Pretty When She Destroys (Pretty When She Dies 3)

“Yes, but they won’t be able to with you at my side.”

“And if I say no?”

“I will kill them tonight. Sergio and his family in Wyoming. The Vezoraks in Spooner, Texas. Cian’s cabal in Austin.”

Raw rage coursed through Amaliya. How casually he threatened all those she loved. Releasing Bianca, she managed to spin about, gripping The Summoner’s neck in her hands. She could barely see him now, his eyes glowing in the blackness engulfing her. He wasn’t flesh and bone but something else that was nearly as tangible. The glow of his eyes barely illuminated his face but she could make out his sensuous lips, strong nose, and elegant brow. A sharp pang of need punctured her soul. No matter how evil and cruel he was, a piece of her always yearned for him. She tried to speak, but the torrent of conflicting emotions stilled her tongue.

“Etzli awaits your answer. By taking her into your home, you opened a pathway to my power. Already her witches, demons and jaguars are waiting to enter the house through the portal and slaughter them all.”

Bianca’s presence lingered at her side, but was silent. The great wings of Amaliya’s power sought solace in the darkness. If only she could feel the touch of Cian’s mind, or Samantha’s power. Instead, there was a small spark of familiarity.

Do as he says, Innocente’s voice whispered through her mind.

Amaliya’s fingers tightened against The Summoner’s throat, but had no effect. She wanted to rip his head from his shoulders so that she wouldn’t submit to him and give into the throbbing need she felt for him.

“Well? Shall I kill all you love? Shall I drag you back with me and tie you in silver chains? Or will you come willingly with me to rule at my side when the abyss consumes the world?” His fingertips slid over her body seductively.

Quivering, Amaliya cursed him, herself, and the world as a whole. A feral, wicked part of her wanted to plunge into his power. It angered and disgusted her.

“Do you love me?” Amaliya asked, the question coming unexpected from her lips. The spell played along the corners of her mouth, retreating while The Summoner waited.

“More than any other,” The Summoner answered.

Somewhere in the absolute dark, Bianca wept.

“You will let the others go. You will not hurt them.”

“As long as you are by my side, I will not hurt them.”

“Why do you want me?” This time the question was one she had been craving to ask for months. Ever since the night he had taken her out for coffee, then fucked and killed her.

“Because you’re chaos personified. Pure power. Dark and beautiful. You are perfectly destructive.”

The Summoner meant every word he said. She felt the truth resonating deep within her.

Do not run away, Amal.

Again, her grandmother’s voice, but no one else trapped in the icy dark heard it but her.

Unable to utter the words he wanted to hear, Amaliya seized upon the alternative. Releasing the dam that held back her deepest, most terrifying desires for The Summoner, the darkness, and death, she pressed her mouth against his. He wasn’t quite flesh, but he was corporeal enough to touch. The necromancer’s kiss was bitter ashes and blood. His tongue was cold and demanding. She attempted to slide her mouth from his when it became too much to endure, but he held her captive. Within her, the last bit of resistance broke apart and the magicks of both The Summoner and Bianca flooded into her. Weeping, she clung to The Summoner, her mouth devouring his hungrily.

This was what she had always feared in the recesses of her broken soul. That only in the absence of all that was light and good, would she find the place where she belonged.

The people gathered in the narrow hallway flinched when Cian slammed the door shut, cutting them off from the view of Etzli bound in silver and splayed out on the floor.

The ugly knot in Cassandra’s stomach had her on edge. Though a part of her was thrilled to see Etzli subdued and at their mercy, she was well aware of just how dangerous the situation actually was. Cassandra lightly touched her girlfriend’s hand seeking solace, but Aimee didn’t even look her way. The witch’s forehead was furrowed and her lips pressed into a tight line.

They weren’t the only ones ill at ease. Baptiste slid his hands slowly over his bald head, exhaling slowly. Benchley nervously scratched his nose, while his sister frowned at the tips of her battered sneakers. Jeff rubbed Samantha’s back gently, trying to soothe her, but the ugly scowl on her face did not disappear. Only Eduardo didn’t seem affected to what was about to occur. He leaned against the wall, tapping his fingers against it.

“Something’s gone wrong,” Aimee whispered.

“Yeah, we’re going all Guantanamo on Etzli,” Benchley answered.

Baptiste grimly dipped his head. “Not a good feeling.”

“Kinda like we’re the bad guys now,” Benchley agreed.

“No, that’s not it!” Aimee lifted her blue eyes and Cassandra saw stark fear in them. “Something is here!”