Page 52 of Cursed Lifeline

The feeling of Esme’s lifeless body still weighs down my arms. Her blood coats my shirt, my hands, my damned soul and soaks through to a heart that’s desperate to stop beating so it never feels again the ache of her ill-fated loss.

The woman my mother’s talking to rises from her seat in fear. My mother places a hand atop hers, reassuring her she’s safe when she isn’t. With my head hanging low, I watch them with a hooded, furious, threatening gaze as I quickly glide closer. The woman slowly, timidly sits back down as I hastily take the steps towards them.

Madness overtakes me as I pull my weapon from where it was concealed in my cape, raise the stake, and take one last heated step in their direction. The woman screams, jolting back in fear. My mother braces for the strike. Her eyes grow wide, but she’s not the life I came here to end.

Falling to my knees at her feet, I pull viciously at the front of my linen shirt. It unties, revealing my chest. I waste no time bringing the stake to my heart. My head falls back, tears prick my eyes, as the tip of the wood harshly pierces my cold, damned skin, and I demand,“O’ that this too solid flesh would melt.”

“Stop!” My mother shouts.

Breathing heavily, my heart racing, my hand stills, and my grip tightens around the wooden stake.

“To die, to sleep - to sleep perchance to dream,”I cry out, before laughing,“ay, there’s the rub, for in this sleep of death what dreams may come.”

“Don’t Angel,” my mother pleads.

Against my will, I do as she says. I halt - for now.

“Tis common, all that lives must die. Passing through nature to eternity,”she says.

Opening my eyes, my desolate stare finds the red ceiling as I debate turning the stake on her instead for her careless, compassionless utterance. My vision blurs as unshed tears fill my grieving gaze, and I suck in a shaky breath. Struggling against her orders and my determined resolution to join Esme in the afterlife, I press the stake harsher into my chest. The burn of the wood entering my flesh causes a welcoming euphoria to spread through my veins. The trickle of life runs down my abdomen, and pools at my navel. My breathing becomes shallow as I think of all I’ve lost and try to imagine a life without Esme. Warm tears fall down my cheeks as my mother gently places her hand atop mine.

“Angel,” she begs.

“She’s gone,” I cry out. My eyes fall bitterly back to meet hers. “Taken. Overpowered. By my own fucking coven.”

She stays silent, observing me with an understanding eye that makes me furious. If she’s the one that sent Viktor, if she’s the one that allowed him to feast on the woman I’ll never be able to live without, Iwillturn this spike on her. I will end my mother’s life without a second thought for Esme’s retribution before taking mine.

“What does your heart tell you?” she asks.

Throwing the spike to the floor, I rise and charge her. She leans back on her throne and allows me the space to attack.

My heated growl comes out in a menacing whisper against her calm face. “I don’t know, mother. What does your heart tell you?”

When she doesn’t answer, I snap, “Because of what your youngest son did, I’ll never be able to answer that question. My heart died the second Viktor took her life. It’ll never beat again. So fuck your questions about heart, about life...”

“Her life...” my mother starts to say, but I cut her off.

“Is my life. There’s no point living without her.” Angry tears fall from my eyes. I choke on a sob. My hands clench the sides of her throne. My knuckles turn white as I wrestle with the last thread of my sanity. “There is no reason to breathe if going on living means I’m forever cursed to be without her.”

“If you’ll just be patient...”

“Patient?” I chuckle wickedly, “For what? Time won’t erase what you’ve all done.”

“If you’ll just hear the truth, that your long-suffering will not be in vain...”

“Long-suffering?” I seethe, pushing off her throne. I take a dismayed step back, put some much-needed space between us, and run my hand down my face in torment. Forcing myself to take a deep breath, my bitter glare deepens as I say, “Despite my troubles, mother, onesyouinflicted, I will never tolerate what the coven has done.”

The woman on my mother’s side finally speaks up. “What if you were graced with another chance?”

I glance the stranger’s way coldly and am not surprised when she flinches back in fear. Taking a cruel step in her direction, I try my best to reign in my spiteful, hateful anger when my mother says. “Felix, meet Evangeline.”

I regard the lady with a stern scowl. Cocking my head to the side, I try to search her mind but come up empty. Realizing she has a block up brings my simmering rage back to the surface. I’m just about to lash out when my mother says, “She’s the princess of the WhisperWind Covenant. A tribe of fae who were good friends of my family.”

My mother’s family? The ones responsible for the curse?

Hearing the words, I charge the fae, intent on ending her life since she’s a thread tied to what inevitably took Esme away from me. But my mother holds up her hand and halts me with a spell.

Suspending me in an arched position, I struggle to break free as bitterness rages inside my dead heart, and she scolds, “You should be thanking her.”

---