“Is that why you were late? Were you fucking him, Delara?” Trinity asked.
Everyone tensed as Delara’s eyes shot to Trinity and her back went ramrod straight. “Yes. Are you still fucking Waleron?”
Shit, that was what was between them.
Jedrik groaned and Anstice gasped.
Trinity’s laughter was husky and deep. “Ah, touché, my dear.”
“Trinity,” Waleron warned. “Why would Liam break our truce in order to obtain Abigail? Why does he care if she lives? He could have washed his hands of her when he discovered she was pregnant.”
Trinity slid her penetrating gaze from Delara to Waleron. “Abigail must never become a vampire.”
Waleron’s eyes narrowed.
“What are you hiding, Trinity?” Jedrik asked.
Trinity sent him a haughty look, her fingers tapping lightly on her thighs. “I demand to know where she is. I’ll have Mariana take her to the realm.”
“She’s in detox. You take her now, she’ll die,” Balen said.
“And the Wraiths will kill her if they find out,” Jedrik added.
Trinity remained silent and, for the first time since she entered the room, she appeared uneasy. “If Abigail has drunk from Liam, she must be taken to the realm. She must be killed.”
Jedrik stood, his eyes glaring at Trinity. “Bull friggin’ shit. Not happening.”
Waleron raised his hand and nodded to Trinity to continue.
“As you know, witches come into their powers on their twenty-fifth birthday. Abigail will have her mother Leona’s power.”
“And?” Kilter asked.
“Liam must know about it,” Trinity said.
“And what power is that, Trinity?” Kilter asked.
“She can turn water into blood,” Trinity announced.
“Holy fuck,” Jedrik said at the same time as Balen, Danni, and Keir swore under their breaths.
“And so Liam will have an endless supply if she turns,” Anstice murmured.
“When is her birthday?” Waleron asked.
Trinity paled, and it made her blood red lips stand out even more. “Yesterday.”
Waleron’s face turned deadly, brows lowering and eyes churning in swirls of ice blue and white with gold flecks. But it was the tattoo on his neck that had me clutching Kilter’s arm. The snake’s eyes turned blood red, and then it slithered around his neck.
“Damien,” Waleron said. And with that one word, he turned to mist, disappearing from the room.
“You stupid bitch,” Balen shouted. “Damien will give her water to ease the bloodthirst. She will turn.”
“Then Damien will have to kill her,” Trinity said. “As a vampire, Abigail will become Liam’s slave. That is unacceptable. An endless supply of blood will make him very powerful. Vampires around the world will come under his rule.”
“No shit,” Jedrik said, running his hand through his unruly curls. Suddenly, he jolted, his eyes widening. “You want her to Turn,” he shouted at Trinity. “Then you can wash your hands of her. You hated Leona for passing off her daughter to you. Your coven will be in constant danger with Abby’s ability just like Leona’s was. You want her to turn so we’ll kill her.” He leapt off the couch and went for Trinity.
THE EMOTIONAL TURMOIL OF the past months hit bottom the moment I woke mid-afternoon and felt coldness seep into my body. I scrambled off the bed and knelt on the floor, my fingers curled around Abby’s limp, cold hand.
“Fuck. No.”
I’d taken off for a few hours. Even got in the car and headed for the highway. For the airport. To go home. Drove an hour before I turned around and came back then sat in the car another hour before finally coming inside.
That’s when I crawled into bed and pulled her into my arms. She never woke, and now I knew why.
Nothing in my immortal life could prepare me for this single moment. Shallow, ragged breaths inhaled agonizingly slow then exhaled in long drawn-out crackled sighs. Her eyes remained closed, and my heart skipped a beat at the thought I might never see them again.
“Abbs, don’t give up,” I begged.
Lowering my head, I kissed the back of her cold, lifeless hand. Her pulse beat beneath my touch, but it hesitated and struggled with each thump. “Please.” It was a voice I didn’t recognize, tortured and desperate.
I couldn’t let her die. Not Abbs. Not when she’d made it this far.
But her will to live had slipped through her fingers. No, it was my fingers. It had been my responsibility to give her a reason to live. To fight.
Jesus. How did this happen? How did she become so important?
I lay my forehead on her arm, my grip on her hand tightening, afraid to let go, terrified that if I did, she’d slip from my grasp forever. But she had already. She was dying.