Page 73 of Dissection of Immortal Hearts

His dark eyebrows arched. “I never do anything without expecting something in return – least of all from someone as captivating as you.”

The air around him thickened, coalescing into white vapours that shrouded his form. Within seconds, he vanished.

***

Amelia

Amelia walked out into the corridor, paying attention to her surroundings for the first time since she’d awakened. Age had worn down the walls, causing paint to peel. Cobwebs clustered in the corners. The wooden planks beneath her feet were rotting, creaking ominously with each step.

She retreated to her room. The bed linens carried a faint, comforting scent of cleanliness. Someone had gone to the trouble of offering her this slight reprieve.

Her dark thoughts eased a bit. She still had friends. Beings worth fighting for.

Mikhail may have forgotten her, but he remembered his cause. For the Hospital’s sake, he was contemplating an alliance with Callan. A bitter weight settled in her chest. Until now, she hadn’t allowed herself to process what his memory loss meant – hadn’t faced the full ache of being erased from his life. But this was the moment it sank in. Whatever love they might have shared, whatever bond once tethered them, it no longer existed. No matter how much it hurt, she couldn’t depend on this version of him to stand by her. He’d stayed true to his goal, and she was no longer part of it.

So, she had to focus on her own mission – to gather the Sacreds and uncover more about the witch’s bloodline, which the firstborn had alluded to.

Sitting on the bed, she let the knowledge within her unravel. A cascade of alien sensations assaulted her senses – millions of fragmented experiences. Yet, she didn’t recoil from their overwhelming intensity. For the first time, the cacophony of sounds, images, thoughts, and emotions was better than reality.

She spent the night this way, suspended in a state between dreaming and existing within the unbridled realm of sensory perceptions. She never lit the candles someone – probably Viktor – had left for her next to a box of matches.

28

Constantine

Constantine abandoned his struggle against the enchanted restraints and sank onto the mattress. He’d dragged the bed frame to the doorway but refrained from moving it into the adjacent room. His efforts to escape were half-hearted – part of him found the idea of being Diana’s prisoner appealing.

Yet, today marked the fifth day of his captivity, and what he’d viewed as an enticing game was beginning to feel like real imprisonment.

Diana’s actions had surprised him. Her recent behaviour made him wonder what else she might be capable of – and gave him reason to get even with her for the days he’d spent cuffed.

The idea of returning to the Queen repulsed him. A twisted satisfaction grew at the thought that the longer Diana kept him captive, the sweeter his future revenge would be. Still, he had to consider the possibility that her plan to trade him to the reptilians was no bluff. If so, escape would become unavoidable. And this time, he would not leave without her.

Several hours later, the front door unlocked. Anticipation surged within him as Diana stepped inside. Her hair fell over her back, and beneath a black leather jacket, she wore a tank top with a plunging neckline and fitted trousers.

“Do you need anything?” she asked coldly.

He rattled the cuffs. “You could finish what you started. Then you might set me free.”

“I can’t.”

“Tell me what you’re after, and I’ll help you get it. Themirror? Why are you so desperate for it? Share the truth, and we can avoidthis,” he jerked at the cuffs again, “which is causing you as much discomfort as it is me.”

His last words were a gamble. He had no idea whether restraining him troubled her or whether she truly intended to trade him away.

The silence following his request was impenetrable.

“Just trust me!” he shouted, straining against the unseen barriers she’d set between them.

For a moment, her lips parted as if she were about to speak. But all she said was, “I can’t.”

“There’s something about me that’s holding you back, isn’t there?” He winced as the cuffs bit into his skin from his unconscious struggle. “Is it because I’m a necromancer?”

“It’s not,” she snapped, her voice sharper than usual. “Your kind has never troubled me – not for that reason.”

“What in the world does that even mean?”

“There are forces greater than us, and what we feel or don’t feel has no bearing on them.”