Page 146 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
Quinn knew that man . . .
And then it hit her. Everything. Every memory stolen from her by compulsion, her life, her dreams . . . everything danced in her mind.
“Oh, Emrys,” she breathed and cupped his face between her hands. The man washerEmrys.
Well . . . maybe not hers—not now. But maybe one day he could be hers?
“Emrys,” she whispered again, meeting his eyes. “I—”
“Come here, Quinny,” Jevon demanded, holding her blood painting—created when she’d died. He twisted its compulsion powers and made her do his bidding. She felt it in her bones, but instead of fighting it, she let it sink in. She would comply, just not quite yet.
First, she wanted her Playboy Prince.
Facing Emrys for a final time, she pulled his lips into hers and kissed him with all the fire and passion in her heart. He tasted of sorrow and broken promises. It was not a kiss to end all kisses, but it was hers. For one moment, be it a tiny second in a sea of entirety, she would have Emrys Avalon. He’d be hers, and she’d be his. And it would be the memory she held and grasped onto in the darkness to come.
But the kiss didn’t last long. It couldn’t. She was not his. And she would never be if Jevon had anything to do with it.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice lingered in the air.
Emrys looked like death. His expression said a thousand words:I am sorry. I ruined everything. I am a monster.
Quinn turned and slowly and painfully crawled to Jevon. In the process, she passed Seren’s unconscious body. But her chest still moved up and down despite the bullet piercing her skull.
She would survive.
And that bred hope.
Because somewhere deep down inside, Quinn knew that Seren could change, and maybe she already had.
When Quinn finally reached Jevon, he leaned down and hauled her up by her chin. “You are such a troublesome brat, but perhaps you’ll be a useful one of these days. But first, I am going to make you watch your lover die.”
What?
Jevon tipped her chin to catch Emrys’s gaze. He was bound at their feet, blood still pooling from his wounds.
Quinn’s heart burst, and she turned a begging gaze on Jevon, “No, please.”
Jevon dropped her chin. “You will not intervene.” The compulsion captured her bones, her body, and her soul, and she could do nothing but watch what happened next.
Jevon—or Gideon or whoever he was—pulled out his hand mirror and placed her painting inside while trading for Emrys’s painting. Wasting no time, Jevon ripped the prince’s painting in half. Emrys jerked, kneeling among a sea of death, blood still streaming from his wounds. With a feral smile, Jevon ripped it again and again. Emrys clasped onto all fours, his suffering immense.
It couldn’t be real. She’d switched his painting. Hadn’t she? Had Jevon discovered the vase? Emrys was just faking it, right? It had to be, but it felt so real. It seemed so real.
Was it real?
She didn’t know anymore.
She had no idea how long she’d been dead. Jevon could havefound the real paintings. An anchor dropped in her stomach, and the vein in her neck pulsed.
Once Jevon sprinkled the pieces of the painting on the floor, he set them on fire.
“No!” Quinn screamed and fell to her knees watching, unable to do anything. Every bone in her body ached, and silent tears cascaded from her cheeks.
The room smelled of smoke and curses.
Emrys dissolved slowly into ash as each of the pieces of his painting disintegrated. The ash from both the canvas and the dead body swirled into an enchanted tornado and crystallized. Sparkling and glittering with glory and power.
It crystallized into silver-glass, forming a—
