Page 73 of Stolen

“Because we’ll both come when I feed from you, and I don’t want an audience.”

His breath caught. Strong emotion filled his eyes. “You mean you don’t want me to have an audience,” he rasped. His throat worked. “Laurent… I’m sorry—”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I love you.” And I knew that part of him would never fully recover from what his father had done to him. Varick would carry that pain forever. But I’d make sure he never carried it alone.

“I love you, too,” he said gruffly.

I glanced at the water. “I fucking hate this part.”

He pinched my ass. “The sooner you get in, the sooner we can get this over with.”

With a sigh, I descended the steps. I dipped my head once underwater and chanted the cleansing ritual, and I tried not to think of the worry on Varick’s face or the possibility that I was playing with fire by having Given participate. But if Jordan of Twyl was correct, the prophecy would march forward whether the three of us were ready for it or not. I was determined to be ready—and I couldn’t afford to make the same mistakes again. Given was central to everything. If I treated her like a bystander, I might doom her to failure. I was also honest enough with myself to recognize that shuttling her to the side would also doom any hope I had of winning her.

And I really fucking hated losing.

When I was as mystically clean as I was ever going to be, I exited the pool and let Varick dry me. It took forever as usual, but the drag of time gave me a chance to slow my heart rate and focus on the altar. The skull grinned at me, flames dancing in its eye sockets.

Varick’s whispered instructions to Given reached me as I walked to the altar and knelt. There was a swish of skirts, and then Given and Varick knelt on either side of me. Varick held a small bowl of blood in front of me.

I dipped my fingers, then painted a stripe down my forehead and another across my bottom lip. “I am a son of the gods.” I dipped my fingers a second time and trailed my bloodied thumb down the center of my chest. “I speak and hope to be heard.”

On either side of me, Varick and Given lifted their daggers.

Eyes locked on the skull, I lifted my arms away from my body and turned my wrists up. Varick reached out and gently guided my wounded, smoking hand more directly over his bowl.

“I offer the Rite of Destru,” I said, and I tipped my head back and closed my eyes.

Together, Varick and Given sliced my arms from elbow to wrist. Hot blood gushed down my forearms and splashed into the bowls.

Burning.

It always burned so badly.

My eyes watered, and a scream scrambled to break free from my throat. The knives were coated in a special kind of ceramic mixed with salt. Otherwise, my body would have healed the wounds immediately.

But the deep gouges stayed open. Varick had instructed Given well, and she’d driven the blade to the bone, shredding flesh and slicing vein. It was better this way. The faster I bled, the shorter my agony.

Heat flooded me in a feverish, sickly wave. I swayed on my knees, a ritual chant falling from my lips. My voice echoed, my words overlapping as I grew dizzy. My heart pounded in my ears—loud at first and then fainter…and slower.

Boom. Boom, boom, boom.

I rocked, murmuring incantations through lips gone cold and numb. The cold spread, chasing away the heat.

Boom…boom, boom.

I couldn’t feel my legs. The burn was gone, too, leaving nothing but cold. It wrapped around me, blue and cruel. My voice reached me from a distance, the sound tinny and odd in my ears.

Boom…boom…

Something flickered against my closed eyelids. In my mind, I rocked, my body emptying of life. Destruction. To reach the gods, I had to offer everything. My life. My will. My complete annihilation. The cold crept up my neck, freezing my voice at last.

Boom…

And then…

Nothing.

I opened my eyes and saw white mist. Light shone from nowhere and everywhere, creating tiny rainbows in the air. In the distance, a female stood with her back to me. Long, black hair fell to her waist. Her black gown puddled at her feet, and a thick snake curled from her shoulder to her hip. Her white skin glowed as brightly as the mist. As I gazed at her, the snake lifted its head and stared at me. Its tongue forked out, as if it tasted me from afar.

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