Ruined by Blood (The Vampires' Fae Book 3)

by Sadie Moss

  If I’d expected a reprieve, I didn’t get it.

  She threw herself at me, hitting me with such force that I stumbled backward, going to my back. She crouched over my chest and bared her fangs, ready to tear out my throat. I cast around beside me, the fingers of one hand closing around a chunk of stone the size of a basketball. I scooped it up, palming the large, heavy rock. Then I heaved it into the side of the witch’s head.

  With a crunch and a snap, her head whipped to the side, her body following as she tumbled off me. I’d cracked her skull, or broken her neck. Or both.

  But her healing powers must’ve been working overtime, because she didn’t stay down. Although blood poured from her temple, slicking her platinum hair and the side of her face, she rose back up and crawled toward her dagger, which lay on the floor several feet away.

  Goddamn it.

  I dove for the blade too, reaching it just as she did. We grappled for control of it, rolling over and over on the floor. Her slim fingers slipped under mine, wrapping around the hilt and pulling hard. Blood dripped onto my face from her head wound, filling my nostrils with the scent of jasmine—too pleasant a smell for such an evil creature.

  She raised the knife, bringing it down in a lightning-fast movement. With a ragged shout, I raised my forearm, blocking just in time. She pulled back and tried again. But this time, I was ready. I stopped the blow and twisted her wrist, torquing it so hard and fast she didn’t have a chance to move with the attack this time.

  Her wrist snapped, and I wrapped my hand around hers over the hilt, controlling the dagger. With one hard shove, I drove the blade through her heart.

  The woman’s large, dark eyes widened in surprise, and a grim triumph welled in me. We’d come here to find and destroy the remaining Stone of Power, but ending the weird sisters here and now would accomplish the same goal.

  So why did I see triumph reflected in her eyes too?

  And why wasn’t she dying?

  The dagger had impaled her torso, driven in up to the hilt. Blood welled over our joined fingers, spilling down my arm. A direct hit to the heart should be enough to kill any vampire. The magic that made us what we were would take a few moments to fade, prolonging life unnaturally for a minute or two. But once the magic faded, the mortal wound would claim its victim.

  Having been stabbed through the heart myself very recently, I was intimately familiar with what that felt like. And the wound I’d suffered hadn’t been a direct hit. If it had been, I wasn’t sure even Willow’s blood could’ve saved me.

  I lay frozen, staring up at the woman above me. Waiting to see the spark of life leave her eyes. Waiting to feel the strength leave her muscles.

  But that moment never came. Her fingers released their grip on the blade’s hilt, forcing mine away too. Her pale, thin wrist was already healing from the break, and she stood up, backing away from me.

  What the fuck?

  How was that possible?

  There was no time to waste wondering. I leapt to my feet and ran at her, ready to rip out the dagger and try a hundred more times. She danced backward, evading my grasp. Then her gaze flicked over my shoulder. A yell drew my attention, and I shot a quick look in that direction too. Behind me, the other sister pulled the Stone of Power from its box and tucked it into her robe. She raised her hands, and the runes on Willow’s skin flared again. Willow screamed in pain as she fought off the witch’s control.

  The one with the stone darted toward the window.

  I turned back just as her sister lashed out with both hands, hitting me so hard I flew across the room and slammed into the side wall like a runaway train. The ancient stones rumbled and shifted at the impact, and I slumped to the ground.

  Like two roaches scurrying for cover when the lights went on, the sisters skittered to the windows, climbing up and over the large sills and disappearing into the shadows outside.

  16

  Willow

  Silence fell in the large tower as we all stared at the windows.

  My body ached all over, and I was clutching the empty box that had once contained the final Stone of Power, as if by gripping it tight enough, I could somehow reclaim the object it’d held. Everything had happened so fast. One minute, I’d been about to pick up the last stone, about to claim victory over the weird sisters. The next, they were crawling into the room like something out of a horror movie.

  I’d fought them off as well as I could, but they’d overpowered me using the runes their minions had carved on my skin. Then Malcolm, Jerrett, and Sol had burst through the wall, and all hell had broken loose.

  But it wasn’t enough. Even my three powerful vampires hadn’t been able to stop the sisters. Thank Fate, Neoma and Samira hadn’t brought shade backup with them. We might’ve lost more than just the stone if they had.

  Finally, Jerrett broke the silence, clearing his throat as he pushed a lock of dark hair out of his eyes. “Um, was it my imagination, or did one of those witches have a blade sticking out of her heart when they slipped away?”

  “Not your imagination,” Malcolm confirmed grimly. “I stabbed her. It was a good hit. I know it was.”

  “So why the fuck isn’t she dead? That should’ve killed any vampire. Christ on a cracker, she didn’t even look injured.”

  “She took a blow to the head without slowing down too. I swear I heard her neck break. It’s possible a vampire could heal from an injury like that, but it should’ve slowed her down, at least.”

  “Maybe she used some kind of magical healing? Sol, did you sense a magic flare?”

  The blond vampire shook his head, pursing his lips. “No. Although their magic is strange. I haven’t gotten a good read on it.”

  Numbly, I walked to the window, leaning over the sill to look down the side of the building at the ground below us. Neoma and Samira were nowhere to be seen. They were probably shadow running off to wherever their secret lair was, bearing their final prize.

  “Can we track them?” I asked, scanning the moonlit landscape. The moon itself was nearly full, shining like a blue-white ball in the sky.

  Sol sighed. “We can try. We should get moving, while their scent is…”

  Whatever else he said was lost to me as a rushing sound filled my ears. The moon wavered before my eyes, and I felt my body pitch forward as my consciousness was pulled away. I thought I heard faint shouts, but then darkness pulled me under.

  When my vision cleared, I was gazing up at another moon. This one was a beautiful, waning crescent in the sky, providing only dim light as it shone down on a clearing in a wooded area. It reflected off the scalp of a short, bald man with beady eyes. Neoma and Samira stood in front of him. They were dressed in dark robes like the ones I’d just seen them in, though I had a feeling this vision was still in the past. How long ago, I had no idea.

  Although the women were identical, I’d seen enough of them in my visions that I was starting to be able to tell them apart—not by features, but by bearing. Samira was more direct, whereas Neoma was a little more hesitant. So it didn’t surprise me to see the one I guessed was Samira step forward, handing the bald man a bag of coins.

  It jangled as he weighed it in his palm, and a broad grin stretched across his face, revealing teeth that had been filed down to points. “That will do. Meet me tomorrow in my workshop. I need time to prepare the spell.”

  Dreadful curiosity filled me. Neoma and Samira were powerful witches. I’d seen that both in my observation of them before they were turned, and after, when they cast a spell that protected them from sunlight. What magic did they need done that they couldn’t do themselves?

  As if prompted by my thoughts, my vision wavered, showing me the scene I wanted to see. This time, I found myself in a windowless room. A fire blazed in the hearth, and shelves lined the walls, filled with vials and equipment I couldn’t identify. Several bones and other body parts lined the shelves too, some of them distinctly human-looking. Herbs and plants hung from the ceiling like spiders dangling from
webs, left there to dry.

  In the center of the room was a stone slab, eerily similar to the one in the tower where we’d just fought the sisters. Samira lay on the table, completely naked. There was a fierce determination on her face, and she glanced up to Neoma, who stood by her head, looking down at her.

  The bald, sharp-toothed man stood by her side. As I watched, he began to chant in a low voice. He walked over to the fire and dipped a ladle into the brazier suspended over the flames. The thick liquid he poured into a small cup steamed and stank of decay.

  Still reciting a soft incantation, he brought the cup to Samira. She lifted her head slightly, allowing him to pour the liquid into her mouth. She grimaced, but swallowed.

  Ugh. That must taste awful. And it looks scalding hot.

  But she didn’t complain. A few large gulps downed the entire vessel, and when it was empty, the man set the cup by her head. He closed his eyes, hovering his hand over her torso as his voice rose in volume. She jerked slightly, and above her, Neoma winced.

  Then the man lowered his hand to her chest. For a second, I thought he was just an old lech, trying to cop a feel while he worked whatever magic he was doing. But then he pressed on the skin of her left breast, just above the nipple. Samira jerked again, her eyes going wide, as the man’s hand began to pass through her skin.

  She shrieked in pain, but he didn’t stop. He continued pressing through skin, flesh, and bone until his hand was buried to the wrist inside her chest cavity. When he started to withdraw it, Samira’s screams somehow increased in volume, her voice tearing through the room on a cry of pure pain. Neoma clenched her jaw, but she didn’t make any move to stop the man.

  Was this what they had paid him to do? Why?

  The man’s hand was coated in blood as he pulled it slowly out of Samira’s chest. It glistened a dark red, shining in the light of the fire. But his hand wasn’t empty. Clenched between his fingers, something pulsed in a steady rhythm.

  The witch’s heart.

  It thudded softly as he pulled it all the way out of her body with a horrible, wet slurping noise. The flesh over her breast sealed up immediately, the hole closing up as if it had never existed. As soon as it did, Samira’s screams stopped. She breathed raggedly, the sound contrasting with the steady thrum of her still-beating heart.

  The man’s chant faded in volume until he was only muttering. Neoma helped Samira sit up, and when she rose, shaking and shivering, the man handed her heart to her. Drops of blood fell from the organ onto her bare breasts. The magician nodded, and Samira took her heart in both hands and raised it to her mouth. She tore into it with her teeth, blood and strings of muscle dripping down her chin as she ate messily.

  I blanched. If I had any corporeal form in these visions, my stomach would’ve revolted. I’d made my peace with drinking blood—had come to enjoy it, even—but watching someone eat their own heart was several yards past my line of comfortability.

  Samira seemed to have recovered from her earlier pain. She even took the time to lick each of her fingers clean before looking up at the man. His chanting cut off with a final guttural word, and he grinned at her, showing off his rows of sharp teeth.

  “Did it work?” she asked, her voice husky.

  “It worked.” His beady eyes traced over her nude form, something worse than lust in them. A sick sort of pride. “Now you are truly immortal. Nothing can kill you.”

  17

  Willow

  My soul slammed back into my body, jarring me roughly.

  I shot up, my eyes flying open. Now that I had a stomach again, I did what I’d wanted to do earlier. I leaned over and vomited up everything I’d eaten in the last twenty-four hours.

  “It’s okay, Willow tree. It’s all right.”

  Large, warm hands pulled my hair back. My ponytail had come loose in the fight and I hadn’t even noticed. The pads of Sol’s fingers massaged my neck as I heaved a few more times.

  The world spun. My stomach still twitched. It felt like I was suffering from an awful hangover. I hadn’t had such bad lingering effects from a vision in a while; but then again, I hadn’t seen someone eat a heart in any of my other visions.

  Letting my eyes fall shut, I lay back down, resting my head against the hard surface beneath me. Other hands were on me, massaging my legs, caressing my arms. I let their touch soothe me for a few minutes, until the world seemed to stop spinning around me.

  Slowly, I cracked open my eyelids.

  Jerrett sat on my right, looking down at me with ice-blue eyes that shone with concern. “Hey there, sweetheart. You gave us a fucking scare. I plan on living several thousand more years, at least, but I swear to God, you took a century off my life.”

  “What?” My voice was rough and ragged, like Samira’s had been.

  “You almost fell out the window.” Malcolm gave my leg a squeeze, his dark gaze burning into me. “Sol reached you just in time and caught you.”

  My eyes widened, and I glanced up at Sol, who stood near my head.

  “Oh shit. Thank you.”

  “Of course. I don’t know if the fall would’ve killed you; I’ve seen vampires recover from terrible injuries. But I have no desire to find out.”

  I reached up to grasp his hand, which was still massaging my head gently. As my head cleared, my surroundings came into better focus. I was lying on the stone slab in the tower room, laid out just like Samira had been in my vision. That thought made my stomach lurch again, and I sat up quickly, half expecting to be naked just like she’d been. But of course, I was still dressed in the black tactical wear I’d worn to this fight.

  “Are you okay, Will?” Jerrett chewed on his lip. “You were screaming. That’s never happened when you had a vision before.”

  I blinked at him. “I… I was?”

  No wonder my throat felt raw and tight. Had my body been reacting to what I saw in the vision? Or had it somehow channeled Samira’s pain? I rubbed my chest, feeling the slow, heavy beat of my heart against my palm.

  “I saw the sisters,” I whispered, then swallowed. “They met with a man, some kind of dark magician. He performed a spell that made them immortal. Truly immortal.”

  “What the fuck?” Jerrett breathed.

  “Yeah. I saw him do it. He… he pulled out Samira’s heart and made her eat it.”

  Sol’s eyebrows rose, and he turned toward Malcolm. “Well, that explains how she ran out of here with a knife lodged in her chest. You missed the heart because there wasn’t one there.”

  Malcolm chuckled darkly. “I can stop doubting my aim, at least.”

  “Have you ever heard of this before? Is there a way to break the spell? Some way to kill them in spite of it?”

  I glanced at all the brothers, who’d gathered in front of the stone slab to face me. But the looks on their faces made my heart fall.

  “I don’t know, wildcat.” Malcolm rubbed his chin, his thick brows drawing together. “But we can’t let it prevent us from trying to stop them. They have all the Stones of Power. If they manage to raise all the dead fae to form an army, we’ll never have a chance to get close enough to the witches to try to kill them.”

  A vague memory flickered through my mind. “Were you able to track them? I think I heard Sol say that right before I fell.”

  Jerrett blew out a breath, scrunching up his face. “No dice. We got a little distracted trying to make sure you weren’t dying.”

  “Damn it!” I stood, even though my legs were still shaky, and paced over to the window. I didn’t get too close and kept my hand securely on the wall this time, just in case. “First we delayed our hunt while we looked for Malcolm, and now you lost the lead on them because of me. I thought we were supposed to be stronger together, but it doesn’t seem like it’s working out that way.”

  Malcolm’s thick arms encircled me from behind, drawing me against his hard chest. “We are stronger together, wildcat. We need you on this hunt. We need you, period. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have slipped away
from the Penumbra—”

  “—but if we’d left him behind and gone off hunting on our own, we wouldn’t have made it even this far,” Jerrett finished, nudging Malcolm before dropping a kiss to my hair. “We’re family, and we don’t leave each other behind, not even for expediency’s sake.”

  I liked the sound of that. As desperate as our situation was, there was no reason to believe that if we’d left Malcolm behind, or if they’d left me behind now, they’d be any closer to stopping the witches. And thinking about facing the daunting odds ahead of us without any of the brothers made my stomach lurch with disquiet. I was only keeping my shit together because they were all here with me.

  “Okay.” I nodded. “We stick together. No matter what.”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway,” Sol added. “As you said, the sisters have proven themselves to be powerful witches. Most likely, we wouldn’t have been able to track them far by scent. They wouldn’t make it so easy for us.”

  I knew he meant his words to be comforting, but they sent a coil of fear spiraling through me.

  “Damn it. They could be using the Stones of Power already.”

  “Yeah. They could. But until I see undead fae popping up out of the earth all around me, I’m gonna assume we still have a chance.” Jerrett shot me a sardonic grin as he walked to the window. “Think you’re up for a daring escape from a tower?”

  “Somehow, I knew it was going to come down to throwing ourselves out the window,” I grumbled, stepping out of Malcolm’s embrace.

  “It’s not so bad if you’re conscious for it. You can use shadows to break your fall. Just land in those. It’s like shadow running—except, you know, with more falling.” Jerrett pointed down the side of the tower.

  The moon had moved in the sky while I was unconscious, and now it sat low on the horizon. Large stones that framed the tower windows stuck out a bit from the wall, casting narrow shadows along the gray facade.