Chapter 47

Forty-Seven

I n a battle between a vampire and a monster, who would win?

Quinn didn't know.

But they would all soon find out.

Jevon's lips turned up in a feral smile. "Hello, old friend," he said to Emrys. "I believe Seren once promised to destroy you and your family, but I thought it would be more fun if I did it. Since you were the one who stabbed a knife through my heart."

"I clearly missed." The muscle in Emrys's smooth jaw pulsed. "I'll try not to miss next time."

Jevon let out a fit of chaotic laughter. "You will not get a second time. You're minutes away from death."

"You killed the man you once called brother when you destroyed the first Blood Mirror. You've had your revenge on us. What more do you want?" Emrys asked.

"I want to finish what I started," Jevon said. "You allowed vampires to be shackled, manipulated, and limited by the Accords." He clucked his tongue. "Imagine what it could be like to be unlimited? Imagine the chaos."

Quinn's bones quaked. At the mention of breaking the vampire Accords, the crowd visibly responded. Some screamed, others wetted themselves, and others turned solid white with fear. Quinn would have thought that it was obvious that vampires were back, considering how many of them had just attacked, but brains were fickle muscles. They often made people believe what they wanted to—tricked them into believing false truths.

No one wanted the return of the Age of Tyrants, so any other truth was preferable.

"I don't have to imagine," Emrys snapped. "I've lived through the horror vampires can unleash. I know our villainy and cruelty firsthand." He dropped his glamour and let everyone see the claw marks raked across his face. "Your vendetta is wrong."

Jevon played with the scroll in his hand and pulled out a dagger. "I am not your villain, dearest vampires." Jevon waved his knife at the vampires littering the room. "I am your liberator."

Emrys's lips fell into a flat line. "Vampires are not chained; we live at the highest levels of society. Peacefully. It is our cruelty that was bound. We merely abide by laws just like humans."

"But I have unbounded them, and isn't it fun?" Jevon ran the tip of his dagger across the painting of Emrys's face.

The real Emrys flinched. "No, it's not fun to watch the world burn."

"That's where we differ. Sometimes, the world needs to burn." Jevon's sadistic grin widened as he pocketed the knife. "Speaking of burning. Teagan, darling, do hand me my lighter."

With hard features, Countess Teagan handed Jevon a lighter, and his fingers circled it before he ran his thumb along the grooved starter. A small flame danced at the end.

Emrys straightened his spine and faced his death with dignity. Quinn quivered, and killer hornets hummed in her stomach, threatening to strike. Her muscles were tight and immobile. The world silenced, save for the taunting clicks of a grandfather clock.

Tick.

Tock.

Jevon tauntingly raised the flame closer to the painting.

Tick.

Tock .

It danced along the edge, slightly browning the canvas paper.

Tick.

Tock.

Panic crawled up her throat and ate away. If someone didn't stop Jevon, then Emrys's painting would burn. Quinn begged her mind, her necklace, anything to fight the power. Please unlock and work like you promised, Mother. Please. You promised protection from Mirror-Blessed.

Quinn was so foolish.

She couldn't fight vampires or Mirror-Blessed. She couldn't even fight a textbook. She was weak, helpless, and alone. Her parents were dead, and her best friends were traitorous murderers.

She'd never be able to live in this immortal world and be enough. Quinnevere Ashelle was utterly useless, and she always had been. No one should trust someone illiterate. She was never going to be strong like Emrys or Giselle.

She was a mouse in a trap, whimpering as it died.

Quinnevere, I— a hollow scream played in her mind with the voice of an angel. She closed her eyes and let the pain flow away, and the world caved in on her. But that angel's voice sang in her head to the melody of a lover and friend. I'm happy I got to know you.

Her eyes flicked to Emrys.

Terror licked her spine.

Jevon was going to kill the prince. Quinn needed to save him. She needed to help, and she needed to find the strength to fight the necromancer. Her body trembled, but her foot moved. Seeing it, Seren pulled a pistol out of her pocket and handed it to Quinn.

"I never wanted this to happen. Not all the death. I just wanted him back. I love him," Seren whispered, seeming completely shaken by the devastation coating the room. "But I love you, too. I'm so sorry I can't kill him, but—" You can.

As Jevon lifted the flame fully to the paper, the dam inside Quinn disintegrated, and her necklace burned on her chest. "No," she shrieked as she ran forward and tackled Jevon. They fell to the floor, and in the mayhem, she aimed the pistol at the largest part of Jevon's chest and pulled the trigger. Blood poured out of his stomach. In a blink, Countess Teagan restrained her and pulled the gun away, tossing it to the floor.

As if not injured at all, Jevon rose to his feet, cracked his neck, and turned his poisonous gaze on Quinn, blood still pouring from his stomach.

Oh shit. His power, at least the power that she knew of, was near instant healing.

"Give her over," he said. The countess complied.

Fear coiled in Quinn's stomach, and her snow-white hair fell onto her face. Jevon's hands encased her neck and squeezed. "Actually, Prince, I think I'll torture your pretty little ballerina first and make you watch as I slowly kill her."

Quinn's breaths halted as the fire climbed her esophagus. Jevon's fingers indented into her skin and her fingers clawed at his grip.

Her eyes scanned the crowd as she slowly choked. Constance and Kordelia were frozen statues holding each other's hands. Kordelia looked like she wanted to rip someone's head off, pure fury etched into her face. Giselle stood on the stairs at the side of the room with the princess and Francois. The queen was nowhere to be seen. Every face in the crowd was coated with its own mixture of terror.

The whole city was watching a massacre and could do nothing about it.

When Giselle met Quinn's eyes, she slightly moved. Almost as if she was growing the ability to fight Jevon's powers. In her hand was a crimson stone. Slowly, centimeter by centimeter, she tried to reflect light.

Giselle shouldn't have been able to move, but she was somehow fighting. That fixed Quinn with a resolve.

Her throat burned, and she tried to knee Jevon in his jewels. He released her neck. "Teagan, darling, break her wrist. "

The countess visibly swallowed, and with leaden feet, she forcibly walked over and snapped Quinn's wrist.

Her hand hung sideways from her arm, and an agonizing scream escaped as she cradled it to her chest. Red streaks pulsated through her hair at the pain. Her fingernails were pure crimson. The agony echoed through her bones, and she wanted to crumble to the floor.

Tears leaked from her eyes, and her chest fell to her knees, one hand clutching her kneecap. Using the distraction, Quinn slipped the scalpel from her dress.

She sucked in a deep breath, and her body trembled, but she needed to do something. She couldn't allow the pain to jolt her. She'd danced through worse agony. She could fight through it, too.

I'm not a mouse in a trap.

She rolled her shoulders back.

I'm a lion.

How do you beat chaos?

By cheating.

Jevon pulled her up by the chin, and she let herself get close because now he was her prey .

Her eyes locked with Giselle, who'd somehow managed to break free of the magic. Almost as if they were psychically linked, Giselle pushed over a massive vase, creating a distraction. At that exact moment, Quinn thrust her arm up and released the scalpel into Jevon's throat.

"Seren, now," Quinn yelled.

Three things happened instantaneously. Jevon crumbled to the floor, as did the reanimated dead bodies, and everyone was released from the magical hold. Seren plunged forward and tried to reach Jevon's mirror, but she was knocked off track by an attacking vampire. In the madness, Quinn snatched Emrys's painting from the floor.

A battle started between the newly created vampires and the originals loyal to Emrys .

With a quick pirouette and a grand jeté jump, Quinn dodged an attacker. With another jump and a somersault, Quinn avoided a vampire who had his sights set on her. In doing so, one of Emrys's vampires was able to intervene.

It was a clash of immortals.

And humans were stuck in the middle as collateral damage.

Quinn fought well. Ballet was a handy skill to have while fighting vampires. She ducked and pliéd, avoiding another vampire. She was trying to get to the wall and to a painting of Emrys displayed on it. To save the prince, she'd switch out his painting and hide it somewhere.

Reaching the wall, she pulled the artwork off with her good hand, ran, jumped, slid on her knees across the room, dodged vampires, and slid under a table concealed by a white tablecloth as fast as she could. Quinn plucked off the frame with her good hand, clutching her bad one to her chest and begging away the pain still shooting through it. Quinn clumsily rolled the art into a scroll. Then she flipped her skirts up, untied the other paintings, and added Emrys's to the pile before rolling them up again. With one hand filled with scrolls and the fakes in the crease of her elbow, she peered out from under the tablecloth.

Across the room was a gilded vase big enough to stash the real paintings. If she put them there, she could give the fake of Emrys back to Jevon. She shoved the real paintings underneath her stays before sliding out from under the table and navigating around the battle.

Quickly, she got to the vase, and with her broken, useless hand, she parted the white feathers stashed inside. Blocking the sight lines with her body, Quinn stuffed the paintings between the feathers.

Hopefully, that worked, and no one saw. Because if anyone noticed, she would be caught and in a far worse position than before.

But for now, the paintings were safe. Emrys's painting was safe! And that was all that mattered .

The only problem was that in hiding the real paintings, Quinn was forced to let go of Seren's, and she was now free and able to fight her. Quinn hated losing that control, but it had to be. It'd be worse if Jevon got his hands on that power. Besides, she hated the idea of taking someone's choices from them.

With her task complete, Quinn was finally able to breathe and clutch her broken hand to her chest.

But the battle wasn't over. Across the room, Giselle frantically searched the floor for something until . . .

Until her fingers slid onto an object. Quinn's heart leaped into a sissone jump as her best friend maneuvered the reflective stone and chandelier light. But the stone must've been too bloody because she frantically wiped it on her dress.

Finally, reflecting the light, she dragged it to the ignition spot, her fingers visibly trembling.

Quinn's heart exploded . . . or maybe it was the bombs because silver confetti erupted from the walls and fell from the ceiling like snow.

Giselle was successful, and warmth spread through Quinn's chest as pride swelled.

The effect was instant. As soon as the silver touched the vampires' skin, they screeched in guttural pain. It incapacitated the majority of them, but some tried to crawl and stumble away. Some passed out from the pain.

Every movement wrote agony across their faces.

Humans, on the other hand, were gorgon statues. Frozen in terror. Some even had puddles running from their suits. But they needed to get out. They needed to move. This was their chance—the chance to live.

Quinn screamed. "Everyone, run. Get out. You only have a short time." She yelled at the top of her lungs, her voice cracking with the effort. "Get out."

Almost as if waking from a dream, the humans snapped out of their daze and ran for safety. Quinn breathed. She did it. She couldn't save herself, but at least she could save them .

But her victory was short-lived by some terrible fate. Jevon stirred and clutched Seren's revolver. His neck wound was almost fully healed, and he pointed the gun first at Emrys and shot him through the chest.

The world stilled as Emrys crumpled.

Oh, wicked mirrors . Did it hit his heart? Did it matter if it had?

Quinn gasped in a quivering breath and stumbled over to him, dropping his fake painting at their feet. The bullet barely missed his heart, and Quinn rested her forehead against his as relief flowed through her. He was alive. The Playboy Prince, the bane of her existence and her friend and maybe more, would live.

He'd live . Thank the mirrors.

"Is he okay?" Giselle asked, appearing at Quinn's side.

Quinn gulped and stared at her best friend. "He'll live, but you have to get out of here, Giselle."

"I'll leave if you do." Giselle wiggled a brow at her best friend.

"You both need to leave," Emrys said, blood pouring from his mouth.

As Quinn clutched his agonized face with her good hand, Jevon let off another shot. This one hit Constance through the neck.

Kordelia screamed. As if urged by magic or an increase of adrenaline, Kordelia grasped Constance by the shoulders and slowly—painfully slowly—dragged her, presumedly to get her to starlight to heal the wound.

A third bullet rang through the room this time, hitting Seren in the forehead. Quinn's heart dropped to her toes. Could a vampire survive a silver bullet to the head? It wasn't her painting, so most likely, she'd be fine. Jevon aimed the gun at Giselle, and he slowly pulled the trigger.

"No," Quinn screamed, and without thinking, she pushed her best friend out of the way and pinched her eyes tight, bracing for impact.

Time stilled as the bullet sliced through her stomach before exiting and lodging into Emrys. At first, she felt nothing, just shock's tingles. Then the pain burst with a vengeance as it clawed at her insides. Fire filled her stomach, hot and wicked—an unlivable wound.

She clutched the bullet hole in her core, blood leaking through her fingers.

She needed to clog the bleeding, or she would certainly die from blood loss. Slowly, with her good hand, she pulled Emrys's cravat from around his neck and clumsily stuffed it into her bullet hole. It was excruciating.

"No." Jevon coughed in pain. "Not you."

Jevon's face paled, and his entire demeanor changed. As if a switch was pulled, and he was back to the version of himself that was her friend. He tapped his fingers against his thighs as horror settled into his features for a moment. "What have I done?" he asked, taking in the destruction. But like a light switch, the man turned, his body morphing again, allowing the monster inside him to have free reign. He cracked his neck and said, "So be it."

Quinn's focus turned back to her wound. There was nothing she could do to stop death's beckoning call. "Giselle, you need to leave, please."

"No," Giselle breathed.

"Find Francois and find safety, please. I beg you."

Sorrow played on Giselle's face as she nodded. Giselle wasn't foolish; she knew that she was a liability. She was the only living human left in the room and Jevon's only leverage left. "I trust you, okay." Tears leaked from her eyes. "I trust you to do what you need to do, but you better come back, or I'll travel to the afterlife and pull you back myself, and then I will kill you for doing this to me."

Quinn choked on a smile. "It's a deal."

"I love you, you foolish, awful friend."

"I know." Blood bubbled through Quinn' s lips. "I love you, too."

But as promised, Giselle quickly disappeared, as it was the only recourse left.

"Quinn." Emrys stroked her face with the back of his fingertips. "Drink, please."

"I—" Quinn started, but her head lulled to the side, too weak to drink anymore. Blood bubbled out from her wound too quickly, staining Emrys's expensive suit in crimson.

Emrys lifted her head back up to his wrist, but when she tried to drink again, she choked, no longer able to consume it.

"No," he breathed. "Not yet.

Quinn's eyes grew heaving, and her body began to hum with . . . magic. The blood seeping from her wound turned into liquid fire and gathered into magical cords that looked like thick yarn. The cords streamed together, folding, and forming and braiding into a picture of Quinn's face, dripping with a scarlet-iron liquid.

A blood painting.

"Stay with me, Quinnevere." Emrys's chestnut eyes stormed with a symphony of emotions, none of which she could decipher.

"I can't." Her lips touched his for one moment—one glorious moment—a sweet, broken kiss before her head lulled and became far too heavy to lift again. "It's rather unfortunate that I am going to die a human virgin."

All her energy evaporated as she collapsed into his chest.

A whimper escaped Emrys as his fingers held her limp and dying body. "Quinnevere, please stay with me." She was too weak to respond. "Stay with me, and I promise I will remedy your problem." They both knew his words were useless. They both knew it was too late for her human life.

Quinn let out a pathetic blood-coated laugh as her mind flooded with Emrys's pain—his thoughts—everything he wanted to say to her as her life force bubbled from her, and her breaths slowed. She pinched her eyes tight and fell into the comfort and warmth of his chest.

Emrys, I switched out your painting and hid it in a vase. She tried to send the thought through their connection, but she was unsure if it made it.

So was just too damn weak.

Too weak to do anything save count his heartbeats.

Beat . . .

Beat . . . beat . . . beat . . . beat . . .

Then shadows and death's cold, dark shackles consumed her.

And Quinnevere Ashelle was dead.