Page 58 of Blood & Bedlam

She takes a rattled, steadying breath. “I come from the direct line of the Renaldi Coven,” she explains. That name means nothing to me, but Hecate’s eyes nearly bulge from her skull.

“Oh, damn,” she whispers. Reine nods, looking away.

“Yeah. In our coven, women are born with this ability to be power conduits. We have our own magic, but we’re sort of like … amplifiers. Our magic comes from the earth. It’s healing and ancient, but the men. The men are a different story. Their power comes from something … angrier. When we’re born, we’re paired up to a soul tie. If there are siblings, that’s how it generally falls, but there are cases of ties from different families. It’s not … sexual or anything. We were seen as boosters to amplify their power. When Alessandro and I were born as twins, we were tied. It made sense.” She shrugs, but it ends on a shiver that has little to do with her temperature.

“How do you know that name?” I ask Cate.

“They were a powerful line back then, with a … particular reputation.” The goddess grimaces uncomfortably at Reine, and I can see by the tightness in her jaw that Cate is trying to be delicate about her assessment, but Reine snorts.

“Yeah, for being maniacs.” She squirms, burrowing deeper against my side. I frown at the pain that shoots through her. “I’m okay,” she assures gently, when she sees the concern on my face. “We had base magic, sure, but we were no more powerful than the next coven. Not until one of my ancestors started researching and hunting for power sources. Our magic is individual, but because of the amplification of soul ties, we had communal power. My father ruled for a long time, but he wasn’t kind, and he was a bit of a megalomaniac. He’d made a lot of enemies in our own coven, and so he raised and trained my brother to be a bloodhound of sorts. That’s how you ended up on their radar. They wanted the magic hidden in your land.”

I try hard not to press and pry, but I’m enthralled by her story. All the answers to questions that have plagued me for centuries are hidden inside her mind, and I want to peel them all back, to know what drove her motivations for doing what she did.

She feels my curiosity burning through our Bond.

“There was no magic in my family,” I offer thoughtfully.

“No, not yours. But your land didn’t always belong to you. That particular ritual, the Sanguinus Lunaria, only works on the ruler of Wallachia. It’s meant as a protectorate measure. That’s why they sent me in. To tie your title to our bloodline, and surrender it to them as queen, so they could access it. They sent me because I was unwed. Convinced me my entire purpose in life was to further our family name. Bolster my brother, amplify his power. And I did … until you. Until I saw your heart and how you suffered and loved your people. How you fought with them, were willing to die for them. I’d never seen a leader like that.”

I gather her hand in mine, bring it to my lips. Her pulse feels so faint. I can tell she’s fading, but she only smiles. “I love you.” I speak against her skin, will her blood to pump, for mine to heal her.

“I broke the tie with my brother. It has to be freely given, you see. He was a necromancer, and I knew that my power kept his own power from eating him alive, acting like a buffer of sorts. When I soul tied to you, I gave you my power, and to make sure I couldn’t ever get it back, I took a one-way trip …” She gestures vaguely with her hand. I hate fucking thinking about that part.

“You jumped,” Cate clarifies, her own eyes misted over.

Reine’s body is breaking down, but her words hold so much strength. “I jumped. My power is regenerative, so an unintended side effect when I passed that power to you was that you couldn’t die,” she confirms.

Cate leans forward and takes Reine’s free hand in both of hers. “It isn’t easy to go against your family. It’s even harder to break generational trauma and do the right thing. You did that, Reine … Mina? Which name would you prefer?” Her question catches us both off-guard, but I watch Reine’s face. I’d been wondering the same, who she would want to be now that she has both sets of memories.

“Reine. This life feels like mine, not something that can be just taken from me. It is mine,” she repeats, her voice a little stronger.

“Reine it is.”

The study door creaks open as Hermes returns, but on his heels is the God of Death, tall and brooding and imposing, even with his wings tucked out of sight behind a leather jacket with spikes on the shoulders. He settles his long body against the bookcase, crossing his arms as he takes us in. His lips are set into a hard line. Hermes shoves his hands in his pockets, and turns awkwardly between Reine and Thanatos, who are staring each other down.

“Reine, this is Thanatos, God of Death.”

“We’ve met,” they both reply.

Reine

CHAPTER 32

The God of Death.

Holy fucking Fates.

I hold his gaze, because he’s sizing me up, and I won’t give him the satisfaction of averting my eyes. It’s quiet enough that every breath I take sounds labored, beyond noticeable to Otherworlders with insane senses. I beg my magic to work with me, but it’s apparently fucked off for the day. Hermes breaks the tension, clapping his hands together as he digs in, spilling all my guts on the floor. He outlines how sick I’ve been, how nothing is healing.

It’s clinical, the way he breaks down how my body is failing, how I seem to be alive because of Vlad’s will alone. Days ago, I learned that Hermes was a practicing doctor, and while I know that he’s delivering the facts of his assessment, it flays me bare to hear it. He recounts in garish detail the amount of my Bonded’s blood I’m drinking each day. Thanatos listens intently, but his gray eyes never leave mine. Unlike Vlad’s, which are more pale blue, the God of Death’s are harsh shadows that clock my uneven breathing, the thin sheen of sweat that has broken out over my brow even though it’s freezing in this damn house.

Hermes finishes his report, and Thanatos takes it all in, but just like he’s watching me, I’m watching him too. I’m not sure what I expected the God of Death to look like, but it certainly wasn’t like he’d walked straight out of a basement punk show. His head is shaved, with tattoos crawling up his neck. A green mohawk is spiked to sharp points, and he’s a vision of anarchy in black from the tattoos to the big combat boots crossed over his ankles. He’s objectively hot as fuck, but nothing like Vladimir.

“May I?” he asks, pushing off the bookcase and gesturing his heavily tattooed hand toward me. His voice has that same British accent as Hermes, but far less refined, at least what I can hear of it. The minute he moves, a deadly growl resounds from Vlad’s chest, his beast agitated and on edge with the proximity. The god raises a pierced eyebrow, but halts, waiting.

“I’m not here to take her back, bruv. But I have questions and these are … interestin’ developments, to say the least, eh?” he placates. He and Vlad lock eyes, tension vibrating off the Dracul at the perceived threat, but I don’t feel like I’m in danger. I pat his leg gently.

The god takes a few more tentative steps, his boots thudding over the plush rugs, and I will my body to stop shaking. He reaches out, open fingers uncurled slightly, giving me the space to close the distance. My hand trembles as I reach for his hand, and when my fingers ghost over the open eye inked on his palm, something in my soul settles. His eyes go white, and I feel him, moving around me, searching my soul. His light and power scrub at the raw, crudely bandaged necrotic wounds left behind from Alessandro’s magic.