Page 82 of A Betrothal So Bloody

Protection befitting a monarch.

“You have traveled a long way, child,” the fairy says. Her voice is smooth as silk, and it’s impossible to tell how old she is. She might be thirty or three-hundred.

“You,” Dante breathes, horror rippling through every word. He recoils slightly. “It can’t be.”

“You expected different?” Her expression is amused. “You bear fangs and wade in bloodshed, yet you carry disdain for those of us with wings?”

“Sorry. It’s just—the stories didn’t mention you were…” Dante’s stumbling over his words, brow furrowing deeper as he sizes her up. “Shit. You’re Callistia?”

She chuckles, much to my relief. I half expect Dante’s prior derision toward fairies to rear its head again, even to her.

The gentle glow around Callistia brightens, temporarily blotting out her form. I raise a hand to shield my eyes, a breeze rushing out that pushes my hair back. When I look out again, a human-sized woman is standing before us—tall and slender, opalescent wings folded at her back. Her eyebrows raise at him, as though silently warning this will be her only acquiesce to suit him.

“Speak. What is it that you seek so fervently?” she asks.

Dante pulls in a breath. “I’ve lived in shadows, under another’s rule for a hundred years. Take the dark gift away—this curse that shackles me to my maker,” he says, snarling around this last word. “Give me the withering life of a mortal again. I’ll give you anything you want—anything in my power, and more.”

Callistia takes a step closer to Dante, her bare feet noiseless on the pristine moss. She cups his face with a pale hand, and his eyes flutter shut in anticipation.

I hold my breath, unable to fathom what I am about to witness. The birth of a vampire is a violent, agonizing affair. Perhaps a reversal is the same—but I have no doubt that Dante will accept any suffering that comes his way without hesitation.

“I feel your pain,” Callistia says softly, her voice trembling as though his affliction is coursing through her. Her eyes cut over to consider me briefly before shifting back to him. “And your rage. There’s enough anger smoldering in your heart to burn you up, isn’t there?”

Dante’s eyes open, his jaw feathering. Callistia strokes his cheek like a mother, a frown creasing her elegant features. Her gaze drops. “You’ve sacrificed much to come here. If I had the power, I would reward such a pilgrimage, but…”

My heart seizes in my chest as Callistia pulls away from him, her face mournful. No. No, she can’t be—

Dante lunges after her, pulling her hand back to his chest, ducking to catch her eyes—desperate, manic. The wolves watching from the shadows emit a low, warning growl.

“I’ve read every scrap of stories about your feats down to the letter,” Dante pants. “I know your power can—”

Callistia interrupts with a pacifying murmur, though it has the opposite effect as panic seeps into his wide eyes. “I am afraid the legends of my jurisdiction have been exaggerated over the decades.”

“You can’t do it here and now—fine,” Dante bites out. “Tell me what you need—ingredients, a sacrifice, anything. I will bring it to you. There must be something you can try.”

“Illness, poison, and even those on the brink of death are within my grasp,” she insists gently. “But your dark gift is something far more ancient than even me. I cannot cure vampirism, though I have tried and failed many times… Never successful. I am sorry, child.”

“That… That’s not true,” Dante all but snarls. “I read an ancient account by a vampire’s own hand—a woman by the name of Lucia. She searched for you. She found you.”

“Yes. I remember.”

“And adjacent accounts swear that you cured the darkness in her. Her story was buried—too shameful to be spoken of.”

Her mournful eyes fall shut for a moment. “I did eradicate the darkness within her—and with nothing remaining inside her, she perished immediately. I would offer the same to you, but…” She regards him with unwavering certainty. “You do not strike me as one who wishes to die.”

Dante’s eyes flicker to me briefly before he responds with a slow shake of his head.

My breaths are shallow, and shock makes my throat close around any words that try to surface. I should go to him, I should plead with Callistia myself—but my legs won’t move.

This entire journey has been a waste. All of it. Dante’s fate will be unchanged. And my mission to the Order… I cannot return to them empty handed. I have only one recourse.

I have to kill him.

Dante sinks to his knees like they give out from under him.

“Then… What do I do?” His voice is a broken rasp that sets a fissure in my heart.

Callistia tilts her head, moonlit hair shifting over her exposed shoulders. A single tear rolls down her cheek like a streak of silver as she tips his chin up.