The Van Alen Legacy

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, his fangs sharp and white, the edges as thin and dangerous as a razor.

“Please, Jack,” Schuyler said. She closed her eyes. “Do it now!”

In answer, Jack sunk his fangs into the base of her neck, and Schuyler bit her lip at the sudden intrusion. She had not expected it to hurt so much—was this what the humans experienced? This dizzying sense of otherness, of sweet relief and exquisite pain, as a vampire sucked the life force out of them? She had never felt closer to Jack in her life. It was as if he were touching every part of her—as if their very souls were merging in the blood exchange—as if he were opening every secret she’d ever had—as if he knew every last bit of her . . . tasting and reveling in it. . . .

She swooned. . . .

Dark and lovely and precious . . . so sweet . . . so sweet . . . so sweet . . .





SIXTY-SIX

Bliss


The Visitor had returned. He sounded manic, hysterical, barking orders that she did not understand. Bliss was groggy. The demon had knocked her out when she’d tried to help Schuyler, and now her head was throbbing.

WAKE UP, CHILD! GO! THIS IS YOUR CHANCE!

What . . . what did he want? What was happening? She looked around. In the middle of the aisle, Schuyler was holding Jack in her arms, like a Pieta.

She stumbled forward, still holding her bouquet. What was Schuyler doing with Jack Force? Jack was supposed to be bonded. But no, Schuyler had never followed any of the rules. The Code of the Vampires had never applied to her. What had the Visitor called her? Selfish. Unremarkable. A false friend.

Bliss felt so lost and alone. Maybe the Visitor was right.

Maybe he was the only person she could really trust. Her mother had not even bothered to wait for her, to see her, to speak to the daughter who needed her so badly. As for Dylan, well, maybe he was false too—had he really disappeared? Was he really being held? He had been able to break through before—what was stopping him now?

There was nothing to stop her.

Maybe the Visitor was right. She couldn’t think anymore; she couldn’t see straight. All she knew was that she was so tired of listening to the voice in her head. She was so very tired of fighting.

Do it!

DO IT!

KILL HER!

So very, very tired of resisting and being good . . . And maybe if she did what he wanted, he would stop torturing her. Maybe if she did what he wanted, she would finally have peace. . . .

Bliss walked over to where Schuyler was sitting and removed the shard of glass from her bouquet.





SIXTY-SEVEN

Schuyler


You’re going to be all right,” Schuyler murmured. Jack lay asleep in her arms. She knew he would live. She could feel it. Her blood would save him. It was the only thing that would save him. It would bring life back to his body and fight the black fire from Leviathan’s blade.

She looked around the empty church. Mimi had not yet returned. Her former nemesis had looked broken and lost. Something had happened back there, down in the glom.

Schuyler hugged Jack tighter, but then heard footsteps. Someone was headed her way. Someone was standing— looming—in front of her.

“Bliss, what are you doing?” Schuyler cried. Her friend looked like a witch, with her wild red hair and her torn black dress, holding something shiny and ominous in her hand.

“I’m so sorry, Schuyler. I’m so sorry,” Bliss sobbed.

Schuyler moved Jack so that he would be safe. She stood up and covered him protectively. “Bliss, put down the knife.”

“I can’t . . . I have to,” Bliss whimpered. “I’m sorry but I have to.”

“What do you mean? What’s going on? What’s happened to you?”

“My father . . . he’s in my head. He tells me things. He says I have to do this or I’ll never see Dylan again.”

“Your father?” Schuyler asked. But she already knew the answer to her question. What had Cordelia once told her? We fear one of our oldest families is harboring the Dark Prince himself. We don’t know how and we don’t know who, but we suspect the betrayal is at the highest level of the Conclave. Bliss Llewellyn was the Silver Blood all along. Bliss carried Lucifer in her. Then Schuyler remembered something Lawrence had told her as well: Your sister will be our death. Bliss was her hidden sister. Bliss was born to kill her.

“No, Bliss, you don’t have to . . . I can help you. We can do something about it. You don’t have to do what he tells you.”

Bliss did not respond. Instead she lunged at Schuyler, who ducked just in time. But Bliss caught the hem of Schuyler’s skirt and dragged her down. Schuyler could feel the blade start to inch its way toward her chest. This was it . . . Jack had risked his life for her and she for him . . . but it was all for nothing. How could she have not known?

“Bliss! Please!” Schuyler sobbed. “Don’t!”

Bliss held the blade above Schuyler’s heart, an inch from her chest, but at the last moment, she hesitated.