The sight reminds me of Finn’s chest and all those runes inked there. Does each represent someone he bonded with? A life he stole?
I push the thought from my mind. Tonight is about Sebastian and me. About us. “Do you have one too?”
Swallowing, he nods and turns our joined hands to show me the inked symbol on the inside of his wrist. “We are bonded.”
My vision blurs, and my knees go weak under me. “I think I need to sit down.”
Sebastian’s face pales, but he takes my arm and leads me to a chair just inside his chambers. “I’m going to need you to drink this,” he says, pulling a vial from a pouch at his side.
Pain stabs through my chest, and my lungs seize. “Sebastian . . .” I gasp and draw my knees to my chest as the pain rips through me again. “I think someone poisoned the wine.”
“I need you to drink.” He keeps a hand on my arm. When I’m able to open my eyes, he’s watching me, concern all over his handsome face. “I’m here, Abriella. I’m right here.”
“What’s happening to me?”
“It’s a reaction to the bond. Now drink.”
The pain rips through me. Sebastian’s lips are moving, but his words are little more than a soundtrack to my torture. I try to listen, try to focus on anything except this excruciating pain ripping me apart, but I can’t. I just want to sleep until the pain is gone.
The world flashes—bright with the sunset coming in from the balcony, then the comforting darkness of unconsciousness. Light, dark, light, dark. It’s like I’m being asked to choose—life and pain or relief and nothingness.
“Brie.”
I drag my eyes open.
Sebastian’s pressed the vial to my lips. “You’re dying. This is the only choice we have.”
“Dying?” I always imagined that death would seize me and pull me under. I never thought it would sink jagged claws into my chest and fight me down. I never imagined I’d have a chance to fight back.
“Please drink. The Potion of Life is the only way I can save you.” I hear his tears before I can force my eyes open long enough to see them. “For once in your life, stop being so damn stubborn.”
The Potion of Life.
The room spins. My lids are so heavy, and it’s hard to stay here when I want to slip away. Light or dark. Dark or light. Lark’s words echo behind the pain.
Next time she dies, it has to be during a bonding ceremony.
I see three paths before you. In each, the Banshee’s call is clear.
The vial is cool against my lips. If I drink, this pain ends? If I don’t drink, death awaits?
“Please.” Sebastian’s voice is a ragged sob. “This is the only way.” He’s hurting, and that’s worse than these claws tearing through me. I’d do anything to ease his pain, so I part my lips. I drink.
The potion is silky on my tongue and feels like it sends me flying. Every swallow pushes another claw from my chest, lifts me away from this pain.
“Good girl,” he whispers. “You have to drink it all. That’s my girl.”
With my last swallow, the claws are gone, and warmth races along my veins, then heat, then— “Sebastian!”
My veins flood with fire, and I writhe in his arms. Please gods, not fire. Anything but fire.
“What’s happening?” he asks.
“This is the transformation,” an unfamiliar female voice says. “One cannot become fae without some pain.”
“Fix it,” he growls. “Do something to save her from this agony.”
“Magic has a cost,” the female says. “And so does immortality. She must endure or the potion will not take. She must endure or you lose her forever.”
“I’m here,” he whispers. “I have you.”
But he doesn’t. Nothing can save me from this pain. Time lurches forward, then stands still. I see my childhood in a flash, relive the fire in slow motion. Time teases me as seconds pass, fly by, then holds me captive as it stills again.
The world goes black again. I push away from consciousness and welcome the darkness, wrapping myself in a soft blanket.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
THE STARS HAVE NEVER LOOKED SO BRIGHT, the night sky never such a velvety black. Cool night air whips around my skin, brushing across my ears and cheeks like the lightest, sweetest kisses.
A tall male with broad shoulders and dark curls has his back to me, his face tilted up to study the stars, as if he too depends on them for answers.
“Finn?”
When he turns to me, I’m struck anew by his beauty. He’s wearing a black shirt, the top two buttons undone, and his soft leather pants are as dark as the night beyond. Some distant thought nags at me. I’m not supposed to be here with him, but I can’t remember why . . .
“I think . . .” I look around us. There’s no landscape. Only vast night sky. “Is this real?”