Lumi
Nyx drains the vial while I hold my breath, desperate for this to work. Gods, I need this to work. I don’t know what I’ll do if it doesn’t.
Two hours—that’s what Isolde said. He has two hours until the curse takes him.
The vampire curse doesn’t usually kill vampires outright—unless they’ve been lost to the bloodlust for too long. Most don’t last that long. Someone puts them down first.
Two hours—will the curse take everything from him, every last thought, memory, humanity? Or will it actually kill him? Neither is acceptable.
But knowing Isolde, this is all a trap. A lie. That vial he just drank could be the very thing that kills him.
I know she used him to lure me here. He was the bait, and I fell for it. And I would do it again to try to save him.
I saw Ambrose, Amora, and Sylara standing next to Isolde. All believing her. All begging him to drink the vial.
So I believed them.
And Nyx put his entire trust in me. I watch his throat bob as he swallows down every drop. His eyes fall shut behind his gorgeous, dark eyelashes as a strand of blood-stained hair fallsinto his eyes. His body is filthy, like he’s been left to rot in this dungeon for years. Blood, sweat, and filth cling to him in a thick coat. The smell coming off of him is like nothing I’ve ever smelled.
He’s gone—lost to the bloodlust after being forced to feed beyond control. Tortured. Broken.
His back is ripped to shreds from whatever they did to him. And the metal chains holding him in place have rubbed his wrists and ankles raw and bleeding.
I’m going to kill Isolde for this.
I want to rip off the chains. Carry him to the nearest bathtub. Let him soak in water. And sleep until he recovers.
He takes three deep breaths and then opens his eyes.
I exhale the breath I’ve been holding.
Nyx is back.
The vial did its job. It cured him of the curse.
I wrap my arms around him, hugging him like I’m still afraid he’s going to die at any moment.
“I’m okay, but that was incredibly stupid of you, love,” he whispers in my ear. Still, his arms wrap around me as best as they can with the chains dripping from his arms.
“I’m not sorry,” I whisper back.
“I know.”
Slowly, I release him, turning to face Isolde and the others.
Ambrose, Amora, and Sylara stand just beyond the bars of Nyx’s cage, bindings tight around their wrists, with witches stationed behind each of them—watching and waiting.
The others aren’t here.
I don’t know if they’re being held somewhere else, still alive, or if they’re dead. And I’m not ready to ask that question yet.
“Let them go, Isolde, and you can have me,” I say firmly.
She chuckles. “I already have you.”
She doesn’t lift a hand, but the walls of the cage start expanding sideways, the metal creaking and bending to her will. I cling to Nyx’s hand, afraid of what’s about to happen.
I don’t see Isolde move a muscle, nor whisper a spell, but it doesn’t matter.