Page 136 of Blood Lovers

They bled me?

I look up at Lucia, shaking my head, trying to deny this, even though I know it’s true.

She’s sympathetic, frowning a little, not because she’s sad, but because she knows how much this is hurting me. And that makes it so much worse.

“Has anyone told me the truth?”

“Me, Syrsee. I’m doing my best. It’s a long, complicated, twisted story, darling. And once we get through this night—once Paul is on the other side of the purple, trapped where he can’t hurt us anymore, and once Ryet is out of his misery—because he is miserable, Syrsee, you know this—once these things are done, I will sit down with you and spill out every single detail.”

I deflate, all the fight leaving me. Because what is the point? Why do I care about Ryet, anyway? He’s no one to me. Just a guy I fucked. A one-night stand that has gone on too long. Why should I save him when my entire world is a lie? “What do I have to do? Just tell me what to do.”

“Feed him, Syrsee. You will feed him. But while you are doing that, you will be dying.” She squirts a few drops out of the syringe she’s holding to illustrate how I will be dying. “And once you are dead, he will drink your dead black blood and he will die too. But while all that is happening, Paul will be watching in the purple. He won’t want to miss this. And that is when you will trap him there.”

“But I don’t know how to do that. I don’t—”

“Of course you do, Syrsee. Of course you do. Because are you are the night mare they’ve been waiting for. You, not me, not anyone else. You are the night mare from Coyrah’s bloodline. You are the rightful rider of the aquis equī. You control the purple, Syrsee. All of it. You are its queen. The night mare has the power to metamorphose—to change people from one form to the next. This power comes from her own merging with the aquis equī, a shapeshifter. A water horse one moment, an alluring man the next. That’s why you work, darling. That’s why all Black witches have the ability to change scions into vampires with their blood. But your mind can do things as well. You can change physical bodies into spirit. And while you can’t kill Paul, you can trap him in the purple as a spirit.”

“Fine. Whatever. But none of that explains how I get it done. How do I pull the cloak of purple over Paul and trap him there?”

Lucia gives me a little shrug. “You need to figure that out.”

“I need to…” But I don’t finish the sentence. Because I’m too busy laughing.

“Every witch must find her own power, Syrsee. You’ve been in the purple, you know how it works. Past, present, future?”

“So?”

“So… your power is in there. The secret to how to wield it is lying around somewhere.”

I look around. Because we are actually still in the purple. And that’s when I see a fur cloak hanging on a coat rack near the door.

Lucia chuckles. “That is very literal, darling.”

I walk over to the cloak. It looks so familiar. I feel the soft fur between my fingertips. Fox? Mink? Wolf? I don’t know. I’m not a fur expert. But it’s very silky and nearly white, so… maybe fox. “The cloak.” I nod, and look back at Lucia.

But she’s not paying attention to me now. She’s looking at the door. “They’re coming.” Then her green eyes meet mine and I am once again in my physical body, chained to the wall.

Lucia is standing over me with the syringe in her hand. “Just stay calm now, Syrsee. It’s all going to be OK. It’s all going to be… ooooo… kaaaaaay.”

But everything is blurry and then… it all disappears.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE - RYET

Let her die.

Say goodbye to your Jane, Ryet. This will be the last time you will ever have this pain.

But it’s not pain I feel now as I gaze upon her face.

Jane.

I’m in the purple. It’s a deep, deep purple, almost black, and it floats around my wife’s petite body like ink in water. She is standing with her back to me, facing a dock lined with boats. But she’s looking over her shoulder with a wide smile and mischief in her eyes.

Her delicate hand points and her mouth silently says, This one.

I look past her to the boat she’s pointing to. It’s not too big—we can’t afford too big. But it’s not a simple fishing boat, either. We already have one of those.

It’s a sailboat.