Chapter 50
Afew days later, the night before the wedding, the gate fell shut behind the last servant, and Will pushed the bolt into place.
Shivering, he turned and looked into the maw of the mausoleum that had become his home over the past months.
It almost felt as though he were stepping into the ring with a monster—he could feel the raised hackles, the bared teeth.
“Don’t be so dramatic. It is only a new haircut,” he told the silence and threw the braid over his shoulder. His words echoed from the walls, and he felt ridiculous. He was far from possessing the courage they implied.
From his bedroom, he fetched the bags of siren scales, vampire bones, driftwood, and salt.
His trunks were packed; only the suit for the wedding still hung in the empty dressing room.
He hated being in the bare chamber as much as he longed to return to the Capitol, as though going home might somehow undo the haunting of the past months.
He stopped in the conservatory and watched the sleet lash against the glass in dense sheets.
Memories of Elodie standing in the doorway in a breath of silk crept over him.
As always, her presence was a ghost that followed him through the house, and with a strange tenderness, he thought of how far they had come.
Just as he was about to turn away, the pounding of the door knocker echoed through the corridors, and he froze. He waited for Hedgefort’s boots to strike the floor, but the house remained silent. No one was left.
Again, someone hammered against the front door.
Will set his things down on the desk and followed the noise.
Thunder rolled in the distance. He had lived in Bloodgrove long enough to be suspicious of unexpected visitors, and dusk had just begun to fall.
Whoever stood outside in the freezing rain had to be desperate.
“Who is it?” he called.
“Eric Arcos.”
For a moment, he considered leaving the gate closed. Elodie had at least called him a mistake, but how was he supposed to ignore the nothing?
“Please, Will. Please let me in.”
Concern flared through Will, and he unlocked the door. The rusted bolt caught, the iron swollen with corrosion, and one last weak blow struck the wood.
Blue twilight beneath heavy clouds greeted him with icy rain. Below him, Eric struggled back to his feet on the steps. He wore nothing but a shirt, soaked and almost transparent across his back. Black hair hung in his face, rivulets running along his sharp cheekbones.
Will was beside him at once, hooking his arms beneath Eric’s, and with his help, Eric managed to stumble into the hall. His feet tangled beneath him, his muscles stiff with cold. The moment Will let go, he sank to the stone floor and barely managed to hold himself up on his arms.
“Elodie is not here,” Will said as he pushed the bolt back into place. “What are you doing here?”
Eric shuddered, but his fingers would not stop twitching. “You have to leave the city. You and Elodie—I have tickets for you.”
Will sank to the floor beside him and was about to argue when Eric pulled two tickets from the pocket over his chest. Miraculously, they were untouched, even as half-frozen water pooled beneath him.
“What do you mean?” Will asked. In the weak light of the hall, he noticed the thick silver streak running through Eric’s hair, and the concern in his chest took on a new shape. A cold vise closed around his heart, like the ice clinging to Eric’s clothes.
“You have to leave the city. Tonight, before it is too late.” Eric trembled violently, his head hanging low. “I have a special ticket for you.”
“I already have a ticket. I leave the morning after the wedding. I did not know there were other departures.” He did not need to add that Elodie would never leave the city. She would not go anywhere until she had broken the curse and destroyed everyone who had wronged her.
“Elodie doesn’t have a ticket for you.”
Will opened his mouth to answer when Eric looked up.
But instead of two moons framed in darkness, furious black abysses stared back at him.
A curse escaped Will’s lips, but he remained frozen on his knees beside Eric while his mind tried to understand what had happened.
There was only one explanation: Eric had attempted a ritual to obtain tickets for Elodie and Will and had paid the terrible price demanded by the curse—and had reached his limit.
Elodie had worn the mask for days after obtaining only one ticket.
“I need blood,” Eric rasped, his voice rough, a growl gathering in his chest.
“I think you have had enough of that,” Will muttered, cursing inwardly that no one was here to tell him what to do. How close was Eric to succumbing to bloodlust? To becoming a vampire?
Eric’s hand shot out, seized Will’s arm, and his teeth sank through the shirt until his blunt human bite broke the skin.
With a cry, Will tore himself free and stumbled backward but did not manage to regain his footing in time. Eric lunged for him again. Will fell onto his back and barely caught himself on his injured arm. The bite was not deep, but blood soaked into the fabric, and Will scrambled farther away.
“Get hold of yourself! Eric! Control!”
But the man shook his head, his entire body jerking with spasms. Shadows grew along his arms, and his face twisted.
“What the hell?” Will froze.
Eric—beautiful Eric, always perfect in pressed suits and carefully combed hair—grew.
Muscles swelled, and claws formed from his hands, now twice the size of a man’s. A growl vibrated through his body, and with a savage roar, he threw back his head.
His jaw opened, a maw stretching wide across his cheeks, long wolfish teeth gleaming inside it.
Eric blinked once more, and his human eyes were gone. With the next blink, two enormous red coals stared at Will from a sea of black.
The roar shook him to the bone.
“Run!” Eric’s final word was barely understandable.
In the next instant, Will was on his feet.
The monster blocked the way to the door, and beyond it waited only the deadly night.
His leather slippers struggled for purchase on the stone, but he spun around and sprinted.
Almost on all fours, he stumbled up the stairs and plunged into the maze of the house.
The fight for survival wiped away his shock and pain at Eric’s surrender to the bloodlust. Doors and paintings flashed past him.
His feet struck hard against the floor, and his heart pumped adrenaline through his body in a frantic rhythm.
Should he hide? But no one could tell him what Eric had become. Could he smell Will’s blood?
The double doors to the dining room flew open and struck the wall as Will skidded across the parquet. The servants had already laid the table for the wedding before leaving. He snatched a napkin and wrapped it quickly around his forearm.
At the center of the table lay a curved fish knife, silver, with mother-of-pearl set into the handle, a more beautiful version of the kind his father had used. A more beautiful version of the knife with which he had cut the flesh from the Albatross’s bones.
He would never make it to Elodie’s armory.
Without hesitation, he grabbed it, even though he was certain he could never bring himself to kill Eric.
At the thought of calling upon his magic, he remembered the broken body of the shadow mage and decided against it.
But he had to defend himself, because there was no trace of humanity left in those black-and-red eyes.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and nausea rose in his throat. How was he supposed to fight an experienced vampire hunter with this thin little blade? Eric was vastly superior to him even when in control of himself, let alone with the body of a starving monster.
Was any part of his friend still in there? Or had Will just watched him die? None of the vampires had looked like this. The transformation reminded him more of a chimera.
Will pushed the thought away. This could not be Eric’s end. Not when so much remained unspoken between them.
Somehow, he had to get past Eric and reach Elodie at Duke Wilkinson’s townhouse.
A shadow moved in the corridor outside, and Will dropped to the floor, hiding in the dimness behind the long tablecloth. The growl made the hair at the back of his neck rise. He held his breath, one hand pressed over his arm while warm blood soaked into the napkin.
The monster moved almost soundlessly, and Will strained to hear.
Water dripped from Eric’s wet clothes onto the stone tiles of the corridor. Boots upon the parquet. Heavy breathing.
Nothing.
Dead silence.
Suddenly, a figure lunged toward him, and Will spun with the knife raised.
Eric—no, the monster—evaded the strike with effortless ease.
For the first time, Will saw him clearly, and a whimper escaped his lips. He struck again.
This was no longer Eric.
His face had warped into a grotesque mask, saliva and venom dripping from the fangs, his eyes enormous and glowing.
His shirt hung in tatters from his body, water gleaming across his hunched shoulders.
His arms were too long and ended in enormous claws that twitched with anticipation.
He had lost his boots, and claws now armed his feet.
Even his legs bent at an unnatural angle, built for hunting.
And now, they coiled to spring.
“Eric, please,” Will begged, raising the knife with a trembling hand.
There was no answer.
The instant the monster leaped, Will shifted his weight, memories of fencing lessons taking over, and thrust his arm toward the attack.
Pure, gods-sent luck guided the blade.
The knife sank into the monster’s shoulder as Will stepped aside. The beast recoiled with a roar.
But rather than slowing it, it only fed its frenzy.
Its eyes seemed ready to burst from their sockets, its body trembling with madness. The paw moved too quickly to avoid and struck Will so hard that he was hurled across the table.
Glasses, candlesticks, and plates crashed to the floor with him.
Will screamed with pain.