36. Torin

36

TORIN

I come to slowly, feeling like I’ve been drained dry and left out in the sun. Every cell in my body aches with a bone-deep weariness I’ve never experienced before. I blink my eyes open, wincing at the brightness of the coming dawn.

Memories flood back in a painful reenactment. The ritual, Ivy’s scattered form, the blood sacrifice. I look down at my wrist, seeing the deep gash has barely started to heal. That’s not right. I should have regenerated by now. My thirst for blood is heightened and I feel a rampage coming on.

Groaning, I push myself up to sit. The world spins sickeningly, and I have to close my eyes for a moment to keep from vomiting. When I open them again, I take in the scene around me.

The ritual circle is scorched into the grass, still faintly glowing with residual energy. Bram lies unconscious nearby, his skin ashen and covered in what looks like black veins. Tate is curled in on himself, face contorted in pain even in unconsciousness.

Ivy is gone.

Panic surges through me. “Ivy!” I call out, my voice is hoarse and weak.

“She’s inside,” Cathy says, coming closer. “She’s resting. Here, thought you might need this.”

She holds out a blood bag, and I snatch it from her, ripping into it and guzzling it back ravenously.

I drain the blood bag in seconds, feeling some of my strength return. But it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.

“More,” I growl, tossing the empty bag aside.

Cathy hands me another without comment. I tear into it, drinking greedily. As the blood flows through me, I feel my body slowly start to repair itself. The gash on my wrist closes, though far more slowly than it should.

“How is she?” I ask between gulps. “Did it work?”

Cathy’s expression is grim. “She’s alive and whole, physically, at least. But her mind...” She trails off, shaking her head.

Cold dread settles in my stomach. “What do you mean?”

“She doesn’t remember anything,” Cathy says softly. “Not who she is, not who we are. It’s like her memories were scattered along with her essence. She can speak, she knows words and what things are, but the rest… is gone.”

“Fuck. How can we help her?”

“Right now, we need to focus on getting everyone stable. You three pushed yourselves to the brink with that ritual. There will be magickal consequences as well as official ones. What you did was illegal in every sense the Office of Magickal Law and Order has.”

“Who gives a shit about that? As long as Ivy is here, we will deal with anything else.”

Bram stirs with a pained groan. His eyes flutter open, revealing inky black orbs. “Fuck,” he rasps. “Did it work?”

I nod grimly. “She’s alive. But there are complications.”

Bram struggles to sit up, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. “What kind of complications?” he asks, his voice raw.

“She doesn’t remember anything,” I explain, feeling a hollow ache in my chest. “Not who she is, not who we are.”

“Shit,” Bram mutters. He looks down at his hands, flexing his fingers. “My magick is dead.”

“Dead dead or needs a recharge?”

He shrugs. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“The ritual exacted a heavy price from all of you,” Cathy says grimly. “It’ll take time to recover, if you ever fully do.”

I glance over at Tate, who’s still unconscious. “What about him?”

Cathy shakes her head. “I don’t know. The spirit sacrifice... without knowing what he gave up, it’s harder to say what the consequences will be until he wakes up.”

Tate stirs as if he knew we were talking about him. His eyes snap open, unfocused and glazed with pain. He tries to speak but only manages a strangled groan, his gaze darting around wildly. “Ivy?” he croaks.

“She’s inside. She’s alive.”

Relief floods his face, but it’s quickly replaced by a blank look that sends up about a hundred red flags. He staggers to his feet, swaying roughly and nods. “That’s good then.”

His usual intensity when it comes to Ivy is completely absent. There’s no desperate rush to her side, no flood of questions about her condition. Just that blank look and flat acknowledgement.

“Tate,” I say carefully, “are you all right?”

He blinks at me, his expression mildly confused. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Bram and I exchange a worried glance. This isn’t right.

“Do you remember what happened?” Bram asks. “The ritual?”

Tate nods slowly. “We brought Ivy back. It worked.”

“And how do you feel about that?” I press.

He shrugs. “It’s fine, I suppose. She’s important.”

Important? Just important? This is the man who would burn down the world for Ivy without hesitation. Something is very wrong.

Cathy purses her lips as she gives me a look that screams this is all wrong. “Tate,” Cathy says gently, “what exactly did you sacrifice for the ritual?”

He furrows his brow, thinking. “I... I’m not sure. Something important, I think. But it’s fine. We got Ivy back.”

The hollow feeling in my chest deepens. Whatever it was has taken something from him that is making him act this way now. But what?

“Do you still have your magick?”

He holds out his hand, and a spark flickers to life. It’s not as bright as usual, but it’s more than Bram has. “Good stuff,” I murmur, but if he didn’t give up his magick, what did he do?

“We should check on her,” Bram murmurs, struggling to his feet.

I nod and we follow Cathy into the house, Tate following almost robotically behind us. My instincts are screaming that something is very wrong with him, but I push that worry aside for now. Ivy is the priority.

Ignoring the part of the roof that has been smashed off, probably during the ritual, we enter the living room to find Ivy curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. She stirs as we approach, blinking up at us with confusion in her eyes.

“How are you feeling?” I ask gently, crouching down beside her.

She studies my face intently, brow furrowed. “I’m not sure. Everything feels strange. Who are you?”

The words hit me like a smack around the face with a wet fish. It hurts more than I expected.

“I’m Torin Ashford, a vampire,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. “We’re... friends.”

Her eyes flick to Bram and Tate. “And them?”

“Also friends,” Bram says. “I’m Bram, and that’s Tate.”

Ivy nods slowly, but there’s no recognition in her eyes. Just confusion and a hint of fear.

“Do you remember anything?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

She shakes her head. “It’s all jumbled. I get flashes, but nothing makes sense. Cathy says I’m Ivy Hammond, but...” She trails off, looking lost.

“But what?” I prompt gently, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.

Ivy looks down, fiddling with the edge of the blanket. “But it doesn’t feel right. Like it’s someone else’s name. Someone else’s life.”

My heart clenches painfully. I want to gather her in my arms, to tell her everything will be okay. But I can’t. Not when she doesn’t even know who I am.

“It’ll take time,” Cathy says softly. “Your mind and body have been through a tremendous ordeal.”

Ivy nods, but she still looks lost and confused. Her gaze drifts to Tate, who’s standing back from the group, his expression oddly blank. “I think I need to rest now.”

“Good idea,” I say and tug up the blanket, tucking her in. I don’t want to risk moving her to a bed just yet. She looks like she would shatter into a million pieces if we even breathed too hard on her.

She closes her eyes, and I see her breathing regulate and deepen, and I feel relieved that I don’t have to interact with her anymore. I feel terrible for thinking that, but this is a situation which is disturbing, and I don’t really know what to say or how to act. I’m exhausted and hungry for blood, and my mind isn’t as sharp as it usually is.

We retreat to the kitchen, leaving Ivy to rest. The silence is heavy, filled with unspoken fears and questions. Cathy busies herself making coffee, though I doubt any of us really want it. She retrieves another blood bag from the mini fridge and chucks it at me. I don’t ask why she has a stash… I don’t want to know, truth be told.

Snatching it out of the air, I shoot her a grateful smile. She grimaces at me and goes back to making coffee.

“What the fuck do we do now?” Bram asks quietly, slumping into a chair. He looks utterly drained, the black veins still visible beneath his pale skin.

I shake my head, at a loss. “I don’t know. We brought her back, but...” I trail off, unable to finish the thought.

“But at what cost?” Cathy finishes grimly, setting a mug of coffee in front of Bram. “To her and to all of you.”

My gaze drifts to Tate, who’s staring blankly out the window. His lack of reaction to Ivy’s condition is deeply unsettling. “Tate,” I say carefully. “How are you feeling?”

He turns to me, his expression neutral. “I’m fine. Why do you keep asking?”

“Because you’re not acting like yourself,” Bram snaps. “Ivy doesn’t remember us, and you’re just standing there like it doesn’t matter!”

Tate blinks, looking mildly confused. “Of course it matters. But we brought her back. That was the goal, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but...” I start but trail off. This is pointless. It is like arguing with AI. “Tate, what exactly did you sacrifice for the ritual?” I ask, desperate to understand what’s happened to him. We have enough on our plate without needing to fix him as well.

He furrows his brow, thinking. “I told you already. I’m not sure. Something important, I think.”

I roll my eyes impatiently as he gives us that line again.

“Try to remember,” Bram urges. “It’s crucial we understand what’s been lost.”

Tate closes his eyes, concentrating. After a long moment, he opens them again, looking troubled. He trails off, shaking his head.

“What do you feel about Ivy now?” I ask, a sense of dread welling up as I think I might’ve just figured it out.

He shrugs. “She is Ivy.”

“And?” Bram grits out, seeming to get on the same page as me.

“And nothing.”

“Nothing? You feel nothing for her?”

Tate shrugs again and turns his back on us to stare out of the window again.

“Your love,” I whisper. “You sacrificed your love for her.”

Bram’s face is a vicious scowl as he comes to the same conclusion as me. “Fuck. That’s why he’s so detached. He literally can’t feel what he felt before.”

“Love?” Tate murmurs. “It’s just blank.”

The enormity of what’s happened settles over us like a suffocating blanket. Ivy has no memories, Tate has no feelings for her, Bram is potentially stripped of his magick, Cathy is stashing blood bags, and me... I’m not even sure of the full extent of what I’ve lost yet, and I’m not sure I’m ready to find out.