Chapter 48

Forty-Eight

D eath's haunting voice played in her mind, and his fingers curled into wisping shadow ropes. They snaked around her body and imprisoned her. Ice slid into her veins. Cutting and freezing. Changing her.

Rebirthing her.

Her body shifted and melted into something new—something stronger . But not better. This body had a constant hunger, an all-consuming appetite that ate away at her rational thought. It sank its fangs into her core. Hunger boiled and bubbled.

All she wanted to do was devour a human, taste the rich, thick, intoxicating liquid. She wanted to soak in it. Bathe in it.

Her gums hurt, and she opened her mouth, sensing and smelling the iron coating the room. Even the air tasted like blood.

And she needed to consume it now.

Her eyes flared open, and she sat up quickly. Pain pricked at the back of her neck and turned into agony, encasing her entire body.

"Silver ." She growled.

A guttural hissing feeling rose in her belly.

Bodies caked the floor, mingling with a river of blood and silver rained from the heavens—no, not the heavens, the ceiling. It would have been beautiful if it wasn't so agonizing.

With a cupped hand, she swiped blood from the floor and poured it into her mouth. It tasted like heaven and crushed fantasies. Her hunger became frantic as she tried to get as much blood as possible, drinking from the floor and dead bodies both. She didn't care. The hunger was untamable. Nothing would be enough.

Nothing would satisfy—

Fingers clutched her face. Who was that pretty, perfect man with the brown eyes and horrified expression?

Quinn knew that man . . .

And then it hit her. Everything. Every memory stolen from her by compulsion, her life, her dreams . . . everything danced in her mind.

"Oh, Emrys," she breathed and cupped his face between her hands. The man was her Emrys.

Well . . . maybe not hers—not now. But maybe one day he could be hers?

"Emrys," she whispered again, meeting his eyes. "I—"

"Come here, Quinny," Jevon demanded, holding her blood painting—created when she'd died. He twisted its compulsion powers and made her do his bidding. She felt it in her bones, but instead of fighting it, she let it sink in. She would comply, just not quite yet.

First, she wanted her Playboy Prince.

Facing Emrys for a final time, she pulled his lips into hers and kissed him with all the fire and passion in her heart. He tasted of sorrow and broken promises. It was not a kiss to end all kisses, but it was hers. For one moment, be it a tiny second in a sea of entirety, she would have Emrys Avalon. He'd be hers, and she'd be his. And it would be the memory she held and grasped onto in the darkness to come.

But the kiss didn't last long. It couldn't. She was not his. And she would never be if Jevon had anything to do with it .

"I'm sorry." Her voice lingered in the air.

Emrys looked like death. His expression said a thousand words: I am sorry. I ruined everything. I am a monster.

Quinn turned and slowly and painfully crawled to Jevon. In the process, she passed Seren's unconscious body. But her chest still moved up and down despite the bullet piercing her skull.

She would survive.

And that bred hope.

Because somewhere deep down inside, Quinn knew that Seren could change, and maybe she already had.

When Quinn finally reached Jevon, he leaned down and hauled her up by her chin. "You are such a troublesome brat, but perhaps you'll be a useful one of these days. But first, I am going to make you watch your lover die."

What?

Jevon tipped her chin to catch Emrys's gaze. He was bound at their feet, blood still pooling from his wounds.

Quinn's heart burst, and she turned a begging gaze on Jevon, "No, please."

Jevon dropped her chin. "You will not intervene." The compulsion captured her bones, her body, and her soul, and she could do nothing but watch what happened next.

Jevon—or Gideon or whoever he was—pulled out his hand mirror and placed her painting inside while trading for Emrys's painting. Wasting no time, Jevon ripped the prince's painting in half. Emrys jerked, kneeling among a sea of death, blood still streaming from his wounds. With a feral smile, Jevon ripped it again and again. Emrys clasped onto all fours, his suffering immense.

It couldn't be real. She'd switched his painting. Hadn't she? Had Jevon discovered the vase? Emrys was just faking it, right? It had to be, but it felt so real. It seemed so real.

Was it real?

She didn't know anymore.

She had no idea how long she'd been dead. Jevon could have found the real paintings. An anchor dropped in her stomach, and the vein in her neck pulsed.

Once Jevon sprinkled the pieces of the painting on the floor, he set them on fire.

"No!" Quinn screamed and fell to her knees watching, unable to do anything. Every bone in her body ached, and silent tears cascaded from her cheeks.

The room smelled of smoke and curses.

Emrys dissolved slowly into ash as each of the pieces of his painting disintegrated. The ash from both the canvas and the dead body swirled into an enchanted tornado and crystallized. Sparkling and glittering with glory and power.

It crystallized into silver-glass, forming a—

Quinn gasped, and her body trembled.

It couldn't be, but there was no denying that where Emrys's body once lay was a sparkling mirror. An enchanted mirror.

Shock radiated through her.

Vampires became mirrors when they died.

"Destroy it, Quinny," Jevon said, hovering above her ear. "Destroy his mirror. End him forever."

Quinnevere Ashelle fought the compulsion with every ounce of her energy, with all her strength and all her soul, but even she was no match for a painting compulsion.

The beast in her chest returned and captured all of her strength. The sound of her heart's furious beats was the only thing she heard and focused on as she hauled the mirror up with her vampiric strength and hurled it to the floor. As it shattered, she fell to her knees, her glass heart shattering with it.

Slyly, she grasped a piece between her fingers and slipped it into her corset as the mirror shards vanished into the night.

Quinn glanced down at her fingers, which were now stained azure blue—a murderous blue.

Five prophecies were now true. The Mirror of Untamed Terror's prophecies were written into existence like a curse.

Her feet bore no calluses .

She publicly showed her emotions to all who could see.

She died.

She was a vampire.

And Emrys Avalon was dead.

Quinn's hair wept a dark indigo color and was coated with her devastation. The curse from Periwinkle was still fully intact even though she was a full-blooded vampire.

Then it hit her: Periwinkle's six nonsensical words about the vampire motto suddenly made sense.

Vampires were Mirror-Gods, and Peri had been trying to tell Quinn all this time.

With Every Death, We Grow Stronger .