Chapter 82 Danica
Danica
The world erupts in blinding white. Glass explodes inward as the blast hurls me across our Christmas sanctuary.
My spine connects with marble, the crack reverberating through bone.
Copper floods my mouth as warm rivulets trace down my face, turning my reindeer pajamas blood-red.
The Christmas tree lies shattered, ornaments pulverized to glittering dust, catching winter sunlight through blown-out windows.
I force trembling limbs to move, glass slicing into my palms. The room tilts and spins—a kaleidoscope of horror. Wrapping paper flutters like wounded butterflies. Lucian's Iron Man helmet rolls past, faceplate shattered, one eye still glowing in mechanical death.
"Rhy—" His name catches on blood coating my throat.
Black combat boots materialize through settling debris. Fingers lunge, tangling in my hair before I can process the movement. My scalp ignites as she yanks upward, suspending my weight by burning roots.
Morgan's face swims into focus, onyx-black lips curved in satisfaction. A droplet of my blood spatters across her cheek. She savors it, tongue darting out to taste.
"Movere!" The Latin cuts through the air like a blade.
An invisible battering ram slams into my sternum. For one suspended moment, I'm weightless. Then marble intercepts my flight with unforgiving solidity. My skull rebounds with a wet thud. Something cracks—inside me, behind me, I can't tell anymore.
Warmth cascades down my neck as snow drifts in through shattered windows, landing on my outstretched hand, melting instantly to pink. The mansion's grand foyer fragments before my eyes—twinkling lights and evergreen garlands now splinters and dust.
Morgan's boots strike a deliberate rhythm against marble.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Each sound drives spikes through my fractured skull, her boots leaving bloody footprints across Italian tile.
Twenty feet away, Rhyland lies crumpled beside our fallen Christmas tree. Our star—placed together, laughing—lies shattered beside his outstretched hand.
Morgan extends one elegant hand toward him, rings catching winter light. "Cruciatus spiritus," she purrs.
Rhyland contorts unnaturally. Veins bulge black beneath his skin, spreading like dark rivers. The scream that tears from his throat isn't human—a primal howl that scrapes against my soul. His fingers claw at his temples, drawing fresh blood.
Lucian hangs suspended against the wall, a jagged shard of wooden banister impaled through his chest. Blood—so much blood—cascades down his torso, soaking his clothes. His eyes stare vacantly, mouth frozen in a silent scream.
Erik lies face-down, three wooden stakes protruding from his back like grotesque ornaments.
Blood pools beneath him, turning the white marble black.
Beside him, Bryn sprawls motionless, her platinum hair fanned in a sticky bloody halo.
Her wings lie partially visible, the ethereal feathers singed and matted with blood, her fingertips barely brushing Erik's outstretched hand.
Seraphina's broken form curls against the base of the staircase, her white nightgown now scarlet-soaked. Blood seeps from a gash across her temple, trickling down to join the growing puddle beneath her head.
I search frantically for the others. Damon—my brother. Emily. Sable.
Where are they?
The silence screams back at me.
I can't process what I'm seeing—my family—my powerful, immortal family—reduced to death, lay scattered across our home. The Christmas tree lies toppled on its side, ornaments shattered across the floor, yet somehow its lights still twinkle stubbornly, casting colored shadows across pools of blood.
I reach deep for my light. Golden sparks dance weakly across bloodied palms—
Morgan's head snaps toward me, nostrils flaring. "Caput percutite!" she snarls.
My head slams backward. Skull meets marble with a sickening crunch. White-hot agony obliterates thought. Fresh blood drips down my neck as Christmas morning fragments into spinning shards.
The light within me gutters like a candle in a hurricane. Each throb scatters my focus, power slipping through numb fingers.
Morgan chants ancient syllables that darken the air. Frost crystallizes on broken ornaments and pooling blood. Shadows in corners lengthen, reaching hungry fingers across the floor.
"Stop," I rasp through blood-slick lips.
Rhyland's torment hammers through our bond, shorting out coherent thought. I taste his pain, feel his terror—our connection transmitting every nuance directly into my soul.
"Vinculum amoris disrumpere," she intones, voice resonating at frequencies that make my teeth vibrate. "Animas separare!"
My blood betrays me, answering Morgan's call. It seeps through my skin—not flowing but floating—crimson beads rising from my pores like macabre dew. The droplets hover, suspended in the air around me as her chanting intensifies.
But it's not just blood she's stealing. With each scarlet sphere that pulls free, I feel Rhyland's essence being extracted—the part of him that lives in me, that merged with my very cells when we bonded. His power, his immortality, the fragments of his soul that became mine.
The connection between us unravels strand by strand. Each droplet that joins the crimson cloud carries away another memory, another piece of what makes us one. My veins burn hollow as they empty, my mate bond hemorrhaging into the air around me.
My body lifts inches off the floor, suspended in Morgan's invisible grip as she harvests what was never hers to take.
The blood orbits me in a grotesque constellation, each droplet pulsing with Rhyland's stolen essence.
My vision dims at the edges, the void inside me expanding as Morgan strips away not just my life, but the foundation of who I've become.
Something tears inside my chest. The mate bond stretches taut, thinning visibly. I scream as invisible hands pull at that sacred connection. The agony transcends understanding—my essence extracted through my sternum, one cell at a time.
No. No. No.
"Don't," I choke, feeling something fundamental fracture inside me.
Rhyland's pain fades like a radio losing signal. The blessed warmth of his presence recedes with each syllable. My soul reaches desperately across the widening chasm, grasping at dissolving threads.
"Rhyland!" His name tears from my throat.
Blood streaks marble as he drags himself toward Morgan, fingernails splitting against stone. His Christmas pajamas—little lightning bolts I'd bought as a joke—now soaked in blood.
"Animae tuae non amplius ligatae!" Morgan's voice cracks like a whip. "Fractae et separatae!"
Our bond shatters like struck crystal. A thousand razor-sharp pieces slice through my chest. The following emptiness is absolute—a void where Rhyland's presence should be.
My sobs echo off marble—animal sounds from a creature mortally wounded. So fucking empty. Hollowed out where a soul used to be.
"Mens dominari," Morgan purrs, fingers weaving patterns that dance before shattering.
Rhyland jerks upright, movements disjointed. His ocean-blue eyes go vacant. My proud warrior becomes a marionette responding to Morgan's will.
I thrash against invisible bonds, blood soaking my Christmas pajamas. The engagement ring catches light, a cruel reminder of promises now hanging by threads.
"NO!" The word emerges garbled through blood and tears.
His feet drag across marble, leaving smeared bloody footprints. His hand twitches—one final rebellion—before they disappear through the shattered doorway.
Christmas snow swirls in, settling on abandoned presents and pooling blood like a mockery of the perfect morning that had been ours moments before.
Sulfurous smoke erupts before me, acrid and biting.
My nostrils burn as Brax materializes, his monstrous form solidifying from darkness as he gently sets Emily down.
The transition from demon smoke to his hulking ten-foot charred form is instant—obsidian skin cracked with glowing embers, horns curving from his skull.
"Rhyland," I croak, the name barely audible through blood-filled lungs.
Emily's eyes flash electric blue, crackling energy rolling off her in waves as she whirls toward the doorway where Morgan disappeared with my mate. Brax lunges for her, clawed hand extending.
"Stay with Dani!" Emily commands, her voice resonating with newfound power. "Protect her with your life!"
Brax freezes mid-motion, bound by their magical connection. Frustration contorts his demonic features as he watches Emily sprint after Morgan, her hands already weaving complex patterns in the air.
"Sistere in nomine lucis!" Emily's voice thunders down the hallway. "Animas captivas liberare!" The mansion trembles with her power, plaster dust raining from the ceiling.
Sable appears before me, her bubblegum hair matted with blood, brown eyes wide with determination. Her fingers—steady despite the chaos—cradle my face.
"Here. Drink." Before I can protest, she bites savagely into her own wrist. Blood wells immediately, bright crimson against her pale skin. She presses the wound against my mouth, her other hand holding my head firmly in place. "Now, Dani!"
Fuck. Has she forgotten what blood-sharing does?
The first drop hits my tongue—electric, vibrant, alive.
My body recognizes the salvation before my mind can process it.
I swallow reflexively, then deliberately, drawing deeply from her wrist. Warmth floods through me, targeting each broken piece.
My shattered ribs knit together with audible clicks.
My punctured lung inflates, the torn tissue sealing itself.
My fractured skull mends, the pressure behind my eyes subsiding as blood vessels repair themselves.
My dislocated shoulder pops back into place with a sickening wrench that barely registers through the healing euphoria.