Page 10

Taken.

Not given.

She let up on the bond to float me to my feet to her left side on the dais. But didn’t cut the intensity. Her power was the only thing that kept me on my feet, kept me here at all.

“Our mourning period is officially over,” she declared. “He stands next to me as Legate of Venier.” She gesturing to her right side. “And will stand with me as Scion.”

No. Fuck no. Mourning? Over? Scion? No.

I bowed my head, couldn’t breathe, the gaping wound in my chest thundering with her pulse.

How could she? How could she just toss him aside?

I put a fist to my temple. Warren. I would always be Warren’s.Thatwas my promise. Not this, not her. My blood was throbbing. Or was that the crowd? Or Veronica? Or my heart shredding? 50 years was not enough. No mourning period would ever be enough. I died that day with his head in my lap and my corpse just wouldn’t cooperate.

I felt her hand snake around my waist.Push her the fuck off.I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Scion. No. Just her pulse, that’s all that existed. No.

“Now, shall we conclude as we have in times past?” Her words rang in my skull. Heard them. Felt them, grimy and clingy in my brain. “Who shall offer tribute to our Legate? Ah yes,tesoro. Come.”

Feet appeared on the dais step below me. My eyes traveled up. Warren. It was Warren. The James’ Dean hair, the dimple. The lips full and tempting. My knees buckled as my life collapsed.

It was Warren.

But not as he looked last, his head loose in my lap and his beautiful blood gone dry and dusty. I wiped at my eyes. My fingers found the drug vial in my pocket. Not a hallucination. Warren was… Impossible.

My vision danced, swam. Warren, younger, what he must have looked like mortal. What he looked like before Veronica ate his soul. I reached for him with sharp need. I traced a line at his neck, where the garrote had sliced flesh. No blood caking my hands now. Not on this Warren. Here the skin was supple and fresh. It’s not drugs, it’s magic, hellish magic.

Then he looked at me. The tiny flame of hope dashed. It wasn’t.. Not Warren. Nothiseyes full of careful calculation and love. Not Warren’s eyes. This was not Warren. But… He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, in that way of his, with invitation and trust.

A sliver dagger flashed and a line of red appeared. I watched, frozen, pearls of luscious blood painting Warren’s neck. No. I shook my head, swallowed dryly.

“I made him,” she whispered in my ear, “for you, Pet. You’ve been so sad. Now we can play. We will call him Warwick.” Her voice oily in my brain.

I was dying again, dying as I watched Warren die again. I had died a thousand times already. Every reminder was a fresh death. Every morning without him, the silence tore at my bones. I held his head in my hand, my thumb stroking his jaw. His lip curved up and his eyelids fluttered. I licked my lips.

Grief crashed over me, ratcheted up by the pressure of the Patron bond.I made him for you, Pet. My vision undulated to his pulse.

She went to flick the dagger again, to desecrate his neck again. I snatched it from her, clutched it like a lifeline. I pulled him, Warrick, this boy, this toy. I pulled him into me. The scent of his blood, not like Warren’s at all, like cheap perfume and incense. His dusky scent, so thick I could taste it. I closed my eyes. I could… I could pretend.

I would have given anything for…

Warren.

My whole body shook. I knew this wasn’t real. I knew this wasn’t Warren. But…

I sank my fangs into his perfect neck. I lied to myself, fucking prayed even, just one sip, this one sip would make it all alright. This mouthful would make it better. I could pretend.

I drank and drank. He went limp in my arms and his blood soured on my tongue. Warren was never passive. This boy, this thing in my arms, gave up his blood like it didn’t matter. My despair shifted to flash with anger, longing, dread. And I drank more. I drank until the crowd thundered and hands pulled me away. I wiped Warren’s blood from my mouth.

No. Fuck. Not Warren.

The crowd surged around us, hands pawed at me. Hugs, cheers, like a dam had broken and everyone had permission to be live again. I spat out some of that sour blood and licked my fangs clean. Veronica, imperious, stared down at me with victory curling her lips. She dropped the bond. I staggered at the cold disconnection. Her mission achieved.

She won, I lost. I was lost.

Her words still lingered in my head. I clutched my chest to rub the ache there as the crowd bumped me around, holding me up. I felt the hard cylinder of the blood vile in my pocket.

K. It was for forgetting, wasn’t it? It could take away pain, take away everything.