Page 51 of Blood & Bedlam

“If we have to steal and murder and kill a nation to achieve our power, then we do not deserve it, Brother,” I say. I feel light as a feather as the potion reaches my face, the tingle of my magic rising and binding in my blood, ready to be released. I turn quickly, and brace against the sidewall, using it for leverage and balance as I climb atop it. The guards rush forward, but Alesso holds out his hands, arresting their advances.

“I will just bring you back, Mina,” he chides with an exasperated sigh.

It is time, and I can feel it.

“Normally, Brother, that would be true.” I toss him the empty bottle, which he snatches in midair. He brings the opening to his nose and inhales. I see the moment he realizes what I have done, watch horror flash across his face as his power bursts from his chest and outstretched arms as he scrambles toward me. But he will not get to me in time. I stole the Alchemy Index for the ritual for Vladimir, but for this one as well. A binding of my soul tie, the bestowing of my immortality onto my beloved. As long as a member of my house stands, Vlad will not be permitted to die.

And House Renaldi always finds a way to survive.

I fling out my arms and look to the sky as I fall backward, focusing on the blanket of stars above, the comforting arms of the wind wrapping my body as the earth rushes to meet me. I think of Vladimir and the road of pain he is still yet to endure, but I am comforted that, with my sacrifice, he will not be permitted to die. He is good and just, and of the two of us, he deserves the chance to live in this world.

The impact against my body is a soul-shaking pain, the bursting apart of my bones and blood, but the magic holds me tethered, forcing me to feel the blinding pain, the ferocity of the toll of this sacrifice. Every bone in my body is shattered, and there is blood leaking from my mouth and ears, but the magic holds my lungs together as my vision darkens.

“With my dying breath.” I choke on the words as the magic relents, and a death rattle emanates from my mortal coil. Darkness swallows me whole and I pray the Fates have mercy on my wretched soul, and that Vladimir will find a way to forgive me my sins.

My eyes fly open, my head a mess of toxic sludge as memories flood through me, merging the past and present into excruciating clarity. We’re in the extravagant, circular ball hall but it’s empty of guests and revelry. Instead, it looks as though a bomb went off in here, upturned tables and broken glass everywhere. My eyes search the room, the breath stalling in my lungs when I see Vlad, on his knees, arms strung up with glowing blue chains, head bowed. Gashes that aren’t healing leak, spreading over his skin.

With a wince, I push my body up. The movement snaps his eyes to mine. I watch his irises flicker between their pale silver and the black of his beast. They settle on black when he sees the blood trickling from a gash on my chest, and he thrashes, pulling the chains tight, but they’re anchored into the ground.

Around us are vampires, too still to be anything else. I search the faces and see the members of House Torini, the same who reveled in the trial, the same who were drinking and dancing earlier in this very room, only now their masks are discarded, fangs on full display. My head throbs as nausea swirls, worry and panic barreling through my body. It’s muted, and I can feel something press against my mind, a searching that feels like Vladimir.

The magic of those chains is somehow oppressing him, and instantly I know they have figured out a way to dampen his power and contain him. The only sound is my breathing and the rattle of chains as Vladimir fights in vain.

“You always did sleep in way too late.”

A chill runs down my spine at the voice, and I’m in no hurry to look at the source. My brother sits like Royalty on the Dracul’s throne. My stomach turns. He kissed my hand at the trial. He knew Vladimir and I hadn’t Bonded. Hatred burns through me, but more than that is fear.

Fuck.

We regard each other, with me trying and failing to get my mind right. We’re in deep shit, of that I’m certain, but I can’t put it all together. I shouldn’t be alive, or reincarnated, or whatever the hell I am now—I went to great lengths to make sure Alesso wouldn’t have enough power to pull it off, and even if he managed to find enough, my soul tie surrendered my essence to Vladimir.

“How?” is all I manage to croak, throat raw and hoarse as pressure bleats against my skull. I maneuver myself up on shaky legs, leaving streaks of blood where my hands touch the floor. The Italians stir, but he only holds a hand up, ever the commander. I can see in his eyes this won’t end quickly.

My brother has waited eight hundred years for revenge, and he won’t be denied his satisfaction.

Vladimir

CHAPTER 27

I feel weak, the strength flees my body as soon as my beast replenishes it, but at least Reine is alive. Seconds. It took seconds for me to let my guard down, to believe that we were going to finally get our moment in the sun, and that’s all it took to be blindsided. I reach out to Reine through our consecrated Bond, but I can barely feel her, and the bloodlink doesn’t work. It’s too quiet in my head. Rage mingles with panic when I can’t feel my girls.

My girls.

“What have you done with my daughters?” I demand. The witch from the trial, the one that upset Reine, snaps his head to me, a look of annoyance darkening his gaze.

“In due time,” he responds dismissively, then returns his attention to my Bondmate. She’s looking at him with more than confusion, more than recognition. She knows him, and it’s clear, even without the link, that she’s scared. My beast thrashes, sending my limbs flailing, but the chains hold fast. Reine manages to stand and I breathe a small sigh of relief that she isn’t seriously maimed. There are no chains around her wrists, and they must have fixed her dress, affording her a shocking modicum of modesty considering I was still coming inside of her when the world blew apart around us.

“What do you want, Alesso?” she prods. There’s a tightening of a muscle in his jaw as he regards her.

“I want what you stole, sweet sister.” Shock waves radiate inside my skull at his words, at the fact that she doesn’t refute them. She has no family—she let me see into her mind, let Hecate dive just as deeply. The girls were sure she was an orphan, and yet …

“I stole nothing. It didn’t belong to you,” she sniffs, crossing her arms in a display of defiance, but I can see the slight shake of her body, the wobble in her stance. She’s just said the wrong thing, though, because in a flash, he’s off the throne, vibrating with fury.

“No, it didn’t belong to him!” he bellows, throwing out his finger toward me. “Do you have any idea what you did to us? To me?” There is real rage in his eyes, and panic claws up my throat, ripping a growl at his proximity to Reine, but it’s as though we’re all just here to witness some sort of fucked-up family intervention.

“It did belong to him. It was a Wallachian birthright—Vladimir’s birthright.”

“You ungrateful bitch.” He shakes now, and this rage feels old, layered and deep. I tug gently on the chains around me, searching for a weakness without trying to draw attention, but the magic they’re spelled with is strong as the hells. “Do you know what happened when you gave him your essence? Your soul tied to a fucking mortal, Anselmina.” The use of her original name stills me.