35. Morgan

The momentwe step into the next chamber, a wave of ancient power washes over me, making the hair on my arms stand on end.

The chamber is vast, its high ceiling disappearing into darkness, the walls adorned with intricate carvings. My magic flickers to life as it connects to the torches lining the walls, their flames casting shadows that dance across the polished stone floor, providing warmth in the otherwise cold space.

A large, serene statue of a Buddha sits at the far end of the room, its eyes closed in meditation. In front of it, on an elaborately carved pedestal, is a large, sacrificial bowl. Glowing, gold liquid swirls inside it.

"Wow," I say, looking around. "This place is incredible."

Amber, standing next to me, nods in agreement. "It feels sacred," she says. "Ancient."

"Stay alert," Damien says, his eyes fixed on the Buddha, as if he's preparing for the statue to attack. "We don't know what kind of challenge we're facing here."

Blaze smirks, his eyes gleaming with anticipation, his fingers wrapped around the hilt of his dagger. "Whatever it is, we'll handle it," he says.

He looks stunningly beautiful with the firelight dancing across his strong features, and my heart leaps at the memory of the kiss we shared in the woods. But I force myself to look away from him, gazing around at the carvings on the walls instead.

They depict scenes of selflessness and sacrifice from various cultures and eras. Warriors laying down their lives for their comrades, mothers protecting their children, leaders giving everything for their people.

A knot of unease twists in my stomach.

"This place is a shrine to sacrifice," I say. "We need to be careful."

"It's the temple of Ratnasambhava," Damien says. "The Buddha of generosity and sacrifice."

Amber steps closer to the sacrificial bowl, peering into its depths. "What do you think we're supposed to do?" she asks.

"Cut off our pinkies and toss them in?" Blaze shrugs. "Hell if I know."

I shudder at the thought of losing any limbs in this place.

Or of losing any limbs ever. Because even though supernatural healing would allow them to regenerate, I'm not sure the same healing rule applies to sacrificial rituals.

Before we can throw any more theories out there, the Buddha's eyes open, revealing deep, contemplative irises that feel like they're piercing into my soul.

"Welcome, seekers of abundance, to your third challenge," the Buddha says, his deep, resonant voice filling the chamber. "To prove your worth and pass my trial, you must demonstrate true sacrifice."

"What kind of sacrifice?" Damien asks, his voice steady.

"You must each sacrifice something you carry with you that holds deep value, to feed the temple," the Buddha says. "If the item does not hold true value, the sacrificial bowl will deny the offering, and you will not be allowed to pass through to the next challenge."

My heart sinks. I already sacrificed the Wraithmist Flask to the Kobold, so Blaze and I could cross the bridge in the Alps to the mystical realm.

What else am I willing to part with?

There should really be a cap on sacrificial offerings. One per week? One per month?

If this continues, I'll eventually have nothing left.

Blaze steps forward, his brow furrowing. "How do we know if the bowl will accept our offering?" he asks.

"You will know," the Buddha replies simply, giving us nothing other than that.

I nod, my mind racing, my fingers reaching for the small, silver pendant I wear around my neck. An interwoven pentacle and flame—the symbol of the Blood Coven.

My parents gave me and my sisters the matching necklaces when we were young. It's the only thing of theirs I carry with me. It's the thing I most remember them by.

My heart aches at the thought of giving it to the Buddha.

I can't part with it. I just can't.

So, what else do I have?

Amber steps up to the sacrificial bowl, her face set with determination.

She's so fearless—so confident in her decisions—and my admiration for her grows the more time I spend with her. Damien might call her impulsive and reckless, but I see her as brave and daring.

She takes a deep breath and tugs at her wedding ring, her knuckles whitening as she pulls and twists.

"It's stuck," she mutters, her voice laced with frustration. "It's like it's infused into my skin."

Damien's expression shifts, hurt crossing his eyes, wind stirring around him. "Were you really going to sacrifice our ring?" he asks.

Amber glares at him, her face set with determination. "Would you have cared?"

"Yes," he all but growls. "You're my wife. Of course I'd care."

"Oh." She steps back, as if that wasn't the reaction she expected.

"The ring can only be removed if we perform the ceremony to end our marriage," he explains. "It will leave a scar on your finger, marking you as untrustworthy to every vampire in the world. Such a mark will ostracize you from our kind."

"You forget that I'm not one of your kind." She holds his gaze, not backing down. "I'm not a vampire. I'm Star Touched."

"You're the queen of the most powerful vampire clan in the country," he says. "And, most importantly, you're my wife. You will not remove that ring. Not now, and not ever."

They stare each other down like wolves asserting their dominance, their chests rising and falling at the same time, as if they're connected by far more than the matching rings on their fingers.

"I'm not here to help you mend your marital problems," the Buddha says, breaking the moment between them. "I'm here to receive your sacrifices. So, Star Touched—what else do you have to offer?"

Amber turns away from Damien and pulls out her dagger, weighing it in her hand, the blade glinting in the light.

"This dagger has saved my life countless times," she says, her voice soft as she examines the blade. "But there's nothing about it that specifically ties it to me. It's replaceable. Which means it might not be enough."

"Very wise," the Buddha says, and Amber puts the dagger back into its sheath, looking proud that the Buddha agreed with her decision.

Damien looks far from pleased.

He's as rigid as ever as he stares at Amber. If he had fire magic, I'd worry he was about to combust her into flames.

He's pissed at her for nearly sacrificing her ring.

His feelings for her run deeper than she realizes. I hope—for both their sakes—that they mend the gap between them soon.

Although, it's more than a gap.

It's a chasm.

It's going to take a lot of effort on both their ends to fill it.

Next, Amber removes a photo of her with her grandmother, taken in front of a tree in her backyard in Vermont when she was young. The photo is worn, its edges curled from being handled so often.

She'll eventually learn the truth about the day her grandmother died. I've seen it, though admittedly unclearly, in my visions.

But today is not that day.

Amber looks at the photo for a long moment, conflicted. "I have other photos of her," she decides, more to herself than to any of us. "Digital copies, too. This one isn't irreplaceable."

With a sigh, she places the photo back in her pack, examining the other items inside it.

Then, finally, she pulls out the amber crystals she used to get us through the previous challenges. She turns them over in her hands, the golden light reflecting off their surfaces, casting a prism of colors across her face.

"These," she says, stepping closer to the bowl. "They're amber, which means they're specifically tied to me. We wouldn't be here right now if not for them. We might need them in upcoming challenges, or we might not. Therefore, this isn't just a sacrifice of the objects themselves, but also of our possible safety moving forward."

Without looking for our approval, she drops the crystals into the giant bowl. One by one, they plop into the gold liquid, which swirls and brightens, consuming the crystals entirely.

"Accepted," the Buddha says.

Amber steps back, relieved.

Damien refuses to look at her.

Blaze moves forward, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a small, ornate penknife.

It's the one he used before he got the Crimson Quill. His father gave it to him when he was a child, and he used it during the ill-fated attempt to turn his mother into a witch. He also used it to heal me after the Tatzelwurm's deadly bite—the spell that left the wind's whispers in my mind, urging me to kill him.

He holds it up, turning it over in his hands. "This penknife has been with me through everything," he says. "It's the tool I used for blood magic before I received the Crimson Quill. And I don't want it anymore."

"Is it truly a sacrifice if it's something you already wanted to get rid of?" I ask before he has a chance to throw it into the bowl.

He should sacrifice the blade he enspelled to be invincible. He saw as clearly as the rest of us how close the Yeti came to getting it and using it against us.

If there was ever a time to destroy an invincible blade, it would be now.

He takes a deep breath, his eyes meeting mine as he contemplates my words.

"The gesture represents more than the penknife itself," he says, turning his focus back to the Buddha. "I'm leaving the way I used to do magic behind, and I'm putting my full trust into the Crimson Quill. And, most importantly, I've been holding onto this penknife because I wanted to believe I could use it to reverse the curse I placed on my mother. By sacrificing it now, I'm releasing the hope I had that I could heal her. I'm giving up the person I used to be, and fully stepping into the one I am now."

With that, he steps up to the bowl and drops the penknife inside.