Page 99 of The Deathless One
Her gaze met Sybil’s, and she knew the other woman was with her. Tears burned in Jessamine’s eyes, but they did not fall. Sybil’s gaze made her think that the witch had suffered this before. It was either that, or the legacy of centuries of pain that was passed down from generations of women before them. Women who had found themselves at the mercy of those who wanted to hurt them.
“Get on the altar,” the man behind her growled.
“No.”
“Or I will make you.”
Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, she pulled herself together. She could run, but they would catch her. Even if she did escape, a naked woman running through the streets at night wouldn’t get far. There was no magic at her fingertips. All she could do was step up onto the altar and lift the sheet.
She lay down on the rough stone, the icy touch of it going straight through her body. As the thug pulled the sheet over her form, she wondered if she looked like the corpse she was.
At his glance and sudden pale features, she thought maybe she did.
The sheet settled over her face, and she puffed out a breath. “May I please see?”
She didn’t want to beg. Please don’t let it sound like she was begging.
The sheet peeled back for a moment, revealing Callum leaning above her. He gently cupped her jaw, his thumb stroking over her cheek. “Why do you want to see, dead girl? Nothing good will come of that.”
“I want you to know that I am aware of every step of every horrible thing you’re about to do. I want you to look me in the eye and know that you’re killing me.” She swallowed. “That’s what you’re going to do, isn’t it? You’re going to sacrifice me, and you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life.”
That shadow passed over his features. The pain of a man who sincerely regretted something he had to do, and yet he was going to do it anyway. “You’re already dead, Jessa. I lost you the day of your wedding.”
He gently feathered his fingers over the pale purple circles around her eyes, down the hollows of her cheeks, and over that horrible writhing scar around her neck. She could see he believed every word he said. She wasn’t his daughter, not now that she’d survived death itself.
“I’m still me,” she whispered. “I’m still the little girl you tucked into bed. Just like this, Callum. I’m still her, and somewhere in there, you’re still you.”
He shook his head, tears dripping from his eyes and falling onto her cheeks. “No, sweet girl. You’re dead. And whatever he brought back is just a twisted replica of the little girl I raised. Sacrificing you is a gift to theentire kingdom, just like the first time you died. I won’t let them forget you, Jessamine. But I can’t let them have you either.”
He straightened, leaving her vision free at least. But then he lifted a black-bound book, and horror bloomed in her chest.
“No,” she said, trying to lunge up from the altar. “I can’t let you—”
Magic wrapped around her torso, binding her arms to her sides and slamming her back onto the stone. Her ribs creaked, almost cracking with the pressure, and a low whine squeezed out between her lips.
“Don’t move,” Callum said. “We’re lucky to have a witch among us. After all, we’ll need her power as well.”
He raised his hand, words in the old tongue flying from his mouth.
Then Sybil started to scream.
Jessamine craned her neck, trying to give what little comfort she could to the other woman. But then her eyes widened in horror as she saw all the black magic sucked out of Sybil’s chest and flooding into Callum.
All that power, all that magic, pulled and tugged out of Sybil’s being. It moved through the room, sluggishly trying to get back to its original owner as Callum drew it to himself. Coiling around his hands, the magic pulsed.
She could see the skin on his fingers peeling away, but he bared his teeth at the pain and looked back at the book.
“Together, we will raise a god,” he said, his gaze meeting hers. “This is where your story ends, Princess Jessamine Harmsworth.”
And then the sheet moved, covering her face and hiding the nightmare unfolding before her.
He hated being summoned by someone who wasn’t part of his coven, which was why he ignored the summons sent with Callum’s particular energetic signature. He would not listen to a man who thought that a god could be controlled.
But then he felt the first lashing of pain. The ache in his chest was duller than when Jessamine was hurt, but it was an ache nonetheless. He rubbed a hand over his heart, frowning at the sudden feeling. Then the slight bruising sensation on his back, stronger this time and infinitely harder to ignore.
Someone was hurting his girls. He knew what this was. An attempt to draw him to the room where Callum would likely make his last spell. Of course it was. The man was trying his best to force Elric’s hand.
And then a tug. No, a yank that threw him through the realms and forced him to materialize at the back of a room. Chairs had been thrown to the sides, and a crude altar raised at the back of it. A stone altar where there was the vague hint of a body lying underneath a white cloth. Callum stood behind the stone, his voice echoing with the old language.
