Page 103 of To Vanquish Darkness

Amalie's grip tightened around her satchel. "Why are you telling me this?" She glanced at the door, wondering when Oren or Theo would get worried and come looking for her.

"Because I think it's only fair you get both sides of the story." Marx's expression was suddenly deadly serious.

"I need to help my family."

Marx shook his head. "You can't help them. Not like this."

"Then what do you suggest?" she hissed.

Marx stood, straightening the fine shirt he wore tucked into his trousers. "Have a conversation with her. She'll make sure nobody touches your family. They can remain here in their home, and you don't have to promise us anything. Just a talk."

Theo.Amalie silently pleaded for him to climb the stairs.

Marx glanced toward the door. "I'll give you time to think it over. Personally, I can't wait to see what Theo thinks of this." He nudged the handle of the sword with his boot. "Delivered right into his hands." Marx crossed the room, giving her a wide berth, then paused at the open window. "One last thing, did you know it was possible to make replicas of jewelry?" He glanced down at his hand, twisting a ring on his finger. "It's quite simplewith a talented silversmith." He grinned. "But under certain circumstances, it’s embarrassingly easy to spot the original."

Amalie's pulse pounded in her ears. "How is that?"

Marx's eyes glittered. "When a silversmith dies, his signature dies with him. The small number inscribed in the back of his pieces. It makes his work truly one of a kind."

49

1824 BLOIS, FRANCE

Rachel's body arched, her muscles seizing as pain radiated from the gaping wound in her neck. Her fingers were slick with her own blood, the coppery scent filling her nostrils and sending her stomach roiling. Her vision blurred, but she could still make out the dark figure standing over her, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.

"Shh, shh. I have you." Florent's voice was a low, soothing murmur as he eased her down onto the forest floor. His hands supported her head. "It will be over soon."

Rachel's breath hitched as her back pressed against cool earth, the dampness seeping through the thin fabric of her dress. Florent's face hovered above hers, his hair falling forward as he leaned over her. Why had he done this? She’d given her blood, watched it swirl with his in the chalice. Why?—

"You're strong, Rachel. So strong." His voice was a purr, his breath hot against her skin. "You were chosen for this. You will be reborn."

Rachel's mind was a fog, her thoughts sluggish as she tried to process his words. Reborn? Her heart pounded in her chest, forcing blood out of her body too fast. She couldn’t heal—couldn’t regenerate.

She tried to speak, to ask him what he meant, but her throat wouldn’t work.

Florent's hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin. "Rest now. It will be over soon."

Rachel's eyelids fluttered, her vision narrowing to a pinprick as the darkness closed in. The night air whispered over her skin, the rustling of leaves in the forest around them. It was so quiet.

Her mind drifted, memories of Amalie and Bethany flashing before her eyes. Their laughter, their smiles. The way they would curl up next to her in bed, their warm bodies pressing against hers. She wanted to hold them, to tell them how much she loved them. But her arms were heavy, her body a leaden weight on the forest floor.

Florent's voice was a distant hum, his words slipping through her consciousness like water through her fingers. She tried to focus, but it was like trying to grasp smoke. Her thoughts fragmented, her mind splintering as the darkness closed in. Words like "transfer" and "bond" floated through her mind, but she couldn't grasp their meaning. She was slipping, her body sinking into the earth as the world faded, slow and thick.

Tears mixed with the blood on her cheeks, her chest heaving as she tried to force the words from her throat. "A-Amalie." The name was a breath, a mere exhalation of air. Her mind fractured, her thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. She couldn't hold on. She was slipping.

"A-Ama—" She tried again, her lips trembling. Her daughters' faces swam before her eyes. Amalie's dark curls, her wide eyes filled with curiosity. Bethany's rosy cheeks, her chubby fingers wrapped around Rachel's thumb.

Florent's eyes softened, his expression one of understanding. "Your girls will be safe, Rachel."

Rachel's heart clenched, her breath stuttering in her chest. The memory of her daughters was all she had left, the only thing anchoring her to this world. She wouldn't let go.She couldn't.

She tried to speak again, to tell him to keep his promise. To make him swear on his life. But what good was his word? He’d told her they’d be together . . .

Had he said that? Or had he told her this ceremony was life and death?

Another wave of darkness crashed over her, pulling her under. Amalie's eyes, wide and curious, staring up at her as she read from the old leather-bound book. She'd failed them. She should have seen the signs. She should have?—

"Can you feel anything?" A man, not Florent, spoke. His voice was tight.

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