Page 67 of Dissection of Immortal Hearts (Hospital for Immortal Creatures #3)

Amelia

Amelia crouched beside a narrow stream, its gentle whisper having lured her as she wandered through the woods instead of heading to her training session with Mikhail. She dipped her fingers into the icy water. When would she be able to bury the past?

Though she’d walked away, she still waited for him . Each accidental touch sent shivers down her skin; his voice stirred vibrations deep within her core. His lingering glances tricked her into believing he desired her, yet his words froze every fragile illusion she dared to entertain.

She snatched a stone from the bank and hurled it into the water, watching the skipping ripples it created.

She would have traded her very soul to turn back time and prevent the bewitching connection between her and Mikhail from ever forming.

Better never to have loved him than to be shackled to a past that clouded her focus and pulled her from the war that demanded all of her.

A gentle breeze brushed the fine hairs on her neck.

“A fallen angel, bathed in the rays of late spring…”

Amelia jumped to her feet. Activating her Oracle sight, she spun around towards the voice. Callan stepped out from behind a trunk, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark-blue jeans, with a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Don’t hide your silver tears in the stream,” he said.

She wasn’t sure what he meant. “I’m not crying, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Callan reached out and brushed her cheek. When he lifted his finger, a single droplet glistened on his skin. He scrutinised it before returning his attention to Amelia.

“You’re staring at me like I’m some sort of circus animal,” she said.

An unidentified immortal. Not that it mattered what Mikhail or Callan – or anyone else, for that matter – thought of her. Her sole focus now was the Sacreds and triumphing over the Queen. If others considered her an enigma, well, that was their prerogative.

“Quite the opposite,” he said. “I’ve never encountered more extraordinary beings than the Oracles. Each of you possesses unique gifts. You’re all distinct. And being different is a tremendous strength.”

“In plain modern language, we call that a freak ,” she said.

“The masses point fingers at outsiders because deep down they sense their power.”

Amelia took a step back, shifting her gaze to the stream. She wasn’t seeking anyone’s approval, yet his words kindled unexpected warmth within her.

“Did you manage to connect with the gloves?” Callan asked.

She shook her head. “No matter how hard I try, it’s as if they’re walled off, inaccessible to me. Maybe if I had clearer guidance, like the insights from the ayradjakli… And then there’s the matter of travelling to Hell.”

“Have you tried focusing on the Sacreds in Antambazi?”

“I see glimpses of the net and the mirror, fragmentary images of the stone. I sense they’re still there. In Antambazi.”

“That’s more than enough. I told you to seek them only for practice. I’m certain that when you come into actual contact with them, your instincts will guide you, just as they’d done with the net before.”

Her gaze dropped to the skin of her forearm, exposed beneath the sleeve of her black T-shirt. She remembered the feel of the Shifting Net wrapped around her elbow – a weapon as much as a beautiful shield – and wondered what the other Sacreds were capable of.

“Something strange happened with the necklace last night,” she said.

“One of the snakes darkened, the other grew lighter, and they began intertwining. It felt like it… activated.” She chose her words carefully, wanting to gauge his understanding of the artefacts’ activation without revealing her knowledge of it.

“I’ve seen what you described happen to the necklace for no apparent reason, back when it hung from Galia’s neck.”

She moved towards the stream, concealing her disappointment at his response.

“As with anything, mastering the Sacreds takes time. Any progress with the watch?” Callan’s voice whispered close to her ear, and the warmth of his body behind her sent a flush across her back.

She shook her head. “The watch isn’t something to fear.

When you show your willingness to engage with it, you might initially sense danger.

But it’s the opposite of that. It’s salvation – your secret refuge where you’ll discover solace when the world’s falling apart around you.

Approach it with trust. It will respond in kind. ”

Why did Amelia feel he wasn’t truly discussing the watch?

She listened without breathing, afraid that drawing a breath might press her back against his chest. Would she find it comforting? Or would it remind her of everything she’d lost?

A sensation brushed her shoulder, but when she turned, Callan was gone.

Facing the stream again, she sighed, closing her eyelids as the sun’s warm rays slid over her back, filling the void left by Callan’s fleeting presence.

In a heartbeat, the warmth vanished. Amelia opened her eyes, her reflection in the water now accompanied by a much larger shadow. It wasn’t Callan’s.

Her muscles tensed, ready to flee. A growl rumbled behind her, sending a shiver up her spine. “Don’t run. I’ll catch you.”

“Run?” She spun to face the imposing figure of the manticore looming over her, its black wings half-spread on either side of its muscular form.

“ I heard your pulse quicken ,” Mikhail said, his golden eyes locking with hers.

Amelia raised her chin. “I’m out for a walk, in case it wasn’t obvious.”

“ Your body told a different story.”

“You don’t speak my body’s language,” she snapped.

The manticore’s nostrils flared. “ You didn’t come to train this morning.”

“I wasn’t in the mood.” She wouldn’t explain how every unintentional touch from him catapulted her back into their shared past. Or how, after last night’s encounter, she couldn’t bring herself to endure another round of emotional turmoil.

A low growl rumbled from his chest. “ I saw what mood you were in.”

“Excuse me?”

“You told Callan about the necklace.”

“You were eavesdropping on us?” Her tone sharpened.

His black wings unfurled with a sharp whoosh behind him. “ I was out for a walk myself. It seems the two of you have grown… close.”

Her whole being flared up in an instant. “Who I’m close to is none of your business.”

“ You’re my ally. Your decisions could cost us everything .”

“Ally,” she said through clenched teeth. “Not subordinate.”

Amelia started walking along the water’s edge.

“ We’re not done ,” he growled.

Her heels dug into the ground mid-step. She should have kept going, but the fire rushing through her veins made her pivot once more. The manticore remained motionless; a statue of golden defiance, with the burning intensity of his eyes the only sign of his irritation.

An unexpected urge overtook her – to challenge him, to provoke him, just as he’d provoked her by treating her like an underling. By forgetting her.

“You believe you’ll catch me if I run, don’t you?” She raised her voice to ensure the babble of the stream didn’t drown out her words.

At his core, Mikhail was a predator. And for a predator, there was no greater temptation than the thrill of the chase. In his eyes, she was prey – smaller, slower, weaker.

A heady impatience burned within her, urging her to see how far she could push him – simply to irritate him by beating him at his own game.

The barb of his tail tapped the ground in a lazy motion. “ I’m certain I’ll always catch you ,” he said, the confidence in his tone like fuel on the fire.

That was the final straw. With a leap, she bounded across the stream, hopping over stones protruding from the water’s surface, and took off towards the thick underbrush in the distance.

Her stomach flipped when the lion roared and lunged after her. The soft grass muffled her footsteps as she plunged into the bushes, squinting to shield herself from the branches. Without looking back, she darted between the trees that stretched ahead of her.

The heavy thud of paws resonated behind her, sending another jolt through her body. Her ears rang – not with fear, but with exhilaration. She had no intention of losing to Mikhail.

A fleeting glance over her shoulder nearly cost her the lead. She tripped over a fallen branch, stumbling. The manticore was only metres away now, his form a blur of power and speed.

Amelia veered to the side, scrambling up the steep slope of a nearby hill. Her soles slipped on the loose dirt, but her light frame helped her regain her footing as she grabbed the branches of overhanging trees for support.

From the crest of the slope, she looked down and saw the manticore had paused at the bottom.

His massive frame wouldn’t fit through the dense trees lining the incline – not with his current size.

To climb, he’d have to shift to his human form, sacrificing speed.

If he went around, he risked losing her trail.

With a single mighty leap, he cleared half the incline, landing on the only patch wide enough to hold his weight.

Damn it.

Amelia ran again. The dense forest gave way to an open meadow, offering no cover.

Her eyes darted to the leafy canopy of the nearest tree.

She seized the trunk and scrambled up with a skill honed from childhood summers in the countryside.

Her hands found purchase in the bark, and her thighs propelled her upwards with surprising strength.

Within moments, she was concealed high among the branches. A strong breeze swept through, mixing her scent with that of the forest. She curled up on her perch, peering through a narrow gap between the leaves.

She held her breath when the manticore emerged from the lowland. He prowled around, as if sensing her presence but unable to detect where the wind carried her scent from.

It was a matter of seconds before he found her.

A shiver crept across her back. She was as motionless as marble, but her senses picked up every change in the air.

Her hands burned, as if the fire coursing through her began to seep through her skin.

She shifted her weight and lifted one palm from the branch, inspecting her fingertips.

She suppressed a gasp. Just beneath the surface, a black glow radiated, scattered with silver specks within its translucent essence.

She glanced at Mikhail at the exact moment he raised his muzzle towards her.

His golden eyes pierced through hers, causing the dark energy to boil with even greater intensity. Her body vibrated with life.

Without thinking, she leapt from the branch, aiming for the manticore’s spine. Before she could land on it, he pulled back, but her sudden move granted her that crucial second to run her palm through the fur between his chest and his front paw.

He snarled as if she had stabbed him with a knife.

Good God … She had just deliberately hurt him!

“Mikhail!”

He lunged at her, knocking her to the ground. Her back hit the grass, and something sharp, like the edge of a stone, dug into her thigh. A weight pressed down on her chest, but it wasn’t the manticore – it was Mikhail, lying over her in human form.

He braced himself on his elbows on either side of her face, lowering his gaze to his T-shirt. The fabric was sturdy, but the white colour quickly reddened with blood.

“That hurt,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” Amelia began to lift his T-shirt to examine the wound.

He stopped her with a shake of his head. “On the contrary. I think that’s exactly what you wanted.”

Electricity surged through her body as his fingers clamped around her wrist like handcuffs. He raised her hand and held it between their faces. The black glow intensified.

Furrowing his brow, Mikhail swept her hand aside, avoiding contact with her fingers. She tried to push him off, but he pinned her with his thighs and then leaned towards her neck, brushing his nose against her heated skin.

The lower part of her abdomen contracted in response to the growl that escaped his throat.

In an instant, he rose and offered her his hand. Her heart pounded for more than one reason as she stared at the outstretched palm. Was he truly willing to touch her, despite what she had done to him?

Amelia sat up, fists clenched, waiting for Mikhail to realise how absurd his actions were.

“You managed to summon it. Now stop it,” he said in a stern tone, his hand still extended between them.

She frowned at the red stain on his shirt.

Mikhail finally dropped the chivalrous gesture and pulled his T-shirt over his head.

Amelia scanned the marked lines on his chest and abdomen.

Above the four healed wounds left by his former fiancée, a new flare was visible.

A dark, reddish spot, the size of her palm, with a bleeding crimson centre and an outer ring verging on black.

She stood up with a frown. “It needs to be cleaned.”

Mikhail showed no sign of pain, but it was impossible for it not to hurt. “I’ll clean it,” he said. “I’m only showing it to you so you know what you’re capable of. Now, I want you to take my hand and make sure I don’t lose my fingers.”

Amelia raised her hand before her face, and the black matter came alive once more. “Mikhail, I don’t think—”

“Controlled power is a weapon. Uncontrolled is a ticking time bomb, ready to explode in your hands at any moment. In your case, quite literally.” He pointed towards her fingers. “Did you use magic?”

“If I did, I didn’t realise…”

“Then what did you do?”

She remained silent for several long moments before finally admitting, “I wanted to hurt you.”

He nodded. “All right.”

“ Just ‘all right’?”

“Take my hand.”

She did, repeating to herself that she would not hurt him. This time, she did not want to hurt him. Their fingers intertwined, her hand resting in his, and Amelia’s heart clenched with the feeling of being at home.

It didn’t last.

“Well done. You managed.” Mikhail smiled. And then withdrew his hand. Not ot out of pain, but because there was no longer a reason to hold on.