Chapter 24
Kara
I’m barely breathing as I wait for the door to burst open. But I draw in a deep breath when my lungs start to burn because nothing happens. The commotion I’d heard has died down to nothing.
Lucien. Where is he?
Something’s wrong. The silence beyond the gallery doors feels thick, cloying. I sense Marcus’s presence nearby – but there’s something off about it. The steady strength I’ve grown used to feels…diminished. I realize that my fingers have curled around the pendant again.
“What’s going on out there?” Mom is frowning. “I’m going out to see. We can’t stay in here forever.”
“Wait.” I hold up my hand, stopping Mom from opening the door. The others freeze behind me. I strain my senses, trying to pick up some sign of what’s going on out there.
“Marcus?” I reach out to him, opening my mind to the intrusion that’s become so familiar. There’s no response; nothing clear, at any rate.
“I can’t hear him thinking,” I say, turning to the others, then regretting it. I’ve never told them that I can get into his head.
Gran and Seraphina exchange a look that makes my stomach twist. There’s recognition in their shared glance, some understanding I can’t grasp.
“What’s going on?” I try to focus on Marcus’s thoughts, but they’re fragmenting, slipping away like water through my fingers. My heart races wildly.
Mom steps in front of me, her hands raised, light gathering around her fingertips. The protective gesture would normally irritate me, but right now, I’m grateful for it. Something about this silence feels predatory, waiting.
“Kara?” Gran’s voice is tight with concern.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. But the wrongness persists, growing stronger. Marcus’s presence in my mind flickers like a failing light. Fear races through my veins, making my hands tremble.
“Something’s happened to Marcus,” I whisper, the words feeling strange on my tongue. I shouldn’t care this much. I shouldn’t feel this rising panic. But I do.
Ignoring the fact that I just told Mom not to open the door, I do it myself. I fling it open, not sure what to expect. Lucien might be out there, but somehow, I don’t care.
Here goes nothing!
I burst through the door into the adjoining gallery space. The first thing I notice is the group gathered there – a mix of vampires and witches gathered in a tight circle, their backs to me. Something about their postures makes my stomach clench.
I should be relieved because there’s no sign of Lucien. But I’m not. Something is wrong. Very wrong.
“What’s going on?” I say out loud. Several heads swivel toward me. Soren and Mia are there with some of the team who’d gone to attack the Assembly.
Why are they here?
“Marcus?” I say, already knowing, somehow, that he’s not going to answer me. I look at the others. “Where’s Marcus?”
I already know. I start to move without thinking.
Darick steps up in front of me, his face grim. “Kara, don’t—”
I shove past him, my heart in my throat. The world narrows to a tunnel, everything beyond the circle fading to a blur. Someone tries to grab my arm – I think it’s Soren – but I wrench free.
Time stretches like taffy as I push between two witches. Their voices sound distant, underwater-slow. My boots crunch on broken glass, each step taking forever. The air feels thick, resistant, like I’m moving through molasses.
I see a boot I recognize. A hand sprawled on the marble floor. Dark blood pooling beneath a familiar leather jacket.
Marcus.
Oh, God.
The crowd parts as I move forward, or maybe I shove them aside – I’m not sure. Everything’s moving so slowly, yet I can’t seem to process what I’m seeing. My legs carry me forward on autopilot while my mind refuses to comprehend what’s in front of me.
It can’t be him… It can’t be. Please.
But it is.
I drop to my knees beside Marcus, glass shards biting through my jeans.
His skin – what’s left of it – is ashen, almost translucent, dark veins spreading like cracks across his face.
A gaping wound in his chest pulses with sickly green energy – magic, but not like any I’ve seen before.
Black liquid oozes from the corners of his mouth.
“No, no, no…” The words spill out as I reach for him with trembling hands. His chest barely moves. The link between us feels like a fraying thread, growing thinner by the second.
Bile rises in my throat as I take in the full extent of his injuries. Whatever hit him has torn through muscle and bone, leaving ruins behind. The smell of burned flesh makes my stomach heave. I press my hand to my mouth, fighting the urge to vomit.
My vision blurs, tears streaming down my face.
My throat tightens to the point that it’s hard to find breath as I try to process what I’m seeing.
The gallery spins around me, artwork and faces melting into a kaleidoscope of color.
Someone’s speaking – maybe several people – but their voices sound warped, distorted.
The marble floor beneath my knees feels ice cold, yet my skin burns. Power pulses in the air, making my hair stand on end. Every sensation is too sharp, too bright, too much. The scent of copper fills my nose. My hands are wet with blood. His blood.
This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.
But it is. Marcus lies broken before me, and our bond – that annoying, intrusive, precious thing I’ve been fighting so hard against – grows weaker with each passing second.
His eyes flutter open as I lean over him, those dark blue depths finding mine. It’s the only part of him that I recognize right now. A weak smile tugs at his bloodstained lips.
I try to pick up his thoughts but there’s nothing clear, no words that make sense.
And then something filters through…an overwhelming sense of peace.
It crashes against my rising panic like waves against rocks.
He’s relieved – relieved – to see me safe.
The absolute idiot is dying, and he’s happy because I’m okay.
“What did you do?” I whisper, my voice breaking. “What were you thinking?”
He tries to speak but only manages to cough up more black liquid. Instead, his thoughts drift through to me.
“Worth it. You’re worth it.”
“Don’t you dare.” My hand hovers over his shoulder; I want to shake him, but I’m too afraid of the damage I’ll do. “Don’t you dare say goodbye.”
But I feel it – the way our contact gutters like a candle in the wind. The steady presence in my mind starts to fade, growing dimmer with each labored breath he takes. It’s like watching a light go out in slow motion.
Anxiety claws up my throat. My chest feels too tight, like I can’t get enough air. The connection that I’ve been fighting against, that I’ve been so determined to ignore, is slipping away. And suddenly, I can’t bear the thought of losing it. Of losing him.
“Stay with me,” I think desperately, trying to hold on to the threads that remain. “Please, Marcus. Stay with me.”
His response comes faint, distant: “I’m sorry, Kara.”
The peace radiating from him only makes my panic worse. He’s accepted this. He’s ready to go. But I’m not ready to let him.
I whip my head around, seeing the others gathered around me, faces taut with worry.
“We have to help him!” My voice sounds strange, desperate. I look up at the faces surrounding us, searching for any sign of hope. “Someone has to be able to do something!”
Darick steps forward, his expression grim. “He needs blood. Witch blood. A lot of it. The magic in his system…” He gestures at the sickly green energy still pulsing from Marcus’s wound. “It’s corrupted him. Normal blood won’t help.”
“I’ll do it.” Mom moves closer, already rolling up her sleeve. “I’m strong enough—”
“No.” I cut her off, my hand already at my throat. There’s no hesitation, no debate in my mind. Just crystal clarity. “I’ll do it.”
Mom starts to protest, but I silence her with a look. My fingers find the zipper of my jacket, pulling it down. I shrug out of it, letting it fall behind me.
“Kara, you don’t understand what this means,” Darick says. “The amount he needs…it could kill you.”
I ignore him, shifting closer to Marcus. His breathing is getting shallower, the connection between us barely a whisper now. There’s no time for discussion, no time to weigh consequences.
“I’m not letting him die.” My voice comes out steady, certain. It’s the surest I’ve felt about anything in a long time. “Not when I can save him.”
I lean down, brushing Marcus’s hair back from his forehead. His skin feels like ice under my fingers. Without another word, I tilt my head, exposing my neck.
“Drink,” I tell him, even though I’m not sure he can hear me anymore. “Take what you need.” Scooping a hand beneath his shoulders, I lift him until his face is pressed to my throat, his lips rough against my skin. For a moment, nothing happens. But then I feel it.
His fangs pierce my skin, and pain flares sharp and bright. I gasp, my fingers tightening in his hair. For a heartbeat, I think that’s all it will be – just the sting of the bite and my own thundering pulse.
Then he draws the first pull of blood, and everything changes.
Heat floods through me, starting at the bite and racing down my spine. The bond between us flares to life, no longer the fading whisper but a roaring tide. His consciousness crashes into mine, memories and feelings tangling together until I can’t tell where I end and he begins.
His first sight of me in my parents’ house, fury and fascination warring as we immediately clashed…
The way my heart raced when he stepped close in the bathroom, steam curling around us…
His fear when he felt me in danger through our bond…
My irritation at his constant presence in my mind, even as I grew to depend on it…
Each pull of blood brings another wave of shared memories, building and building, until they blur together like watercolors. His grip tightens on my arms as strength returns to his limbs. The sickly green energy pulses weakly, then starts to fade from his wounds.
I’m getting lightheaded, but I can feel him healing.
The link grows stronger with each passing second, no longer the fragile thread but something deeper, more permanent.
His thoughts flow freely into mine now, and beneath the desperate need for blood, I feel something else – something so warm and fierce and tender that it makes my chest ache.
His fingers stroke my back, both soothing and possessive. The dual sensation is dizzying. I can feel his pleasure, his growing strength, the way my blood sings through his veins.
Goddess help me!
The room spins, darkness flickering around my vision. Marcus’s grip on me tightens, as if he senses my growing weakness. I should pull away, but I can’t. Won’t. The choice has been made.
I feel the moment everything shifts. His thoughts become crystal clear – not just fragments or whispers, but a constant stream merging with my own consciousness. Every wall between us crumbles.
“Mine,” his thoughts echo through me. The possessiveness should frighten me, but instead, it feels right. Natural. Like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place.
This is it. What they told me about. The blood match that I’ve been fighting against, denying, is now sealed irrevocably. There’s no going back from this – no pretending it doesn’t exist.
We’re bound forever.
His emotions wash over me – gratitude, wonder, and something else. Something that makes my heart stutter. I try to put up some kind of barrier, to shield myself from the intensity of it, but it’s impossible now. The blood match has stripped away all pretense.
I feel everything.
And it’s too late to turn back.