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The mage went pale.
“That’s impossible,” Niah scoffed. “Merlin was lying.”
Sirus wanted to think the same, but his instincts told him otherwise. He’d always felt a draw to Gwendolyn that was something almost primitive. Something beyond reason and understanding. Her magick had spoken to him in a way that set his blood aflame. It was magick Sirus knew. Familiar because it was built into his very essence. Into the essence of all vampires.
“You think he spoke the truth?” Sirus pressed the mage, his heart pounding frantically beneath his ribs.
“Yes,” she replied, meeting his eye. “I do.”
“Even if it’s true and the Star of Umbra wasn’t cast out, Merlin has been imprisoned for centuries. He couldn’t have bound it to Gwen,” Niah pointed out flatly.
Levian shook her head and continued to pace. “No. It couldn’t have been him, but Merlin was testing me. Testing if I could follow his ramblings about the Stars and Nestra and the object she was after. To his credit, I’m not sure if I’ve unraveled it or if I’ve just fallen for his bait.” The mage stopped her pacing. “All I know for certain is that I went to Merlin for answers, and this is what he hinted at. And as much as it pains me to admit it, I’m tempted to believe it’s possible.”
She looked to Sirus. “Even if I’m wrong, I think Nestra believes it. Merlin knew she’d been researching Dökk magick. That she was hunting power to harness. At least in the Veil we can trust that Gwen will be protected. Until we can get this all sorted, anyway.”
“Will Iathana be able to confirm it?” Niah asked, a hint of anxiousness laced in her voice. “If she does possess the magick of a Star?”
Levian’s eyes flared violet. “Yes,” she replied flatly. “Perhaps not right away, but in time.”
Silence lingered as the weight of it all settled over them.
Sirus could feel Niah’s tension at the prospect. If it was true that Gwendolyn possessed a part of the magick used to create vampires, there was a chance her magick could save them. He was not so optimistic or naive. The source of the magick might still exist, but the spells woven by their makers were long-lost and fading.
“What I told Barith was true,” Levian added. “The Veil is no prison, Sirus. When this is finished, whatever the source of her magick turns out to be, Gwen could always return.”
There it was again—a hint of hope. The sky was dense with dark gray clouds. The snow had ceased for now, but it would soon fall harder. “Gwendolyn is where she belongs,” he replied. Once she was in the Veil, he knew she would never return.
He sensed Niah bristle, but he was in no mood for her arguments. “You should rest,” he told Levian. “We can?—”
A rustle ran through the trees and sent a shockwave of awareness through him.
Niah and Levian stilled as they sensed it too.
The whole forest fell quiet.
His eyes narrowed as the sky skittered with white streaks of magick that cascaded over the barrier surrounding Volkov. He shifted to the west, and a low growl echoed through his chest.
Levian swore as Barith shot down from the sky and landed between them in a blur of fire. “She’s come,” he snarled. “There are at least forty paladins, maybe more.”
A deafening crack split the silence of the forest. A crack Sirus felt deep in his bones.
Nestra was here. At his door. She’d come to collect what he’d taken from her.
Another crack filled the night. The magick of the forest hummed in response as Nestra struck at the old spells protecting it. Sirus’s pulse roared in his ears. He met Niah’s eyes and saw the same hunger reflected before they turned black.
Sirus had lived long centuries, but Gwendolyn had shown him what it was to feel truly alive. He would cherish the moments they’d shared and the joys she’d brought to him—her smiles, her laughter—always, in this life and whatever waited for him beyond. It comforted him to know she would be happy. That she was safe.
He’d failed her in so many ways, but in this he would not. He would make sure Nestra ended her pursuit of Gwendolyn, here and now. Sirus looked off into the forest. His blood ran hot as he let the controlled monster within him free.
He was not merely a vampire. He was Death. The Hound of Hell. And it was time for him to do what he did best.
Hunt.
Chapter Eighteen
Gwen screamed into the field of vibrant purple flowers.
Every minute that passed, her sense of dread deepened. Sirus was in trouble, and she’d tried everything she could think. She didn’t know how to get back. She didn’t know how to get to him. She cursed Iathana for leaving her here. She cursed the field and the flowers.
