Page 75 of Blood Sacrifice

His scream against my sensitive ears made me flinch, but my grip on him didn’t waiver, and neither did my claws as they continued to tear into his chest and abdomen. His movements became weaker until they stopped altogether and his eyes became vacant.

I tossed him to the floor, stepping over his body.

A human shot at me repeatedly, but by the time he had pulled the trigger, I had moved again. I grabbed the weapon, twisting until his wrist broke, and spun the gun toward him and used his own finger to pull the trigger. His eyes widened, registering the close-range gunshot, then his legs wobbled and he collapsed, his hand on his chest.

There were laws against involving humans in the affairs of immortals.

An arm flew in front of me, hitting the wall and sliding down to the floor. I spun to see Dominic ripping an unfortunatemagic user’s limbs off. He used the other arm to beat the man before he pulled his still-beating heart from his chest.

There was no finesse to our bloodlust, both of us allowing the monsters that dwelled inside the immortals loose. I turned to look behind us, finding a scene that deserved to be put into a horror film. It was hard to tell how many we had killed since bodies lay on top of each other, disarticulated limbs sticking out of the piles of flesh at awkward angles.

“It’s been a long time since I lost control,” Dominic said from beside me. “But I hate having magic used against me. At least other species stand a chance against the vampires and lycans, but they don’t even see magic coming. It creeps through the darkness, polluting and destroying.”

I glanced at him from the side of my eye. “You contain magic.”

“I do and it’s a long story that we don’t have time for right now,” he replied. “There are three heartbeats in a room at the back. Everyone else is dead.”

I creaked my neck from side to side, prowling down the corridor, and changing into my human form with every step. The heartbeats in the room sped up at our approach, and I didn’t bother knocking, using my boot to open the door with one kick.

Three warlocks sat in the room, their faces pale as they continued to chant.

“I don’t think that is going to help,” I said, looming over them. “Where is Balor?”

The eyes of one of the men darted to me for a moment before he returned to his task.

“Magic doesn’t work on us,” Dominic said from the doorway. “I would stop trying to repel us and start praying to whatever god you believe in.”

Another figure appeared in the doorway, and Jethro strode in, dangling metal cuffs that Maia had engraved earlier. Hedragged one of the warlocks back, grabbing him by the throat when he tried to struggle. Dominic moved forward to help restrain him while Jethro slammed the cuffs into place.

“I recognise you,” I said to the warlock in the corner. “You were there when the war began, standing alongside that megalomaniac who wants to rule the world.”

He stopped chanting and stared at me. “Then you should walk away because we have already won.”

I shrugged one shoulder. “All the dead throughout this complex would disagree,” I replied. “Balor needed all the priestesses, and yet in four hundred years he hasn’t managed it.”

He launched himself toward me, magic flashing from his fingertips. Whatever spell he had been casting bounced off a bubble that appeared in front of me and hit him in the centre of the chest. He blinked, his hand tentatively covering where the spell entered his body.

“What have you done?” he gasped, staggering back two paces.

“Technically, he didn’t do anything,” Dominic pointed out. “You cast a spell that backfired.”

Black blood began to gurgle from the warlock’s mouth, foaming and dripping from his chin. He tried to speak, but no words emerged, the skin sloughing from his face. He clawed at his clothes, exposing his chest, which withered and decomposed as we watched.

“What the actual fuck?” Jethro demanded. “What was he trying to whammy you with?”

“It’s a curse,” Dominic replied. “Magic is like a tree with many branches, each one spreading out to evolve and grow. The roots are based in the fundamental laws, but each branch has its own rules and properties. Most magic users avoid curses since it taints their soul, but some are so dark and twisted they no longer care about the consequences of their actions.”

“It is the living death,” the third warlock said. “The victim can survive years in a decomposing body, experiencing the pain of death continuously without any reprieve as magic repairs the tissue so it can fade again. It was removed from grimoires a long time ago in the hope it would be forgotten.”

“Evil is never forgotten,” I pointed out.

The warlock merely stared at his companion, who was leaking black blood from his mouth and eyes, and held his hands out to Jethro. “I merely do as I’m told to ensure the safety of my family.”

“Balor?” I queried.

“Only a few of his most trusted men know where he is, the rest of us haven’t seen him in decades.” He sat back in his chair to study me. “I remember you. Most of the lycans all blend into one aggressive, hormonal mass, but you were different even back then.”

I turned my back to him to demonstrate my lack of interest in the topic.

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