Page 137 of Eternal Devotion

Mordecai

I secured my palm under the lip of the lid and heaved it up and off without a hitch. The stone slab fell with a thunderous crash, vibrating my insides and cracking in half when it hit the floor.

I laid eyes on my uncle’s desiccated body for the first time in over a year. He was drained, depleted to the point of mummification. His skin, shriveled and dry, had grown discolored and tough as leather. It clung to his bones, making their sharp angles stand out. I did not expect his eyes to be open, but they were. Their flaming black pits boiled with anger and burned with revenge. Apart from those bleak and unnerving windows, he looked dead.

But he was not dead. Rather, he had not succumbed to the final death. He was in stasis. A torpor that required the blood of kin or that of a superior elder to properly revive him. I was not superior, but I was kin. A lesser source would cause an unstoppable frenzy.

Removing the wards must have started the process or stirred something deep within the old vampire for he seemed semi-aware, if not fully awake.

Concentrating on the task at hand, distracted by what I must do, I failed to register Ensley’s presence. It was my fault. I’d acted immediately, eager to be finished. I hadn’t given him time to escape. Of course he was curious. Of course he glanced back in his retreat.

Human curiosity was a powerful thing, and my boyfriend, who had spent a lifetime engaged in fantasy gaming, couldn’t fight the pull to steal one simple look.

Only when the beam of his flashlight shone upon Iulian’s face did I realize he was still in the room.

“Holy fuck. Is he dead?”

I jolted, alarmed not only at Ensley’s presence but at his proximity at my elbow. Before I could shout for him to fall back, to get out like I told him, the mummified corpse of my uncle stirred.

First his nostrils twitched, then his eyes, no longer fixed on the middle distance, shifted to the man I’d fallen hopelessly in love with.

That was all the warning I got.

Our plan was supposed to be as follows: the lights were meant to be Ensley’s final task. Upon extinguishing them, he should have run into the tunnel and rendezvoused with Cristofer. Cristofer, upon seeing the extinguished lights, was meant to send the hunters he was controlling to the surface. Ensley should have been on their tail. He should have been the final person up the ladder. He should have closed the trapdoor and covered it with garlic blossoms.

He should have been far, far away.

All the humans on the eyot should have been protected from Iulian’s influence.

Cristofer was not in danger. His blood was of low quality. Mine was essential for the elder’s sanity to be restored. Without it, he would frenzy and seek the closest source of fresh blood.

Over a year without feeding had made him ravenous. Under ordinary circumstances—not that anything about this was ordinary—I should have been the one to wake him with an offering of blood directly from my body.

The dominoes did not fall as they should have.

Ensley did not run when the lights were extinguished.

He was not in the tunnel to ascend with the others as planned.

He had cut his knuckles trying to remove the sarcophagus lid and was actively bleeding.

Iulian’s severely depraved body scented the fresh blood, and it roused him from slumber. I did not have time to gain the upper hand. A piercing, inhuman shriek filled the air. A wail so shrill and ugly it vibrated in my teeth and echoed in my bones. It traveled far and wide, toppling anything not bolted down. The earth quaked. The water in the Sydenham rippled with the effect. The cross, precariously tied off, creaked and swayed.

The concrete beneath my feet cracked.

No one on the island escaped its reach. I heard panic from the men above ground.

As the residual scream reverberated off the walls, I threw myself on top of the elder, shouting, “Run, Ensley. Cristofer! Get him out. Help him.”

Iulian might have been drained to the point of mummification, his bones might have been brittle, and his leathery skin might have lacked flexibility, but none of it stopped him. His strength came from the utmost level of starvation. His power was ingrained for survival. His instincts were pure and predatory. The scent of Ensley’s blood had triggered a state of hysteria, and Iulian would tear apart the world to get at him.

He was my elder. Superior in every way, and I didn’t stand a chance at restraining him.

He tossed me aside like a sack of potatoes and lurched after Ensley at daunting speed. I hit the wall hard enough to crack bones, but I drew myself upright and made chase as those broken bones knit themselves back together. The pain was real, but my fear erased it all.

I had no hope of catching up.

Cristofer had snagged Ensley, and they had made it to the end of the tunnel, but the men above had barred the door. Ensley’s screams for help went unheard in the soundproof underground. For all Cristofer’s strength, he couldn’t break the lock on his own.