Chapter 28
ABSENCE MAKES THE HEART GROW COLDER
THE SKY WAS BLOOD RED WHEN MURMUR STEPPED through the hellgate back into his lair. As he smudged the outer line of the sigil, faint flickering on the horizon caught his eye.
Frowning, he hurried over to the window, peering out at the cracked plains and dark mountains towering in the distance. The orange flickering he saw came from the foothills—the edge of his territory.
It was fire.
Fire, fire, fire.
He closed his eyes and focused on the souls patrolling the boundaries. Sure enough, they had alerted him to a breach over an hour ago; he’d just been too distracted to notice.
Either legions had gathered with torches, or a massive wildfire had been lit. But both meant one thing: His territory was under attack. And there was only one person who would have the audacity—and the cause—to attack the Necromancer out of the blue.
Lucifer was coming for him.
The end is nigh. It’s do or die now. If the spell fails this time, you’re going down.
Murmur’s last attempt had gotten so close to success, odds were that Lucifer had sensed him attempting to penetrate his magical defenses. Now the High King had come for retribution.
Heart in his throat, Murmur spun away from the window and hurried to his table of supplies, taking the vial of Suyin’s blood from his pocket and then removing his shirt and coat and tossing them on a nearby chair. Things were about to get bloody.
He’d been expecting Lucifer to catch on at some point and had spent every moment since Suyin left working to prepare the spell. Despite the dire circumstances, however, he could barely focus on what he was doing.
He kept thinking back to Suyin. To the trust he’d seen in her eyes as she let him carve one of the deadliest symbols in magic into her skin. It made him feel sick.
The way she’d looked when he bid her farewell, her eyes sad like she didn’t want him to leave, like she didn’t want this to be their goodbye …
He braced his palms on the desk and dropped his head, his hair hanging forward. His breathing was ragged. It felt like he couldn’t breathe at all, in fact. It felt like someone had placed a thousand-pound weight on his chest.
Losing your edge, Necromancer? I thought you were willing to give up anything and commit any atrocity to achieve your precious spell?
“Quiet.” He needed to shake this feeling. He had one purpose, and that purpose was greater than anyone or anything else. It always had been.
He shook his head roughly and pushed off the desk, straightening. If he kept his body moving, if he didn’t give any attention to the gnawing at his insides, then maybe he could do this.
No thinking. No feeling. It was the only way he was going to succeed.
The High King is coming for you—unless you can give him something else to focus on.
Murmur picked up the vial of Suyin’s blood and … paused. Cradled it in his hand carefully. Once he activated the mark, she would be gone. This was the last vial of blood he would ever take from her.
Gone, gone, gone forever. You’ll be all alone. No one will ever miss you. No one will ever care about you. How could they, when you’re such a piece of shit?
His fingers curled around the glass. They trembled slightly.
“Master!”
The frantic knocking at the door had his head snapping up.
“Master, I know we’re not to disturb you in your tower, but the territory wards have been breached. I believe we’re under attack! What are your orders?”
A low growl rumbled in his chest. Time was of the essence, now more than ever.
If he performed the spell now, Lucifer would have much greater problems to focus on than Murmur.
If he hesitated, the High King would come, and everything would be lost. There wasn’t time to waste directing his legions and managing his territory.
“Master? Are you in there?”
He said nothing. His minions could take care of themselves. Until he had finished this casting, he could not afford to be distracted.
A moment later, the demon’s footsteps faded as he ran back down the stairs, having concluded that his master was not present. He was smart enough not to open the library door to check, and for that, he would be spared impalement.
Murmur strode into the circle at the edge of the sigil, uncorked the jar, and poured the contents into the waiting bowl. Setting the empty receptacle down, he readied the rest of his casting ingredients.
Several times he had to stop and wipe the sweat off his brow, though the room was cold. His chest felt so tight he couldn’t breathe, and his stomach flipped over and over, forcing him to pause frequently to close his eyes and breathe through the nausea.
Weakness. Your attachment has made you weak.
Attachment. That was what this was, wasn’t it? He had formed an attachment to the witch.
You said it yourself. The day you allowed yourself to form sentimental bonds would be the day you met your end.
“It has to be this way,” he muttered. “I swore to do whatever it took.”
That’s right. She has to die. Not just for the spell. But to purge this weakness from your mind.
Half the point of this spell was to avoid his own death. But the other half was for a purpose greater than his own life. A foreseen destiny that was his responsibility to bring to fruition.
He would not fuck it up now. He couldn’t.
Too soon, he was ready to make the sacrifice. Standing in the center of the sigil, he unsheathed his blade and carved the second mark into his own forearm. Blood ran around the blade, over the muscle and down his wrist.
He didn’t feel the cut. It was nothing compared to the pain in his chest.
The sigil was simple, but its practice was not, nor was it always a practical solution, since the sacrifice usually resisted the inscription of the mark.
They would have to be restrained so the mark could be inscribed, but then, what was the point?
If they were restrained and helpless, it was easier to just kill them then.
But it did have its uses in special circumstances—like say, instances of treachery and trickery—and this was one of them.
Murmur’s sacrifice had not resisted him. Murmur’s sacrifice trusted him. Or at least, she trusted in the vow he’d sworn to protect her. She wasn’t aware of the loophole in their arrangement that he’d found and exploited. And he’d been counting on that.
He had sworn to let her go alive, returning her from whence she’d come in the same condition he found her in.
He had done that. He had fulfilled his word. He could not harm her while she was here.
But he had never sworn he wouldn’t harm her from afar after she was home.
Perhaps she might have realized this if she hadn’t foolishly allowed herself to soften toward him. But she had, and he had done what any villain would do: used it against her.
She’d sat still and allowed him to carve the death mark onto her chest, right between the breasts he had enjoyed in the throes of pleasure minutes before.
He was the villain. The evil liar, cheater, and killer. He knew this.
He didn’t care.
Liar.
He didn’t.
Liar, liar, liar.
“Be quiet. I need to focus.”
When this was done, there would be no more sidelong looks beneath silky black hair or intelligent questions or sharp eyes. No more snarky comments or prodding jokes or tireless ferocity.
She’ll be gone, and you’ll be alone. You’ll be alive, but you’ll hate yourself.
“I said be quiet,” he snarled at his own mind.
Sheathing his still-bloody knife with a jerk, he picked up the bowl of Suyin’s blood. He dipped a finger in and then held it up. All he had to do was touch the bloodied finger to the mark.
The magic would activate. Her sacrifice would be complete. The spell would work. His work would be finished. His life would be spared. Lucifer’s destined fall from power would begin.
Suyin would be dead.
She’ll be gone forever, and an immortal being knows that forever is a very long time.
“It doesn’t matter. The spell comes before any personal attachment.”
He tried to draw his finger toward his arm, but his body was frozen as though he were paralyzed. He couldn’t move a single inch.
“I have to do this,” he snarled, fighting harder against the phantom force immobilizing him.
You will never forgive yourself. You will despise every single day of your existence. To live and breathe will be a curse.
Sweat gathered at his brow. Veins bulged in his arms as he strained against the invisible tension. “I can’t keep her here with me anyway, so what’s the point? She’s half human, and she would never be content to be locked in my library forever. I must do this!”
She will be dead. And you will have killed her.
He emitted a low growl—a sound of exertion. Still, he fought.
You will be the one that drains the life from her eyes. You will be the one to snuff out her light.
His body shook, a sheen of sweat forming over his skin. Fighting against himself felt like forcing together the opposing sides of two powerful magnets. No matter how hard he tried to move, he couldn’t beat the resistance. Because it was coming from his own mind.
Her slender body will topple to the ground, her skin cold, her eyes empty.
She won’t bleed. Her heart will seize inside her chest, and nothing will be able to restart it again.
You will have killed the only person that has ever meant anything to you.
You will have destroyed the most valuable thing you’ve ever possessed.
“Fuck!” With a shout, he dropped to his knees onto the floor, his arms falling at his sides. His muscles shook from exertion. That fucking nausea swirled harder and harder until—
He grabbed a nearby empty bowl and retched. Nothing came up.
“Fuck.” This time his voice was tired. Resigned.
He couldn’t do it.
“Why can’t I do it?”
You care for her.
He couldn’t deny it. He liked her company. He liked her endless questions, her thirst for knowledge, her indomitable will. He liked her dark eyes, her silky hair, her soft hands.