45. Isolde #2
“It took Anselm and I five years to discover that a ritual existed to bind our lives together. We had only a partial account of the ritual then, though, and so when we attempted it the first time… we failed. It didn’t work.
Anselm was still mortal. It took us nearly two more years to find the journal—to discover what we’d done wrong the first time.
“You see, the ritual requires the sacrificial blood of a Vampire and a Werewolf. Both must be drained completely, and the blood combined. Next, the lovers must bleed, and when there is but one drop of blood left in their veins, they drink the blood of the sacrifices. The combined blood of the sacrificed Vampire and Werewolf replaces the blood of the other two, and they are… reborn. Into something new. The Wolf can change at will, and is no longer beholden to the full moon. The Vampire gains the ability to walk in the sun, to eat, to live as humans do. And the Wolf becomes immortal, their life extended just as Vampire’s lives are.
“But what Anselm and I did not know when we first attempted the ritual was that the sacrifices must be of our own bloodlines. And the blood must be combined under the light of a blood moon.”
Isolde’s heart stumbled to a halt in her chest, and then began to fly .
The blood of lovers. Blood moon. Bloodline. Done right.
Aggie had known. All along, she’d known exactly what Selene and Anselm were planning. What they’d done wrong the first time. Aggie had tried to tell them, and they hadn’t been able to make sense of it.
The ritual requires the sacrificial blood of a Vampire and a Werewolf.
They were the sacrifices—Isolde and Bastian.
Across the courtyard, Bastian’s eyes swam with the same horrible mixture of terror and realization Isolde felt.
“Hence the need for this place,” Selene went on, gesturing up at the razor-thin sliver of the moon, just off-center of that divot in the stone as it inched toward total lunar eclipse.
“When the blood moon is at its zenith, it hangs right over the place where the blood collects. They’re rare now, blood moons, but at the time this place was built, they occurred much more frequently.
Which is especially unfortunate for me and Anselm, because by the time we discovered that the ritual had to be performed under a blood moon, we had to wait ten more years until one was expected to grace the sky. ”
“Wait,” Isolde said, her blood running cold.
Ten years.
Ten years.
Seventeen years, Selene had said, since her and Anselm had fallen in love. Five years of looking for a way to make him immortal. Two more to find the journal.
The original journal where the ritual was recorded is in the library of the university in Aaldenburg.
“When you found me,” Isolde said, the words like shards of glass in her throat, “ten years ago, half-dead in the snow, I was on my way home from Aaldenburg.”
Bastian let out a low, choked whimper. Like he understood exactly what Isolde was thinking.
Selene nodded, and whatever was left of Isolde’s heart disintegrated into dust.
“I had just found the journal there and learned that the Vampire sacrifice had to be of my own bloodline. Traditionally, older family members made the sacrifice, but… well, my parents died centuries ago, and my Sire fell in the Bleeding War.”
Isolde couldn’t stop the tears from pouring out now, her eyes burning as they spilled down her cheeks. “All this time?” Her voice cracked. “All these years you protected me, trained me to fight, made me that God-forsaken fucking cloak, it was just so you could kill me in the end?”
Not a hint of emotion flickered on Selene’s face. “Don’t be so dramatic about it, girl. You were a breath away from death when I found you in the snow that day. I gave you ten extra years that you wouldn’t otherwise have had.”
There wasn’t a touch of remorse in her voice, either.
“And all that bullshit you spouted to me about not falling in love with Bastian?” Anger crept in now, curling its vicious claws around Isolde’s heart. “If you didn’t intend for either of us to live out the month, what was the fucking purpose of that?”
Selene’s eyes narrowed. “Because, Isolde,” she hissed, baring her fangs, “I’ve been living in agony with the knowledge that Anselm was going to die and leave me alone in this world for seventeen fucking years.”
“So what? It’s not like I’m going to have to experience that agony if Bastian and I are both dead .”
Selene’s jaw worked, something that almost— almost —looked like remorse flickering in her dark eyes.
She stared at Isolde, and for half an instant, Isolde saw the woman who’d gathered her broken body up and made her whole again.
Who’d held her as she wept for the family who no longer wanted her.
Who’d made her a cloak to wear when she punished the men who’d killed her, a crimson reminder of the fact that she was no longer fragile or weak.
And then Selene turned away, that impassive expression sliding back into place. “No more questions.” Her words were clipped. “It’s nearly time.”