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No flames sparked in her palm.
We were officially a vampire’s dinner.
Chapter Seventeen
Freya
I couldn’t stop shaking.
The Bloodblade was gone and so was my magic.
I could still feel the brittle, light bone in my hand. The only remnant of my mother.
I should’ve known the vampires had done it from that single speck of evidence, yet I hadn’t wanted to believe she’d died at the hands of such awful creatures and their pathetic weapon. Their only weapon that could have killed a witch as powerful as she.
“Did you sneak up on her?” I asked. “When you killed her, did you give her the chance to fight back? Or did you sweep in with one fatal, spineless blow?”
At least if she’d died at a witch’s hands, she would’ve died in an honest battle. She would’ve died at the hands of something living. A cold, pale face was the last one she’d seen.
Godsdammit, I need to stop crying.
“Your mother was in the way, so she was removed,” the Master snapped. “There’s no need to make it more complicated than that.”
My breaths couldn’t come fast enough. My back ached, and my heartbeat rattled in my ears. The vampires crept closer, though I could barely discern them from each other. My vision swam with exhaustion and tears.
Something wasn’t right. I’d performed quite a few spells, but nothing that should’ve pushed me this far.
Walker stared at me in concern. His hand twitched, like he was tempted to reach out and hold mine like he had in the hall. I was glad he did not. Even now, I wouldn’t admit to weakness in front of my mother’s killers. They wouldn’t take that last shred of pride from me.
“Feeling unwell?” the Master asked. He smiled with sick glee. “A little birdie might’ve told us you were coming. We prepared accordingly.”
“What did you do to her?” Walker asked in a low voice—the one he usually preserved for defending his sister.
The other vampires hissed and crept even closer. Their pale faces were contorted by bloodlust. The Master held up his hand, and they came to a swaying stop.
Or maybe I’m the one who’s swaying.
Smugness laced the Master’s every word. “She’s been under a draining spell since she stepped foot on my mountain.”
“The dark witches,” I whispered.
They were the only ones underhanded enough to pull off such a thing. I’d felt magic clinging to my skin on the journey through the hellish, rocky terrain, but I’d assumed it came with the territory.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The Master swept his arms wide and looked at each of his followers.
“Remember, darlings,” he said, “we can’t kill the witch just yet, but the boy is fair game—just remember to share. We all deserve a little hunter blood.”
*
Walker
This is where I finally die.
Vampires closed in all around us. They wore ragged clothes from varying decades, and their blood-stained fangs dripped with drool. Fear and revulsion churned my stomach.
I almost wished Freya had done away with me days ago.
