“Blood,” Lemon said, “we just need a little of your blood.”
I took a step back, before gently lowering my sister to the floor. Straightening again I made my way across to the twins. They must have sensed my compliance, because they turned their backs on me and faced the compass. Knowing this could be my best chance, I slipped my hand beneath my shirt, my hand slick with Mischa’s blood. I could feel the spell on my skin. Laying my palm across it, I called for Braxton. Out loud and mentally. Just in case it required one or the other. Orange flipped her head around, looking first at me and then down the hall.
“Your friends can’t save you. Just give us what we want and no one else needs to get hurt.”
I trusted them about zero out of a million, so it was easy to ignore every word they shot at me. Braxton. I tried again, but … shit, something was wrong. The spell was still cold against my skin, and I knew if it had been activated I’d have felt heat. What the eff was going on? Louis would not have made a mistake. He said I needed to say the name of my mate, which was Braxton. So what was wrong?
“Blood!” Lemon was more demanding than her sister.
I flipped her off, and with a pounce quicker than a shifter cat, she had Mischa in her arms. “You want to see your sister suffer more? She still has one lung functioning, but maybe if she was drowning in her own blood, it would hurry you along.”
Shit. Fuck. Ass. Balls. Why had I put her on the ground? I needed free hands to fight, but I’d also let them have their only leverage back. I must have hit my head on the way in here or something. This time it was Lemon who had the knife in her hand, and as she lifted her arm to plunge it into the other side of Mischa’s body, I lurched forward.
“Stop!” I screamed. “Take my friggin’ blood, but you better hope that Mischa and I die after this, because I am making it my life mission to kill you both.”
I leveled a hard gaze on each of them so they knew how serious I was.
Orange snatched my right hand. I almost wrenched my arm back. Touching her was like touching poison ivy. My skin immediately itched. My palm burned as she slashed across the fleshy pad. Silver would keep this wound open for a lot longer. Blood immediately eased to the surface before spilling free.
Orange dragged me two steps to the wall and slammed that palm down onto the north groove in the compass. So this was what they meant by me being north. Damn jinn, and damn everyone else for not giving me more information.
Lemon took my sister’s hand and placed it on the south point. No need for a cut, Mischa was already bleeding everywhere. Then the twins sliced their own hands, the final blood for east and west. As the four of our palms sat in the divots on our compass, an unnatural wind flooded along the corridor. I shivered as the first icy strands touched me, and then gasped as it turned to a burning heat. It was as if two seasons had simultaneously flooded across the prison.
The twins started to chant, their words melodic, almost song-like: “Summon, arise, you are called. Be one, fulfill the curse, right the wrong. Bring back which was lost so long ago. Open the door to the inbetween.”
I did not like the sound of that one bit. I tried to yank my hand back, but it was as if my blood was the strongest glue in existence. The wind picked up, howling as it shifted between the iciest cold I’d ever felt to the heat of a hundred suns.
“Summon, arise, you are called. Larkspur!”
They finished on a shout and suddenly my palm was burning and I still couldn’t pull it away. I slipped my free hand onto my stomach again. I had to try the spell, I needed help.
This was about more than a freaking scepter, the power here was off the charts.
“Who are you calling?” I shouted. “Who is Larkspur?”
My hand was on Louis’ spell again, and as I asked my question I mentally screamed for Braxton. I needed him, I needed my mate. The spot on my stomach flared to life.
The compass image started to shake, the entire wall trembling. Just when I thought my arm was going to vibrate right off, I managed to wrench my hand free, cradling my burning palm. After a few moments, when the pain didn’t subside, I unclenched my hand and examined it.
What the shit?
Imprinted on my palm was the symbol that had been etched above the north divot, burned into my skin. Orange shoved me backwards. I hadn’t been expecting it and hit the deck hard. Mischa followed, tossed at me by Lemon.