Page 189 of Dissection of Immortal Hearts
She waited for the meeting to finish and, sure enough, Callan approached her. “How are you, beautiful?” There was a hint of sympathy in his gaze, but the love she’d once thought she saw there – and that he had once encouraged her to believe in – was gone.
“I’m fine, thank you. Can we talk?” she said.
He followed her, not quite as eager to escape her as he’d been in those final days at the winery. And why would he be? He was no longer chasing Amelia or pursuing his other goals.
Once they were alone in the corridor, Alex faced him and said matter-of-factly, “I translated your journal.”
He raised an eyebrow.
He has no idea, does he?Oh, but he would understand soon enough.
The corners of her lips twitched. “And unlike the edited copy Kathrine translated, the one everyone else has, mine is complete. From the first page to the last.” She emphasised those last words.
For the briefest moment, he looked as though she had poured cold water over him. But then, he was Callan again – composed as ever, warm as daylight, elusive as the night. “As far as I’m aware, the original journal is in Antambazi,” he said smoothly, “and to be honest, I don’t feel nostalgic about it. Nor is it very useful to anyone.”
“If it’s in Antambazi, how did it end up in your room at the cabin?” Alex fixed him with a challenging glare, savouring the effect of her words. “I suppose that’s why you were so eager to rush back after the harpy attack – to retrieve it. You must have been quite disappointed when it wasn’t there.”
And just like that, his mask slipped. “Youtook it?”
The grimace on his face made her insides warm with satisfaction. “Kathrine may not have been able to decipher much of the text because it was written in the demonic language, but for me, words hold no secrets. And neither do you any longer. I concluded you gave up reclaiming the ring because you were in love with Amelia. Oh, I’ve been deluded…”
“Give it to me!” The warmth in Callan’s amber eyes flared into hellish fire, threatening to destroy her.
But she didn’t care. “That’s not going to happen. If you want your journal back, you’ll do as I say.”
Callan crossed his arms, his muscles tensing. “Little girl…”
“Oh, please! ‘Beautiful Alexandra’ or ‘goddess’. That would be more fitting, wouldn’t it? After all, you’re a god, aren’t you? And from now on, you’re my servant.”
His eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.
She smirked. “In case you ever want to see your journal again, of course. From what I’ve read about your curse, you’re going to need itverymuch.”
He slammed his palm against the wall behind her, pinning her between the plaster and his body. “One day, I’ll get my journal back, and you’ll regret this.”
His intimidation tactics didn’t faze her in the slightest. “Until that day comes, I’ll have my fun. Won’t I, my Horned God?”
67
Mikhail
Coincidences exist only in a naïve mind – one that believes bad luck is a bizarre twist of fate. ‘Fate’ is the excuse when you refuse to take responsibility for your actions. And for your thoughts.
Mikhail lowered his gaze to the letter Gea had left for Amelia.
If Gea had still been alive, Mikhail would have strangled her with his own hands. All this time, she’d been steering Amelia’s life without a care for her inexperience – her youth. It wasn’t fair to take everything from her. To burden her with such tasks.
He grabbed the metal cup from the bedside table and hurled it at the wall with all his might. Water splashed across the wall and trickled down in thin rivulets.
“I’m sorry, little beast. You weren’t drinking it anyway,” he muttered, frowning at Amelia’s pale face.
Not that you can hear me.
She wasn’t dead. But she wasn’t alive, either. She existed in a state of in-between, one that could last forever – or end in an instant if her heart gave out.
The healers said her brain was dead, but Mikhail refused to accept that. Her body also refused to give up. Strands of black had appeared in her hair, which had frightened him at first because he didn’t understand it. Later, he’d convinced himself it was a good sign – perhaps a manifestation of the magic in her blood.
Then her nails had darkened.
