Pretty When She Destroys (Pretty When She Dies 3)

“Oh, my. Still a sore spot?” Bianca’s blue eyes widened. “What else did you expect me to do after she helped kill me?”

“I did kill you.”

The Summoner’s expression darkened. “True. But I want you.”

Amaliya frowned at the words. “I thought you ditched Rachon because she put family first. Why do I get a pass?”

“Because I’ve always wanted you. Even before I took on the persona of that unfortunate professor, I knew I wanted you. The history of your family is fascinating. Do you even know that every firstborn daughter of your family is a powerful medium?”

“My mother wasn’t,” Amaliya said with defiance.

“Yes, she was. They all were. But they all started hiding from the truth of their natures much like you did when you were a little girl.”

“You know nothing about me!” The denial flew from her before she could swallow it down. Even as she said the words, she knew it wasn’t the truth. She actually feared he knew too much about her. He’d spent a lot of time observing her while she sat in his class, and he had probably watched her from afar when she hadn’t even been aware of his presence. Obviously, he had also known about her grandmother and Bianca’s mothe

r, which mean he had researched their families.

The Summoner chuckled. “I know much more than you know.”

Amaliya dared to give him a sharp look. For a brief second she thought she saw Bianca lingering in the shadow of her own body. “What do you know then?”

Drawing close, The Summoner said, “You’re afraid that you really do belong with me.”

“Fuck you.” Amaliya tried to pull away, but the grip on her body did not relent. She hated how easily he could read her.

“Rachon is merely a vampire. You are much more than that and you know it. Once you fully embrace your new, true nature, your pathetic attachments will dissolve. You will soon understand your rightful place.”

Amaliya certainly did not like being told who she was or where she belonged. It hadn’t worked when her family, society, and religion had tried to do that. It wasn’t about to work now, but she kept silent.

The Summoner directed her up a winding staircase with an ornate wrought iron railing. Their footfalls on the marble steps echoed through a large foyer. Somewhere, deep in the house, someone screamed in pain.

“You were inside Etzli,” Amaliya said as they climbed. Her mind was still piecing the events of the night together.

“Yes. Hidden inside, waiting.”

“You knew we were hoping to ambush your people.”

“Yes. Of course. It was obvious. I laid out a trap for you that would be very apparent, so you would lay a trap for me.”

“Which was the real trap.” Amaliya realized how foolish they had been. The Summoner loved to play games with people’s lives. He had easily maneuvered them into delivering him straight into their haven. “How did you open the portal? Oh, wait. Of course. The portal spell was inside Etzli, too.”

“See. You’re clever.” Bianca’s face proudly beamed at her.

“And somehow you were able to connect the portal here...” Amaliya pondered what she had seen when she had arrived. The dark red designs were significant. “Blood?”

“Santos and Etzli are related by blood.”

“So you formed a bridge through their blood.” Amaliya pressed a hand to her forehead. Of course. She had smelled blood when she exited the portal. It was Santos’ blood that had created the portal. “We were so stupid.”

“You’re children,” The Summoner said with a sigh. “Mere children.”

Guiding her through a set of doors, they entered into an enormous bedroom. It wasn’t furnished except for a massive bed covered in ivory silk bedding and an antique table in one corner. As soon as they stepped over the threshold, Amaliya’s head swam and her body sagged. The air throbbed with malevolent energy. The pulse of the magic surged against her body in potent waves. Feeling disoriented, she staggered as The Summoner drew her to the table. Resting on the surface was a length of red velvet with twelve gold rings sitting upon it in a glittering row.

“Oh, God,” Amaliya gasped.

“There is no god here other than you, me, and Bianca.” The Summoner’s voice was male, strong, and exactly like her nightmares.

Daring to look at him, she saw his true form transposed over Bianca’s. The double image wavered, but maintained itself. The doors to the room thumped shut as the light overhead fell dark.