Chapter 15
Kara
Iwatch him close the door behind him, glaring so hard that I’m surprised I don’t burn holes in the thick wooden panels. I’m still standing there as his footsteps fade into silence.
Asshat.
I don’t think I’ve ever met a man so completely full of himself.
I definitely have to make a more concerted effort to guard my thoughts from him.
I know that if I concentrate, I can build walls around my mind.
It takes effort, but as I try it now, the constant buzz of his thoughts dies down to a dull hum. Soon, it’s almost completely silent.
Exhaling a deep breath, I turn to take in the room I’m standing in.
The place reeks of old money – and vampires truly have a handle on that concept; all of their money is old. The decor is a mixture of dark wood paneling and plush crimson velvet. A massive four-poster bed dominates one wall, its black silk sheets perfectly made beneath a tapestried quilt.
Heavy curtains block out any hint of natural light. There’s an ornate desk in one corner that’s probably a hundred years old and a sitting area with leather armchairs that look like they’ve never been used. Even the brass fixtures gleam like they’re polished daily.
I roll my eyes at the pretentiousness of it all. Of course Marcus would have a floating fortress as a backup plan. Typical vampire – when in doubt, go for maximum drama.
I rub the tight muscles of my shoulders and contemplate collapsing onto the massive bed. Exhaustion is hitting me in waves, but the tension in me says that I’m going to find it impossible to sleep.
I need a shower.
A door leading off the room takes me into a massive bathroom. Crystal sconces cast warm light across polished surfaces. A huge soaking tub dominates one corner, while an equally impressive glass-enclosed shower takes up another.
This will do.
My hands shake as I grip the edge of the floating vanity. The face in the mirror looks drawn, eyes too bright with exhaustion and lingering adrenaline. Blood stains my sleeve where someone’s spell caught me – just a graze, but it could have been worse.
“Stupid, reckless witch,” I mutter at my reflection. I’m supposed to be the responsible one, the level-headed Blackwood sister. Instead, I’ve been charging around like some impulsive first-year apprentice, putting everyone at risk.
Marcus was right.
I hate that he was right.
Steam begins to curl through the air as I turn on the shower, adjusting the multiple heads until the water pressure feels perfect.
My dirty clothes hit the heated floor tiles one by one.
The weight of the evening settles onto my shoulders as I strip away each layer – the attack, the betrayal, Gran still missing, and now this… whatever this thing is with Marcus.
I need to get my head straight. Need to start thinking clearly again. A shower will help. It has to.
The hot water hits my skin, and I let out a long breath, feeling some of the tension start to melt away.
I tilt my face up into the spray, letting it wash over me.
The water pressure is perfect, pounding against my sore muscles.
Steam rises around me in thick clouds, and I close my eyes, trying to empty my mind.
My shoulders slowly start to relax as I massage fragrant shower gel into my skin. The events of the day seem to swirl down the drain with the soapy water – the attack, Marcus’s frustrating protectiveness, the growing certainty that someone betrayed us—
I stop.
Something feels off.
I open my eyes and freeze. The water running down my body isn’t clear. It’s a deep, dark red. Blood red. My heart grinds to a complete halt as I stare at the crimson streams flowing over my skin.
“What the hell?” I whisper, stepping back from the spray abruptly. But the red follows me, coating my arms, my legs, pouring from me in rivers. I scrub at my skin, but it won’t come off. Panic surges.
No!
No, no, no, no!
The temperature plummets suddenly, despite the steam still filling the air. Goosebumps rise on my arms as my breath catches in my throat. The air I exhale turns to mist in the warm air. The shower feels wrong now, tainted. Dangerous.
A whisper threads through the sound of running water, so faint I almost miss it.
“Do you think you can hide from me, witch?” Lucien’s voice, silky and menacing.
My pulse spikes as I spin around, but there’s no one there. Just red water and steam and that bone-deep wrongness.
“I can always find you…” The whisper comes again, closer this time. My heart thumps in my chest as I press my back against the cold tile wall.
“No! It can’t be…!” My voice is rough. Panicked. I leap out of the shower, grabbing for a towel. My wet feet slip on the tile floor as I stumble back, away from the crimson water.
The steam swirls around the mirror, condensing into a face I’ve grown to hate. Lucien’s aristocratic features materialize in the glass, his lips curved in that infuriating smirk.
“Such a waste of effort, little witch.” His voice drips with false sympathy. “Do you really think Nightshade’s protections can keep me from finding you?”
I clutch the towel tighter, fury mixing with fear as I glare at his reflection. “Get away! Get away right now!”
“But we’re having such a lovely chat.” His smirk widens, showing a flash of fang. “Besides, I thought you might like to see how your grandmother is faring.”
The mirror ripples, and suddenly, I see Gran surrounded by white mist, magical bindings glowing around her wrists and throat. She’s chained like an animal. Her usually immaculate silver hair hangs in tangles around her face. Even through the mirror, I can feel the dark sorcery pressing in on her.
“You sick bastard,” I snarl, my magic pulsing around me in response to my anger. “If you’ve hurt her—”
“There’s nothing you can do, little witch,” Lucien purrs through the mirror. “I’ll find you. I’ll find all of you. Your sister, your parents… Not one of you is out of my reach.” His smile turns cruel. “And Marcus. Poor, noble Marcus, thinking he can protect you.”
“You’re wrong. You think you can get away with this?” My voice shakes with rage as my fingers dig into the towel. “We’re going to stop you.”
“Such spirit.” Lucien chuckles. The sound is an icy fingertip that traces down my spine. “Your grandmother has the same defiance. See?”
The image shifts again. Gran sits straighter despite her bonds, chin lifted in that regal way I’ve seen a thousand times. Her green eyes, so like mine, flash with contempt as she stares up at Lucien, who’s materialized beside her.
“You’re going to fail,” she tells him, her voice hoarse but strong. “Just like every other power-hungry fool who’s tried to destroy us. You’re going to fail, and we’re going to end you.”
The crack of Lucien’s hand across her face echoes through the mirror. Gran’s head snaps to the side, a red mark blooming on her pale cheek.
“NO!” Magic explodes from me in a wave of fury. The mirror shatters, shards raining down into the sink as Lucien’s laughter echoes through the room. The last image I see in the shower of glass is my grandmother’s stricken face. Blood rains down.
And I can’t help myself.
I scream.