Page 31 of The Vampire’s Mercy (Blood Melody #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

PARIS

The mage had a big white beard and twinkly blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles in a face of wrinkled light-copper skin.

His blue outfit was like a body suit instead of the big blue robe of the proper Father Frost. A pink cloak swept at his heels, no trademark pointy hat on his head.

Instead, this guy wore a pink beret on his white hair, along with white trainers.

So, yeah, not Father Frost at all.

The mage introduced himself as Roy Warren, a friend of Vaughn’s.

Ugh. Why did that prick have to be here with us without Sarah? I’d rather her be here to remind me that I’d be going home soon.

Joke’s on all of you fuckers.

“Roy can help untangle some of our issues,” Silvanus told me.

He didn’t sound so sure. “Okay.”

Vaughn agreed with the king, throwing me a grin.

Creep.

At the center of the red room was a black table, a golden bowl filled with water sitting on it, a stick of incense burning beside it. Weirdly, the ribboning smoke gave off no aroma.

“If the thrall and His Majesty could please step forward and lean over the bowl.” Roy sounded like Father Frost. Jovial, warm, on the cusp of some ho, ho, ho’ing.

He pulled out a tiny golden bell.

Frostmass wasn’t a holiday I celebrated. The present-giving, the gorging on food, the drinking, the parties—all of it was a hard no from me. When it rolled by every late December, I hid myself away for the festive week, shutting the world away. Watching movies, waiting it out.

I mean, what was the point of it all? To celebrate love and family while your balls froze in the winter air? Pfft. What a crock of shit.

Okay, so I did partake in the gorging part. After escaping the academy purges, Pearl insisted we stuff our faces for a few days a year as a reward for surviving the year.

By Aidan, I miss you so much…

I leaned over the bowl, Silvanus on the other side, catching our reflections in the water. The smoke wafted past my face, still smelling of nothing.

“Thank you,” Roy said. “Now, keep your attention on the water.”

“Okay,” I whispered, the king silent.

What was his objective here? Mage spells were about the intention and the will of the caster, usually with props and words as an aid, drawing on the power of Aidan’s Fire. The mage blood inside me made it possible for me to will the stakeblade into my hand, coupled with the goal of killing vamps.

Magic required a lot of intense study. Hal constantly read magical tomes well into the night, scribbling confusing diagrams and making notes, all to understand the intricacies, the limitations, the rules, and the possibilities of magic.

It all made my brain hurt.

“Listen to my voice,” Roy spoke. “Do not close your eyes.”

“Okay,” I said again.

“I will for the fragments to coalesce,” he said, his voice a strangely muffled sound. “Let us see the truth within these men.”

A ripple passed over the water’s surface.

“Give me the pieces,” the mage continued. “Show me the answers.” He rang the bell once. “Show me. By the holiest name of Aidan.” Ring. “I ask of the magic, I ask of Him, I ask of all.” Ring. Ring. Ring.

Aidan in an unholy place like this? Ha!

More rippling, and then the water began to slosh around the bowl.

“Hear my will.” Ring. “Hear it. Take my intention to see the truth. Take it.” Ring. “Take it.”

The water turned orange, becoming solid like a clump of colorful marshmallow.

“The will is met,” Roy said.

The marshmallow lifted out of the bowl a few inches, reshaping into a ball. It became translucent, a series of images appearing inside the sphere.

“What is this?” the king asked.

“Take it. Watch it.”

Silvanus took it, coming around to stand by my side. His arm pressed into mine, his body too damn close again.

I shuffled away to create an inch between us, watching the ball.

“It will show you,” Roy said.

I watched a replay of my dreams, along with the king’s. Lots of trees, the tower, petals, but no answers. They just played on a loop.

The ball cracked.

Roy coughed, joining us at the table. “What happened?”

“It—”

The ball exploded, the force throwing me across the room. I slammed into the wall, hands shooting out to brace my fall.

Shit.

My right wrist bent under me, cracking. The pain sent my vision into a swirl, shockwaves winding me. I rolled onto my back, hand at my chest, a billion dots of color in my eyes.

“By Aidan…” I rasped, shaking.

White-hot pain strangled any screams out of me, my brain struggling to keep up with the quick turnaround of going from vertical to horizontal. My body buzzed with the kickback from the magic, sharp scratching across every inch of my skin.

Silvanus growled. “What is this?”

“I’m so sorry, Your Majesty!” Roy cried.

The king appeared above me. “Are you alright?”

I blinked at him, mouth open to speak, but no sound coming out.

He crouched. “Paris?”

Swaying vampire. Sway, sway, sway. Why did he look so blurry? Ugh. Stupid magical scratches pulling curtains across my brain.

My stomach roiled, everything hurting.

Dagger.

Dagger mine.

I see it. I see it glisten, I feel it want, I long for it because I am full.

Full of all.

Full of everything.

It is mine.

It is mine.

It is—

A flash of red light filled the room, drawing me out of my trance.

“No…” I heard Roy say. “Oh, no.”

A bed in my head.

A bed in my head with me and the vampire king on it. Naked. Curled up together with smiles on our faces.

A bed surrounded by a sea of blood.

A sea of ashes.

A sea of death.

Waves lapping. Waves of sorrow and agony.

The red light flashed again, my skull stuffed with cotton wool.

“Who the hell are you?” I demanded before the ground quaked.

What ground? Where—

I snapped out of it, staring into the king’s face, mouth firmly closed, my tongue too weak.

Not another damn vision. This was getting on my last nerve. I glared at Silvanus, reaching for a clue, the pain kicking my arse.

Fuck this.

Fuck all of this.

The king rested the back of his hand on my forehead.

“What happened, Roy?” he demanded from the mage.

Get off me…

Hold me…

My skin sung with happiness at the connection, and my guts ached from it too.

Get off me…

Hold me…

“Speak!” Silvanus barked impatiently.

“A curse,” the mage spoke nervously. “There is a curse upon you and the elf.”