Page 145 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
Emrys lifted her head back up to his wrist, but when she tried to drink again, she choked, no longer able to consume it.
“No,” he breathed. “Not yet.
Quinn’s eyes grew heaving, and her body began to hum with . . . magic. The blood seeping from her wound turned into liquid fire and gathered into magical cords that looked like thick yarn. The cords streamed together, folding, and forming and braiding into a picture of Quinn’s face, dripping with a scarlet-iron liquid.
A blood painting.
“Stay with me, Quinnevere.” Emrys’s chestnut eyes stormed with a symphony of emotions, none of which she could decipher.
“I can’t.” Her lips touched his for one moment—one glorious moment—a sweet, broken kiss before her head lulled and became far too heavy to lift again. “It’s rather unfortunate that I am going to die a human virgin.”
All her energy evaporated as she collapsed into his chest.
A whimper escaped Emrys as his fingers held her limp and dying body. “Quinnevere, please stay with me.” She was too weak to respond. “Stay with me, and I promise I will remedy your problem.” They both knew his words were useless. They both knew it was too late for her human life.
Quinn let out a pathetic blood-coated laugh as her mind flooded with Emrys's pain—his thoughts—everything he wanted to say to her as her life force bubbled from her, and her breaths slowed. She pinched her eyes tight and fell into the comfort and warmth of his chest.
Emrys, I switched out your paintingand hid it in a vase.She tried to send the thought through their connection, but she was unsure if it made it.
So was just too damn weak.
Too weak to do anything save count his heartbeats.
Beat . . .
Beat . . . beat . . . beat . . . beat . . .
Then shadows and death’s cold, dark shackles consumed her.
And Quinnevere Ashelle was dead.
Forty-Eight
Death’s haunting voice played in her mind, and his fingers curled into wisping shadow ropes. They snaked around her body and imprisoned her. Ice slid into her veins. Cutting and freezing. Changing her.
Rebirthing her.
Her body shifted and melted into something new—something stronger. But not better.This body had a constant hunger, an all-consuming appetite that ate away at her rational thought. It sank its fangs into her core. Hunger boiled and bubbled.
All she wanted to do was devour a human, taste the rich, thick, intoxicating liquid. She wanted to soak in it. Bathe in it.
Her gums hurt, and she opened her mouth, sensing and smelling the iron coating the room. Even the air tasted like blood.
And she needed to consume it now.
Her eyes flared open, and she sat up quickly. Pain pricked at the back of her neck and turned into agony, encasing her entire body.
“Silver.”She growled.
A guttural hissing feeling rose in her belly.
Bodies caked the floor, mingling with a river of blood andsilver rained from the heavens—no, not the heavens, the ceiling. It would have been beautiful if it wasn’t so agonizing.
With a cupped hand, she swiped blood from the floor and poured it into her mouth. It tasted like heaven and crushed fantasies. Her hunger became frantic as she tried to get as much blood as possible, drinking from the floor and dead bodies both. She didn’t care. The hunger was untamable. Nothing would be enough.
Nothing would satisfy—
Fingers clutched her face. Who was that pretty, perfect man with the brown eyes and horrified expression?
