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As the blood pours from my arm, my eyes stay transfixed on my wound, wondering how Link felt in this moment, and if I will know when I have lost too much. From my peripheral, I can see the blood churning, a whirlpool of life splashing on the edges of the bowl. My own stubbornness and fear stop me from looking at my friends for what may be the last time.
I cannot bear to see the grief and anxiety I know laces Tulip’s face, and I will lose my nerve if I see the admiration and care in Mace’s eyes that is no doubt waiting for me.
The blood and magic continue to swirl in the bowl of their own accord, churning like an ocean during a storm and picking up speed every moment. The blood keeps falling from my arm, and the edges of my vision begin to grow black. I suddenly feel too hot, my head spinning and my skin flushing deeply. Nausea overtakes me, and I crash to my knees. I angle my arm to rest over the basin, not wanting a drop of my blood to spill outside of the ritual. If I am going to die, I need to make this worth it.
Hands are on me, soft, gentle, pulling me away from the basin. I try to fight, but there is none left in me, and I am dragged away and laid atop someone’s knees. Feminine fingers wrap around my arm, and my skin begins to stitch before my eyes, my skin cooling and my vision slowly returning. I look up to see Plume holding me steady, healing me. “But the ritual. It needs more blood. Himureal isn’t here.” My voice is weak, timid, and broken.
“You gave enough. You’ve done enough.”
We both look towards the basin where the blood and magic no longer thrash in a tempest but instead, part for the figure slowly rising from its depths.
Chapter 53
Viola
Thefigureinfrontof me is not what I expected when I pictured Himureal. Instead of a fearsome old man with white hair and a beard and ice dripping from his clothing, there stands a devastatingly beautiful man clothed only in my blood.He’s built well, with strong arms that are crossed over his chest. His mouth is turned up in the self-assured smirk of a God among men.
Plume has not released her healing hold on me, but from my vantage point on the ground, I see Himureal lick my blood from his fingertips. He swings his head in survey of the space, Morrow and Mace with eyes downcast to avoid his gaze. Stone drops to his knees as he looks up at the figure.
“My Lord, I can hardly believe it. We did it. We brought you back.”
The God gives Stone a look of pure confusion. “You’re the vessel?” he asks quietly. His voice rumbles into my core, an avalanche of power awakening my own. While I do not feel fully healed, something in his magic is soothing the ache left within me.
“Oh no, my Lord, I am not the vessel. I merely procured the vessel.” Stone gestures towards me with a flap of his hand, and Plume tightens her grip on my shoulders.
Himureal raises his hand to his mouth and licks more of my blood from the back of it. “I didn’t think so. This blood is female.” He steps out of the basin, and as his foot hits the ground, ice erupts up from the point of impact and swirls around him. As quickly as it rose, it’s gone, and a clean and dressed Himureal appears with his eyes trained on me.
Without the blood, I can see his otherworldly bright eyes, the clear blue of a frozen lake. His hair, stark white and glimmering, falls to the middle of his back in beautiful waves. He looks carved, with features that are as sharp as they are breathtaking. His tall, lean body is wrapped in a smokey gray shirt and black pants. If I didn’t know I was looking at a God, I would think I just happened upon an especially beautiful fae man.
“You, vessel, what’s your name?”
I open and close my mouth a few times, unable to make sounds leave. When I finally work up the nerve to answer, Stone cuts me off. “She is no one, my Lord. She’s a human. We did not intend for her to survive the ritual.”
Pure fury flashes over Himureal’s face, and he grabs Stone by the collar with an unnatural quickness. “You intended to kill my vessel?” Confusion colors Stone’s face, and I sneak a glance at Mace to see an equal expression.
“My Lord, the texts say the vessel must give all their lifeblood to ensure your return.”
The snarl that rips out of the God’s throat elicits a startled yelp out of Tulip from the other side of the room. “Do not dare attempt to tell me what the texts say. Who do you believe wrote the texts?” He spits the last word out and throws Stone to the ground, where the Bliksem scrambles back.
Himureal turns to me, eyes locked in my own for the briefest of moments. “I spent entirely too long in that realm waiting for this moment. You were never supposed to drain your vessels.” He snarls and swings his gaze directly to Stone. “The texts say that a vessel is made by a willing sacrifice of power from an equal.” Mace rakes his hands through his hair, the strands landing at odd angles. The slump of his shoulders silently indicates his realization that he got everything wrong from the beginning.
“Your equal? That is not how we read the texts, there must be some mistake. My Lord, she is not your equal. She is but a human gir-” Stone’s thought is cut short by a shard of ice impaling his throat. He looks stricken for a moment, and then he falls, blood pooling behind him. It is not long before he stops moving.
Tulip gasps and buries her face in her hands, fear of the violent God in front of us shaking her shoulders. Plume’s fingers are digging deep into my arms, protective of me in the face of Stone’s murderer. Mace holds back angry tears at the loss of a father figure, and Morrow slips backward, silently hiding himself in shadows against the wall. Himureal either doesn’t notice or pretends not to see the reaction to his brutal murder of Stone.
No love is lost between Stone and me, and if Himureal hadn’t taken care of him, he would’ve fallen at my blade for his transgressions. That doesn’t mean I wanted Mace to witness it.
The scent of Stone’s blood reaches me, and my body feels lighter, like I am drifting in the wind. I stumble to my feet, roughly pushing Plume off me, and take a tentative step toward the body. Shadow slithers down from my head to wrap around my forearm possessively as I move.
The stain of the blood stretches below Stone, a map of his wrongdoings begging to be read by me. I take another step, the magic within me pushing for more, lighting up my veins with desire.
If I could just get closer, I could find out what is there, calling for me, pleading for me to take it.
Before I can get to Stone, a firm, cold hand grabs me by the back of my neck like a mother cat. I turn my head slowly to look directly into the eyes of Himureal. This close, I can smell his clean scent, like a wooded forest covered in snow. “Your name.”
His words are a command, not a question, and my body betrays me with the desire to answer. Just two words from him have left me slack in his hands. Or maybe it’s the blood. I turn my hooded eyes back to it, the stories it holds calling to me. “Your name, child, then I can help with the bloodlust.”
I wrinkle my nose at his words, momentarily snapped from the spell that Stone’s blood cast on me. My voice is shaky and breathy when I speak. “Bloodlust?”
