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He isn’t the only one who is growing impatient with Fintan’s methods of extracting information.
“The witch is lying.” Manon’s presence flares unhappily next to me. “We know how to get the truth out of her, don’t we, dear?”
Yes. We do.
I blink and Manon is gone.
The atmosphere in the room has shifted, and I get the sense that I blacked out for a moment. Manon likes to steal chunks of time from me. It’s like she’s growing stronger, drawing on my energy and biding her time until she can take me over completely.
“Bas…”
Rune and Fintan stare at me, equally shocked and horrified.
No—I stare down at the witch’s lifeless body in front of me. Her skin is sliced open in long, jagged cuts that no longer bleed. Her heart has stopped. She’s dead.
The reality of what I’ve done sinks in. She drank Fintan’s blood. The witch isn’t dead. She isn’t even a witch anymore.
She’s turning.
“What are we going to do?”
Rune peers down at our newest member of Elysian’s horde, his boots squelching in the blood pooling on the stone. “I don’t think there’s much we can do at this point.”
It takes a few weeks for the transition to complete—a full moon cycle. Which means there is still time to figure out how to deal with this.
Rationally, I know Rune is right: there is no way to amend this. I know I crossed the line this time—majorly.
No. I flew right by the line, disregarding it altogether.
* * *
JOSIE
I spend the days—or more accurately, the nights—leading up to the new moon with my nose in every book I can get my hands on. I need to learn all I can about Unity Witches and the bonds that connect us to vampires—not that I believe Fintan’s claim that we’ll match.
Even as I think about it, I feel guilty.
I hate it.
Fintan visits me every day and my attachment grows. If it’s not a unity bond, he’s manipulating my emotions with his gifts… which I don’t think he would do.
Ugh… how can I even be thinking it’s true?
More importantly… how could part of me like the idea?
Rune pops in from time to time as well, but Finn’s focus is to spend time with me. I find myself watching the clock, waiting for his arrival each evening.
It’s pretty pathetic, but there isn’t much else for me to do. My sources of entertainment are presently quite limited.
Rune waltzes into my room just before sundown, unannounced and unwanted.
“You could knock, you know,” I say from the armchair I’m curled up in, sticking my finger between the pages of the book I was reading. “At least grant me the illusion this is my room in some luxury hotel and not the cushy prison cell that it is.”
“Come with me.”
Did he listen to a word I said? No.
Well then, I can ignore him too.
