Page 60 of Blood & Bedlam

“You told Vladimir you weren’t going to kill me.” I hate the tremor in my voice, but I don’t want to die. Not again.

“I did, and I’m not, Reine. But you will have to die to make the scales whole. If the Dracul turns you, it ends your life. It removes your death marker from the mortal realm to the Otherworlder realm. But … you’ll be vampyr. Not a witch. This power you reclaimed, it won’t be yours anymore.” The sound that leaves my throat is anguished as his words drill through my skull.

My power.

My. Power.

It was stolen and abused, then weaponized and bastardized, but I took it back. It’s all I have of my mother, passed from her essence to mine.

“But … it’s mine,” I choke, only for him to shake his head.

“It belonged to Mina. It belonged to the body that birthed her, but that is not your story. You can keep it, but there will be complications. For now, I’ve managed to convince the others to let me handle this diplomatically, but that won’t last forever. And your body … Reine, you will suffer every day.”

The silence swells between us, his words damning in a way I didn’t expect. To anyone else, the choice might be simple, but I know what it is to lose the essence of what makes me. The blood and power that built me.

“People live with suffering every day. You can endure, if that is your choice. I’ll hold them off as long as I can, but I can’t promise what will happen when they notice it has gone uncorrected. It’ll be a fight.” His advice is sage, his tone apologetic, but there’s a hole in my chest, bleeding out the very essence of me.

“And you brought me out here to … what? Threaten me into this?” I snap in response, anger spiking. The death god’s face softens. His knuckles come up to wipe away a hot tear over my cheek. I flinch away. His hand falls.

“No, luv. I brought you here so that you could make your own choice. Whatever you decide, I’ll respect. You’re givin’ up a part of you, one you’ve only just gotten back. That choice can only be yours.” I let the weight of his words sift through my mind, consider them as he takes my hand again and leads me to the side door of the Manor, the one that leads off to the kitchen. When we reach the steps, he helps me to the landing, then hesitates, and I reluctantly withdraw from his touch.

“Good luck, Reine.” From behind him, a set of black wings unfurls, and with a few powerful beats, the God of Death is gone.

Living like this every day, too tired to even do magic, is it worth it? My magic’s too weak from fighting off the infection to matter. It should be a no-brainer, the chance to lift the burden, but I’m hesitating anyway. Months ago, without the memories of Mina, I would have just let him turn me. I had nothing and no one, a life built on fierce independence. There was no one to look after me, and I wasn’t responsible for anyone else. It was safer that way, but now …

I’m the last of my line, and when my magic dies, there will be no more.

No legacy, or the chance to see it redeemed.

After years of being alone, wondering where I came from … I know. I know. And the thought of letting go of my only connection to it cripples me nearly as much as the corrupted magic flowing through my chest.

But then.

Voices carry through the cracked back door and I peer through. The girls are in the kitchen, far too early, cooking what smells like French toast. Juliette flips massive pieces of bread on the large range, while Claire chops fresh strawberries. Fleur is dressed down like I’ve never seen her, in a plain white T-shirt and apron, large hands rolling out sheets of dough with butter wedged between impossibly thin—croissants. Cami works to squeeze oranges with her bare hands into a large decanter.

“Do you think Reine would like honey or cream?” Claire asks. The rolling pin Fleur’s holding spins impossibly fast as she works, folding and folding and flattening with precise skill.

“Honey,” she calls the same moment Cami answers, “Cream.” They stare at each other for a moment, eyes narrowed, but Juliette pipes up, “Both!” from the stove, and I suppress a smile, because she’s right.

Of course she’s right.

I watch them work, chatting, cooking good-naturedly, but when someone asks if Hecate and Hermes are still here, the mood grows solemn. The laughter quiets, until only the sizzling of egg and the wooden clogs of a rolling pin pressing dough into a counter can be heard.

“She’s going to be okay,” Cami reassures, and there’s a bite to her voice that brings a smile to my face. She leaves no room for argument, like she’d fistfight Thanatos in a Waffle House parking lot if he ever tried anything.

My stomach squirms when their melancholy doesn’t abate, as evidence of an uncomfortable truth seeps in. I have people who would miss me. Who will care if they have to watch me suffer in a permanent cycle of pain.

And because he knows I need him, Vlad is there, pressing against my back, taking my weight onto himself as we watch his girls work silently.

My girls. Our girls.

I tell myself I’ll think about it more, before deciding. I tell myself that no decisions need to be made right now. I tell myself these things, as I let Vladimir lend me his strength, his resilience. I tell myself there’s a choice, but I know I’m a damn liar.

In every life, I’ll choose them.

Vladimir

CHAPTER 33