Page 14

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CJ

The southern border of SilverGate Academy is shrouded in mist as we approach. Isolde walks between Cassiel and me like a queen flanked by her guardians. William glides ahead, stiff-backed and silent.

I grip the barb in my pocket. The thing feels alive, hungry, a parasite seeking a new host. Blackridge’s magic is dark and insidious, and I hate that it was ever inside her.

“This way,” William says, leading us deeper into the forest. The trees grow denser as we follow, their branches twisting together overhead to form a canopy that blocks out the moonlight. The air grows colder, heavier with ancient magic.

“We’re crossing beyond the academy’s primary wards,” I warn, feeling the shift in the magical atmosphere. “Are you sure this is wise?”

“The Collectors won’t be able to find us here,” William says. “This place is hidden by older magic than theirs.”

“Yours?”

“Maybe.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at his back.

Isolde walks steadily, her face set in lines of grim resolve. The blood from her earlier kill still lingers in her system; I can smell it on her, wild and feral, mixing with her unique scent. She’s beautiful like this, dangerous and untamed.

“How much further?” she asks, pushing aside a low-hanging branch.

“Just ahead,” William replies, gesturing toward a clearing that’s beginning to take shape through the trees. “The Hallow.”

The ground is stained a permanent rusty red, centuries of rituals leaving their mark on the earth itself. Seven ancient stones form a perfect circle, each carved with symbols that appear to predate the written word. The air here tastes of copper and magic.

“What is this place?” Cassiel asks, his wings manifesting involuntarily as he senses the power concentrated in the clearing.

“A blood altar,” William says, his form becoming slightly more substantial as he enters the circle. “I discovered it during my time at SilverGate. It’s where I conducted my most significant experiments.”

I study the stones carefully, noting the familiar symbols carved into their surfaces. “You mean you killed here.”

It’s not a question, but William nods anyway. “I learned here. I evolved here.” His gaze fixes on Isolde. “And tonight, I’ll be reborn here.”

The hunger in his voice would be disturbing if I didn’t understand it completely. A century of half-existence, watching life continue without him, I’d be desperate too.

“How do we do this?” Isolde asks. Her voice is strong, but her hands are shaking. She clasps them together, but I saw it.

William gestures to the centre stone, larger than the others and carved with a spiral pattern that seems to move if you look at it too long. “You’ll need to lie there, face down. The runes must be removed in the precise order they were inserted.”

Cassiel’s wings rustle with unease. “And you’re certain this will work?”

“As certain as one can be about Blood Magic that’s never been attempted before,” William replies, his form flickering slightly.

“But I’ve spent my life studying the theoretical applications, and four times as long with nothing to think about except everything I learned and didn’t. If anything will work, it’s this.”

I move closer to Isolde, gripping the back of her neck. It’s a possessive gesture, but she doesn’t seem to mind. “You don’t have to do this. We can find another way.”

Her silvery-blue eyes meet mine, determination hardening her gaze. “This is the way. I want to do this for him and me. For all of us.”

I nod, understanding but not necessarily agreeing. The barb in my pocket feels heavier, more insistent, as if it knows what’s coming.

“I’ll need you to remove your shirt,” William says to Isolde, his voice clinical despite the hunger in his eyes. “The runes must be fully exposed.”

She complies without hesitation, unbuttoning her shirt and slipping it off her shoulders.

Her tits are exposed, pink nipples peaking in the late autumn chill.

I lick my lips, my fangs extending slightly.

I want to bite one, draw blood, feed from her while she comes all over my cock.

Mesmerised by the thought, I’m drawn out of it when she clears her throat and turns around.

The silver light beneath her skin races along her spine, highlighting the six points where Blackridge’s runes sit embedded in her flesh.

But it’s the one on her crown that makes me shudder.

It has a black light etched into it. It’s malevolent, at best.

“Lie down,” William instructs, gesturing to the central stone.

The rock is cold against her skin as she positions herself, turning her head to the side so she can watch us. I pick up her shirt and fold it, placing it under her cheek.

She grins up at me, more bravado than natural. “Thanks.”

“Which one of you will do the extraction and insertion?” William asks.

“Me,” I say immediately. I’m not leaving this in the hands of the fallen one or anyone other than myself. I glare at William. “You need to get yourself a bit more corporeal and fast. I want to do this in a systematic way. Out of her, into you, repeat.”

William nods and drifts closer to Issy. She shifts over, and he lies next to her. She moves her hand to the middle of the stone. He places his over hers, and the faint shimmer lights up the clearing momentarily.

“You’re going to have to do better,” I mutter as I lower myself to straddle Issy, knees on either side of her, as I pull out the barb and glare at it with distaste.

“I’m trying,” William growls, his form wavering like heat on asphalt. “It’s not as simple as flipping a switch.”

“Try harder,” I snap, positioning the barb above the lowest rune at the base of Isolde’s spine. The silver needle gleams in the moonlight, hungry for connection.

Issy takes her hand back and slices her palm with her fangs and then moves her hand through William’s form. He hisses, and instantly he is stronger. He rips at his clothes, exposing his back as I press the tip of the barb to the bottom of Issy’s spine.

“This is going to hurt.”

“No shit. Just do it,” she says through gritted teeth, her fingers tightening around William’s semi-corporeal hand.

I take a deep breath and align the barb with the first rune.

It’s not difficult to see where they are embedded.

They are glowing like beacons. The moment metal touches skin, Isolde’s back arches and she screams—a raw, primal sound that echoes through the clearing.

I hesitate for a fraction of a second but grit my teeth and continue.

The barb sinks into her flesh like it’s coming home, latching onto the embedded rune with a sickening click.

“Hold her down,” I command Cassiel.

He nods and kneels in front of her to press his hands against her shoulders.

Silver light erupts from the puncture wound as I twist the barb counterclockwise. Isolde thrashes beneath me, her screams cutting through the night air. Blood seeps from around the barb, but it’s not red. It’s liquid silver, glowing with power.

“Almost there,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else. With a final twist, the rune detaches from her spine with a wet, sucking sound. I pull the barb out slowly, the tiny runic implant now attached.

“My turn,” William says.

His form is more solid now, vibrating with expectancy, his eyes locked on the glowing barb in my hand. The rune pulses with stolen power, Isolde’s power, like a living thing.

Turning fully, I press the tip of the barb against William’s lower spine, aligning it precisely where it sat in Isolde. His ghostly flesh gives way with surprising resistance, more substantial than I expected. He hisses but doesn’t scream as the barb sinks into him.

The effect is immediate and startling. William’s form solidifies around the entry point, transparency giving way to living flesh that spreads outward like ink in water. I twist the barb clockwise, the opposite direction from extraction, and the rune detaches from the needle with a soft click.

“It’s working,” Cassiel murmurs, his silver eyes wide with wonder.

William’s back arches as the rune settles into his system. His skin flushes with colour, veins bulging beneath pale skin. He lets out a guttural moan that’s equal parts pain and ecstasy.

“Again,” he gasps, reaching for Isolde’s hand. “Do the next one.”

I position the barb over the second rune in Isolde’s spine. She’s trembling now, sweat beading on her forehead despite the chill night air. “Ready?”

She nods, her jaw clenched so tight I can hear her teeth grinding. The second rune is deeper, anchored closer to her vertebrae. As I push the barb in, her scream is sharper, more desperate. The forest around us responds, trees creaking and swaying as if in sympathy with her pain.

This time, the silver blood flows more freely, running in rivulets down her sides and onto the stone beneath her. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I hear it sigh in contentment. The rune fights me, clinging to her spine with tenacious magic that makes the barb vibrate in my grip.

“Blackridge built these to stay locked in,” I growl, twisting harder. “They don’t want to let go.”

Isolde’s fingers dig into the stone, cracking the ancient surface as her power flares in response to the pain. Finally, with a sound like breaking glass, the second rune detaches. I withdraw the barb carefully, the tiny glyph gleaming with malevolent light.

Without hesitation, I drive it into William’s spine at the corresponding point. His solidity spreads further, the transparency receding up his back and down his legs. Flesh, blood, and bone manifest in real time, no longer ghostly echoes but tangible reality.

“More,” he demands, his voice stronger now, no longer carrying that hollow, spectral quality. “Keep going.”

The third and fourth runes come more easily, as if Isolde’s body is now rejecting the foreign magic. Each extraction leaves her trembling but stronger, the silver glow beneath her skin brightening as her power is freed from Blackridge’s monitoring.