an arrow, and the chalk circle he drew is symmetrical.
Guilt pricks behind my eyelids.
“Look, Jax. About what I said earlier. I’m sorry for being such a bitch. Juliette made me so mad, and she . . .” Juliette had a point, but that doesn’t excuse how I hurt him.
I still want us to be friends.
Jax shrugs.
“It’s okay. I get it. I’m not enough for you anymore.”
The pain in his voice is sharp enough to cut me open.
I love him, but I don’t need him as a crutch anymore, and he doesn’t need me.
He has everything he needs inside of him to stand on his own.
If it is meant to be, we will find a way back to each other.
But we each have a lot of growing to do.
“Becoming a vampire was the first decision I made for myself,” I say.
“No laws dictated my worth. As a vampire, I had friends. My wanting to get back there doesn’t mean I don’t love you. You’re my best friend, Jaxson, but maybe it is time for us to become the people we were meant to be?”
Jaxson stares at me for a long moment.
I glance at my boots after the silence stretches for an uncomfortable amount of time.
More words bubble up my throat, desperate to fix things, to mend the rift I’ve caused before he does what I ask and walks away for good.
What we had was special, even if it didn’t last, and I don’t want to lose him.
I’m unsure how I’d survive another loss.
We are star-crossed lovers in every sense of the term—destined to burn brightly but never together.
“You were destined for greatness, Desi,” Jaxson finally says.
“You, too, Jax.”
Jaxson steps toward me with his hands in his pockets.
“You’re right.”
I exhale.
I knew we’d get past this.
We always do.
“Good.”
He stops before me.
“It’s why I can’t stay,” he whispers, pulling a bundle of herbs from his hoodie pocket.
“I went back to that Lunar witch’s shop and paid her for this after you didn’t get to make one at your mom’s house.”
I take the protection charm with trembling fingers.
“If there’s only one. Why are you giving it to me?”
Regret fills his gaze.
“I’m leaving.”
“Huh?” I squeak.
It’s what I asked for , but I hadn’t expected him to leave so soon.
Panic starts to bubble up in my chest.
Did he get called into work?
“I heard what you said, and you’re right. I need to start living my life and not be afraid to start over, even if that’s without you. I accepted the invitation to compete in the Domna Trials in Glaucus. The competition begins tomorrow. I’m on the last train out tonight.”
I take quick, shallow breaths.
“When will I see you again?” My voice sounds pathetic even to my own ears.
I told him to go, to put himself first, and it’s what he deserves.
It’s what I wanted.
So why is my soul tearing apart?
Jax shrugs, and I notice a backpack in the crypt’s corner.
Fuck.
Is this it?
I force a watery smile.
“I’ll miss you.”
“Not as much as I’ll miss you.”
A sob tears from my throat, raw and aching, and Jaxson folds me into his arms.
I bury my face in his chest, breathing in his citrus scent, clinging to him like I could fuse our bodies forever, and it’s exactly like the night he broke up with me.
He held me then as I cried too and told me it had to be that way to protect Wilder.
More tears fall, hot against my cheeks, and he shushes me, his hand rubbing soothing circles on my back.
“It’s going to be okay, sunshine.”
“Will it?” I ask against his shirt.
Once again, Wilder is gone, and no one is here to help me survive the loss of Jaxson a second time.
“You could come with me,” Jaxson whispers.
His breath is warm against my ear.
I pry myself away to peer into his eyes.
Is he serious?
“I know you have the vampires, but what if you left all that behind and started over with me? Maybe in another city, we can make it work . . .”
I push away from him.
“Move with you to Glaucus?”
Jax nods.
“But Balam . . .” My gaze shifts over the black candles at my feet.
If I don’t go through with this ritual, we may never uncover who wants Vyvyan dead.
If I leave, I may never be able to patch things up with Misty.
She’s angry now, but that anger hides her hurt.
She was my friend.
Don’t I owe her an explanation?
Maybe this time, she’ll listen.
“I c-can’t,” I say.
Jaxson’s smile drops.
He extracts the spell from his other pocket.
“Then you’ll also need this.”
I take the folded paper as if it were Jaxson’s breaking heart.
“Take care of yourself, Desi.” Jax’s lips press against mine in a final goodbye.
The kiss tastes of a past tinged with regret and youthful longings—a heart I thought I’d outgrown.
It ends before I can succumb to the urge to pull him closer, to cling, to rewind.
Jaxson turns away, grabs his bag with a practiced hand, and ascends the stairs without a backward glance.
Each step is a nail hammered into the coffin of my foolish hopes.
To keep myself from chasing after him, I dig my heels into the worn stone at my feet.
I remind myself, fiercely, that I will see him again.
This isn’t over.
Our story isn’t finished, not by a long shot.
The silence that engulfs me is suffocating, a stark reminder of my solitude.
I have no one to turn to, and there is no safety net to catch me if this plan unravels.
If everything goes sideways, I’ll be left with nothing—no friends, no boyfriend, no job, no home.
I can’t keep relying on Wilder’s generosity, leeching off his kindness like a parasite.
Eventually, he’ll tire of my constant need and cast me aside like everyone else.
I let a single tear slip free before I take a deep breath.
“Fucking get ahold of yourself, Desiree,” I tell myself.
“You made your choice. Now, buck the fuck up, and summon the daemon to go home.”
I unfold the spell and commit the words to memory.
Then I squeeze my protective charm for luck and stand before the pentacle, my back facing the stairs.
As I open my mouth to begin, footsteps scrape on the stairs.
Slowly, I turn, hope flaring in my chest at the expectation of seeing Jaxson.
But it’s not Jaxson waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
It’s the Balam.
Three sets of eyes, each a flaming inferno, bore into me, searing my soul, and stripping me bare.
The daemon takes monstrous form: three heads perched upon one trunk, one of a man, another of a bear, and the third a ram with twisted, curling horns.
I stumble back, blindly retreating into the summoning circle, my boots scuffing the chalk and blurring the carefully inscribed lines beneath my feet.
The daemon smiles then, a predatory display that bared rows of jagged teeth, sending a frigid chill rushing through my veins.
“H-how?” I gasp.
It moves toward me with the grace of a warrior—silent, the air shimmering with heat in its wake.
It’s naked, a grotesque display of power and dominance.
I didn’t summon it .
.
.
someone else did.
The thought hits me like a punch to the gut.
It’s here to silence me, to extinguish my life like a fragile flame, and a creeping dread settles deep in my bones.
“Call it daemon’s intuition,” Balam’s human head replies in a guttural rasp.
I scoff, trying to project disdain even as my heart hammers against my ribs.
I scramble to the opposite side of the coffin, using the cold slab is a meager barrier between us.
What was I thinking ?
But I am powerless against this daemon.
Even as a vampire, with enhanced strength and speed, this entity could crush my bones to dust beyond repair, scatter my essence to the winds.
I force my voice to remain steady.
“What do you want?”
“Does it matter? They want you dead, and I am here to fulfill their wish.” Balam drifts closer.
He stands between me and the stairs.
A sinister grin plays on its grotesque features.
He knows I am trapped.
I trip over a lifted stone, catch myself on the coffin’s edge, and the rough stone bites into my palms, drawing blood.
Fuck .
The protective charm slips from my grasp as Balam closes the distance.
Bile coats my tongue.
He reeks of Sulfur and lard.
I have no choice but to run.
If I can slip past the daemon without it catching me, I can stay alive.
With a deep breath, I turn on my heel, dashing toward the stairs.
The daemon is much larger than me, but I pray I am faster than it is.
Balam’s taloned feet scratch against the cold stone, a sound that grates on my nerves like scraping metal.
His claws tear the back of my shirt, grazing skin, a painful, burning line.
A cry tears free from my throat, raw and involuntary.
I hit the pavement hard, jarring my wrists in the process.
Tears prick my eyes, blurring my vision, but I have to move, have to .
To remain still is to die.
I crawl toward the fractured edge of the circle, toward freedom, as Balam looms over me, a nightmarish mountain of flesh and bone.
As if I weigh no more than a bag of cotton, the daemon flips me over with contemptuous ease, and I stare up into its hideous faces, a trinity of death.
“Goodbye, Desiree,” Balam whispers.
“P-please, don’t do this. I—” I rasp.
“I pose no threat to anyone.”
“It’s what I’ve been ordered to do. You are a threat,” the Balam growls, and I tremble.
“I’m not!”
The Balam’s grip on my shoulders tightens, drawing more of my blood as his nails dig into my skin.
I scream.
But maybe someone will hear me.
“I am but the messenger. The one who calls me laments this necessity. Your essence stains this world with what should not be and so it must depart. To ensure harmony is returned to its rightful state.”
Tears trail down my face, hot and stinging.
What the hell does that even mean?
“You don’t have to kill me. There must be a mistake. I’ve hurt no one.”
The Balam cocks its head.
“Are you not a vampire with the power to unmake other vampires? Are you not the witch who hid the War Letters rather than exposing their truth? Silence is damning, Desiree Dunn, and so are you.”
I jerk against the daemon’s hold.
He clings tighter.
“Please, stop. Take me to your master. We can work this out!”
“What a pathetic creature you are,” the daemon taunts.
“No wonder she wants you dead.”
She?
My cold heart stops beating.
The Balam leans closer, its leathery, wet bull nose touching me, the contact searing my skin.
“I’ll make this qui?—”
I headbutt the daemon, putting all my strength behind the blow.
A satisfying crunch reaches my ears.
The daemon wails.
Black goo, thick as tar and burning with unholy heat, pours from one of the daemon’s faces, splattering across my face.
It sizzles on contact, eating away at my skin like acid.
Taking advantage of its disorientation, I plant my feet against its chest and kick with every ounce of strength I possess, my thigh muscles screaming in protest.
The force sends Balam staggering back.
I roll away, limbs tangled and clumsy with terror, then stumble as I try to move on my hands and knees, my abused wrists screaming in agony.
Pushing myself to my feet, ignoring the fire scorching my face, I charge for the exit.
My feet thwack against the mossy pavement, a frantic rhythm paired with the daemon’s wailing.
Every breath burns now, but escape is my only focus.
I am so close to freedom when a gigantic force collides with my back.
I sprawl on the floor, knocking over candles.
Flames catch on the tattered remains of a drape on the crypt, spreading quickly.
But it’s not enough.
Balam’s massive hand closes around my shoulders, the grip like a vise, lifting me as easily as a ragdoll.
Then I’m thrown against the unforgiving stone floor, the impact stealing my breath.
Over and over, my head slams against the ground, each hit a jarring explosion of pain as the inferno roars higher, licking at my exposed skin.
Spots dance across my vision, blurring everything into a swirling mess of light and shadow.
I’m losing the battle, my consciousness slipping away as the heat of the flames turns unbearable, searing my skin.
On the next sickening throw, something cracks.
A sharp, splintering sound echoes in my skull before the unbearable agony blossoms, stealing the rest of myself.
Blood, hot and thick, pours down my face, blinding me, filling my eyes and mouth with the coppery taste of death.
This is it.
“Desiree!”
The sound of my name is a lifeline in the darkness.
“Get off her!”
The daemon crashes into the far wall.
I gasp for breath.
My broken body screams in protest, but I know if I don’t move, I’m dead.
Twisting sideways, I claw at the blood-slicked floor.
The stench of my burning flesh makes me gag.
Through the haze of smoke and blood, I see two figures grappling, their silhouettes a dance macabre among the infernos.
A final shriek fills my ears, piercing and agonizing.
I fear the worst as I collapse into a broken heap.
“Desiree,” a melodic voice calls out to me.
“Desiree, can you open your eyes?”
I force myself to obey, fighting against the pull of oblivion.
“That’s it. Stay with me,” the voice says again, soft and encouraging.
My eyes flutter open, and I blink thrice.
Am I dreaming?
I’m cradled in Vane’s arms.
“Vane,” I croak.
“How did you?—”
“Shh.” Vane brushes a bloody strand from my face.
Even bruised and battered, I lean into his touch, ruining his nice clothes beyond repair.
Eager for a hint of affection when I thought I had none.
I never thought he would be the one to save me, but against all odds, here he is.
He’s not a knight like Jaxson; he’s an avenging angel.
“Save your strength.”
He lifts me easily.
I claw at his shirt, but my strength bleeds away with the blood.
Too much blood has been lost to heal, too broken to mend.
Darkness presses in.
This might still be the end.
We emerge from the tomb, and the frigid night air caresses my battered face.
Vane kneels in the brittle grass.
Weeping headstones watch.
“Balam,” I croak.
“Did you?—”
“It’s not dead,” Vane says.
“But it’s wounded, just like you. And you’re not healing fast enough.”
Exhaustion tugs at my eyelids.
Blood is the key to accelerating my recovery.
“Here.” Vane’s blood-slicked wrist hovers before my face.
The scent is similar to an irresistible siren’s call.
“Drink.”
I search his eyes, seeking for any glimmer of deceit.
Does he want to share blood with me despite knowing the consequences?
Drinking his blood will forge a bond between us, tying him to me for eternity.
I’ll be able to know how he feels at any given moment.
Why would he want me to experience a one-sided bond that puts him at a disadvantage?
He hates me.
“Why?” I gasp, the question a fragile breath between us.
Despair shadows his eyes.
“Seeing you in pain . . . it tears me apart.”
My gaze locks onto his wrist so I don’t have to read too deeply into his words.
The gash left by his fangs is already beginning to mend.
If I drink his blood, does that mean he will take me home?
I latch onto the wound, my lips sealing over the torn skin, and I suck, his essence exploding on my tongue—rich, heady, and intoxicating.
I swallow, and each gulp is a river of molten silk, liquid fire igniting my senses and awakening my body.
His blood courses through me, healing my wounds, knitting bones back together, banishing pain and exhaustion, and replacing it all with a surge of power, strength, and vitality.
Vane sighs, his body melting against mine, his arm tightening around my waist, holding me close as I lie in his lap.
A primal moan vibrates through me, through him, as my tongue dances across his skin, savoring his taste, relishing the feel of him hardening beneath me.
Fuck.
He tastes delicious.
I could drown in his blood.
Vane’s mouth finds my neck, his lips a whisper against my skin, his breath a searing caress.
He captures my earlobe between his front teeth.
Each swallow is greedier than the last.
I arch against him, pressing closer, craving more.
Him.
Us.
More.
“That’s enough,” he says, his voice low and rough, but I can’t let go.
The need is too strong, the hunger too deep.
I grind my ass against him, eliciting a hiss from his lips.
“Desiree, please . Not here.”
His plea pierces through the haze of desire, forcing me to stop.
Releasing his wrist is like trying to break bones with my bare hands.
It takes every ounce of strength to let go, to pull away, to separate myself from his taste and from the hard press of his body against mine.
I open my eyes to find a thirst, need, and desire that mirrors my own.
His half-lidded eyes, glowing red in the darkness, are a temptation I yearn to lose myself in.
My tongue skims my bottom lip, savoring the lingering traces of his blood.
The urge to mark and make him mine pulses through me, but I know these thoughts are not entirely my own.
It’s the blood’s influence.
“Thank you,” I breathe, the words are inadequate.
He saved my life.
It makes no sense, considering I thought he wouldn’t mind if I died.
Vane doesn’t answer.
His attention drifts toward the north entrance.
His unease ripples through me like a mirage.
“The groundskeeper is coming to inspect the blaze,” he says, then picks me up, and whisks me away from the cemetery.
I let him take me only because he’s bringing me back to the Nest.