Page 23 of Dissection of Immortal Hearts
“Every black witcher sets his own price. This one trades in hearts only. The more corrupt, the better.”
So the bag had contained a heart. That explained the strange scent.
“He didn’t seem too eager to cooperate, though,” Amelia murmured.
One corner of the Queen’s mouth twitched. “He may still be angry with me for forcing him to remain in Antambazi. But as you can see, the offer of a heart is something he simply cannot resist.”
“What does he do with the hearts?”
“He eats them, of course. How else do you think he fuels the dark magic he performs?”
12
Kathrine
Kathrine nudged the necromancer towards the Queen’s chamber with the muzzle of her gun pressed against his back. Shaved, with cropped black hair and a sharp dark grey suit, he finally looked like himself.
The Mother of Reptilians glanced over his imposing frame. “You clean up well, Constantine.”
“You summoned me, Your Majesty.” His words held an undertone of excitement.
The Queen fiddled with the chain around her neck, allowing the ring hanging from it to catch the light. “How are you finding your new accommodations?”
“Magnificent, Your Majesty.”
“Have you given my proposal any thought?”
“It’s all I’ve been thinking about,” he said, a sly grin forming. “You realise that once you extract the witch’s soul from me, your hold over me is gone? There’s no taking back my powers.”
“Of course,” she said. “Necromancers are the only beings immune to the Sandir’s Smoky Quartz. But I have no intention of restoring your powers just to strip them away again.”
His smirk widened. “Aren’t you afraid I might cause trouble?”
“Trouble?” The Queen arched an eyebrow, her expression souring. “I’d have your head off your shoulders before you could even consider it, necromancer. Powers or no powers, you’re equally harmless to me.”
“I feel so special,” he quipped dryly.
“Will you go to Hell and fetch the gloves I’ve asked for?”
His black eyes locked onto hers, a sinister shadow crossing his face. At that moment, Kathrine realised her error. Despite the tailored suit and groomed appearance, this was not the necromancer she’d heard of. The one from the tales had been cynical, brazen, and corrupt, yet alive. The man standing before her was devoid of anything but a twisted pleasure in sinking deeper into depravity.
How foolish they had been to mistake his outrageous demands for signs of surrender.
Constantine’s lips formed a wicked grin. “No, Your Majesty. You can take the stone and shove it into your dusty hole that hasn’t seen action in decades. Unless you count the jester with the colossal ego that can’t compensate for his micro-dick. No wonder his fiancée gets wet near me.”
***
Kathrine
Lina spat out blood, her jaw throbbing from Kathrine’s last punch. “You’re particularly fired up today, Commander.”
One of the trainees handed her a cloth. Let the young ones learn. These were just demonstration spars, but they were intended to prepare for real combat.
“Sorry.” Kathrine’s tone came out more acute than apologetic.
The moment Lina resumed her stance, Kathrine lunged at her with relentless kicks, her mind elsewhere. She wasn’t fighting Lina – she was battling someone taller, darker, with a sharp tongue she fantasised about cutting out.
That bastard had humiliated her again! How dare he speak about her like that? As if her failed attempts to break him hadn’t already damaged her reputation with the Queen.
