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  • Home > Anne Bishop > Black Jewels > Heir to the Shadows (Chapter 170)      Page
  • Heir to the Shadows(Black Jewels,Book 2)(170) by Anne Bishop
  • She wore nothing but the Black Jewel around her neck.

    He could understand why. Even her underclothes wouldn't have fit. All the muscle, all the feminine curves she'd gained over the past year were gone. Having no other source of fuel, her body had consumed itself in its struggle to be the receptacle for the power within. Bones pressed against pale, damp, blood-streaked skin. He could count her ribs, could see her hipbones move as she shifted her feet. Her golden hair was dark and stiff with the blood that must have been on her hands when she ran her fingers through it.

    Despite that, or perhaps because of it, her face was strangely compelling. Her youth had been consumed in the healing fire, leaving her with a timeless, ageless beauty that suited her ancient, haunted sapphire eyes. It looked like an exquisite mask that would never again be touched by living concerns. •

    Then the mask shattered. Her grief and rage flooded through him, sending him careening against the building.

    Lucivar grabbed the corner and hung on with a desperation rapidly being consumed by overwhelming fear.

    The world spun with sick speed, spun in tighter and tighter spirals, dragging at his mind, threatening to tear him away from any sane anchor. Faster and faster. Deeper and deeper.

    Spirals. Saetan had told him something about spirals, but he couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

    His shield broke, its energy sucked down into the spiral. The witch storm got pulled in, too, its psychic threads snapping as it tried to remain anchored around the building.

    Faster and faster, deeper and deeper, and then the dark power rose out of the abyss, roaring past him with a speed that froze his mind.

    Lucivar jerked away from the building and staggered toward Jaenelle. Down. He had to get her down on the ground, had to—


    Pop pop.

    Pop pop pop pop pop.

    "mother night!"Adler screamed, pointing toward the hills.

    Lucivar wrenched a muscle in his neck as he snapped his head toward the sound of Jhinka bodies exploding.

    Another surge of dark power flashed through what was left of the witch storm's psychic threads. They flared, blackened, disappeared.

    He thought he heard a faint scream.

    Pop pop pop.

    Pop pop.


    It took her thirty seconds to destroy six thousand Jhinka.

    She didn't look at anyone. She just turned around and started walking slowly, stiffly toward the other end of the village.

    Lucivar tried to tell her to wait for him, but his voice wouldn't work. He tried to get to his feet, not sure how he'd ended up on his knees, but his legs felt like jelly.

    He finally remembered what Saetan had told him about spirals.

    He didn't fear her but, Hell's fire, he wanted to know what had set her off so that he had some idea of how to deal with her.

    Hands pulled at his arm.

    Randahl, looking gray-skinned and sick, helped him get to his feet.

    They were both panting from the effort it took to reach the building and brace themselves against the stone wall.

    Randahl rubbed his eyes. His mouth trembled. "The boy died," he said hoarsely. "She'd just finished healing the last landen. Hell's fire, Yaslana, she healed all three hundred of them. Three hundred in three days. She was swaying on her feet. Mari was telling her she had to sit down, had to rest. She shook her head and stumbled over to where Khevin was lying, and . . . and he just smiled at her and died. Gone. Completely gone. Not even a whisper of him left."

    Lucivar closed his eyes. He'd think about the dead later. There were still things that needed to be done for the living. "Are you strong enough to send a message to Agio?"

  • Romance | Fantasy | Vampire