Chapter Twelve
Chapter
Twelve
I leave Aliz in the tunnel. Well, my exact words to her were follow me and I’ll pull your fangs out. I don’t need her help. I will never work with her. But I rush to scour Kinsnet for some kind of cure. It must have one.
A Familiar may be a leech’s lapdog, but they are a willing lapdog. Which I am not. So undoing the blood contract should be simple enough. Maybe I have to pour my own blood into an open wound on Aliz’s neck. My garlic will kill her. What a pity.
Books about Familiars are located on the fifth floor.
Most students must know that Aliz uses it as a hookup spot, so it’s understandably empty.
My neck itches again, and I dig my nails through the scarf.
Why is it itchy? Just as I grab a hefty volume on the history of Familiars, the book behind it is pulled down, creating a window in the bookcase.
And through that window, Aliz’s eyes, black holes beneath snowy brows, stare back at me.
“We’ll find a cure if we work together,” she says. Her voice is too calm.
“Piss off.”
“Cassie,” she says, exasperated. She pulls another book down, widening the gap. “I get that you’re angry, but—”
“Angry?” I whisper. I get up on my tiptoes, but even then I’m still not quite at eye level with her. “Angry?” I repeat, letting her hear the ice on my tongue. “Ask me one more time to work with you, and I will pray so loud and clear that your beautiful little ears will bleed.”
Aliz Astra presses her lips together, before shoving the books that created the window back into place. I hear her storm off, hopefully for the last time.
If I ever have to work with someone, it will be Penny. I grip the bookshelf, pressing my forehead against it. I should tell her. She’ll know how to fix this. But maybe she’ll kick me out of Callisto. Because no hunter in their right mind would let a vampire heal them. What was I thinking?
Before I can slam my forehead against the shelf in frustration, I continue my search for the cure. And after leafing through two dozen books, I finally find something in a crimson, leather-bound book. I run my fingers down the page, stopping on a passage.
Blood Familiars, those bound by blood contracts, are expected to serve their masters for a minimum of ten years before they are converted.
Ten years of service? I keep reading, certain that I’ll find a way to annul the contract.
But instead, I find something far worse.
Blood Familiars are bound to their master’s word and will do whatever is asked of them.
I pause, my eyes widening. Suddenly, as I read what comes next, I’m certain I’m going to throw up. Just as if they are being compelled.
It can’t be. It took months of training, but I’m immune.
She can’t compel me. What if the mark has changed that?
What if her word alone can bend my will?
A shiver runs through me, and I’m forced to sit, hands trembling as I picture this twisted future, scurrying after her, obeying her every wish and whim.
No.
There must be another way.
I squeeze my eyes shut, taking a deep breath, before I continue reading. And my racing heart, my dread, my fear, all of it vanishes when I see the next sentence.
Should either party die, the mark will vanish.
I stare at the ceiling, wide awake. An hour ago, I heard her coffin creak shut. I wipe cold sweat from my forehead, and open the curtains that shield my mattress from view, letting the cool air touch my skin.
Books are splayed open on her desk, and when I check my watch, it’s already six.
Becoming a vampire’s Familiar is a fate far worse than death. I reach for my burgundy satchel. As quietly as I can, I pull out my wooden stake and slow my breathing. I’ve done this a hundred times. And this time, it’s not someone else’s life that’s on the line. It’s mine. My freedom.
I step over, making it through the curtains. My eyes adjust to the dark, and just as I did yesterday, I slot my fingers under the handle of her coffin. It lets out a small squeak before I pull it open.
I can’t hesitate.
She’ll wake now, so before she does, I have to plunge the stake through her heart. It was on purpose. How could the heir to the Astra family not know what she was doing? She said she’d find a way to make me leave. This was all part of her plan.
But why am I trying to find excuses to kill a vampire? I’ve been able to do it without thinking for the last four years.
Inside the coffin, Aliz lies completely still but for the slow rise and fall of her chest. She’s fast asleep, wearing a cotton vest and underwear.
Her long legs have kicked off her covers.
My hands tremble as I grip the stake, and very carefully position it over her chest. She doesn’t even flinch when the wooden tip rests above her heart.