The War of Two Queens (Blood and Ash 4)

“Is that so?”

Callum nodded. “Nyktos and his Consort.”

I stared at him. “You’re that old?”

“I’m old enough to remember the way things used to be. Old enough to know when love is a strength or a weakness.”

“Don’t really care.”

“You should. Because it’s a weakness for you.” Those pale, unblinking eyes were unsettling as hell. “You know how?”

My lips peeled back. “I bet you’re going to tell me.”

“You should’ve fed from her when you had the chance,” he said. “You’re going to regret not doing that.”

“Wrong.” I’d never regret not jeopardizing Poppy’s safety. Never.

“We’ll see about that, too.” The Rev held my stare for a long moment and then moved.

He was quick. I jerked back at the sight of a glint of steel. There was nowhere to go. My reflexes were shit—

Pain exploded in my chest, taking with it the air in my lungs in a fiery wave. A metallic taste immediately filled my mouth. I looked down to see a dagger deep in the center of my chest and red everywhere, coursing down my stomach.

I lifted my head, biting out, “Missed my heart, dumbass.”

“I know.” The Rev smiled, yanking the dagger free. I grunted. “Tell me, Your Majesty. What happens to an Atlantian when there’s no more blood coursing through their veins?”

The wound felt like it was on fire, but my insides were drenched in ice. My heart gave a sluggish lurch. Bloodlust. Complete and absolute. That’s what happened.

“I hear it makes one as monstrous as a Craven.” Rising, he lifted the dagger to his mouth and ran his tongue along the blood-soaked blade. “Good luck.”

Chapter 28

Poppy

I want to see every Atlantian dead.

A cold press of unease slid down my spine as I locked eyes with the Blood Queen. “Even Malik?”

“Even him.” She sipped her champagne. “That doesn’t mean I will see him dead. Or your beloved. I need you to work with me. Not against me. Killing either of them would only hinder what I want. He”—she pointed her glass toward the cluster surrounding Malik—“and his brother will survive my wrath. I have nothing against the wolven. They too may live on as they please, but the rest? They will die. Not because I blame them for what was done to me. I know they had no role in Malec’s entombment or our son’s death. I don’t even truly blame Eloana.”

“Really?” I said doubtfully.

“Don’t get me wrong. I loathe that woman and have something very special planned for her, but she’s not the one who allowed this to happen. I know who is truly responsible.”

“Who is that?”

“Nyktos.”

I drew back, stunned. “You…you blame Nyktos?”

“Who else would I blame? Malec wanted the heartmate trials. He called for his father. Even asleep, Nyktos would’ve heard him. He answered, and he refused,” she told me, and another wave of disbelief crashed through me. “Because of that, Malec Ascended me. And you know what happened next. I don’t just blame Eloana or Valyn. I blame Nyktos. He could’ve prevented all of this.”

Nyktos. He really could have. But for him not to grant his son something like that after seeing what’d happened when he refused it before, and the god had died, didn’t make sense. “Why would he refuse?”

“I don’t know.” She glanced down at her diamond ring. “If Malec knew, he never shared. But the why doesn’t matter now, does it?” The skin at the corners of her mouth tensed. “Nyktos caused this.”

Preventing what had happened and being the root cause were two very different things. Isbeth blamed others for everything she did. Her ability to avoid accountability was shockingly impressive.

“I don’t see how you think you can actually achieve revenge against the Primal of Life,” I said.

Her laugh was as light as chimes as she brushed a thick ringlet from her cheek. “Nyktos appreciates all manner of life, but he is particularly fond of the Atlantians. Their creation was a result of the heartmate trials—the product of love. Malec once told me his father even saw the Atlantians as his children. Their loss will deliver the kind of justice I seek.”

I thought that, perhaps, she was far more out of her mind than I had previously believed. “And you think I will somehow help you kill hundreds of thousands of people? Is that what you want from me?”

“You already have.”

“I have done no such thing—”

“You haven’t?”

Clutching the arms of the chair, I leaned toward her. “What exactly do you think I’ve done or will do?”

“Your anger. Your passion. Your sense of right and wrong. Your love. Your power. All of it. At the end of the day, you are just like me. You will do what you were born to do, my dear daughter.” She raised her glass to me. “You will bring death to my enemies.”

All you will liberate is death.

Sucking in a sharp breath, I jerked back from her. She spoke as if I had no choice. As if this were preordained, and some words spoken eons ago outweighed my free will.