Chapter 11 The Mark Burns
Lyra's POV
I run until my lungs burn.
The Crimson Spire's hallways blur past me—endless corridors of black marble and flickering candles. My hand presses against my collarbone where the mark throbs like a second heartbeat. The fabric of my white donor dress hides it, but I can feel it burning through my skin.
What did that vampire call it? A marking ritual?
My feet pound against cold stone as I race toward the exit. I need to get home. I need to see Stella. I need to—
A wave of emotion crashes into me that isn't mine.
Rage. Fear. Something else I can't name.
I stumble, catching myself against the wall. The feelings fade but don't disappear completely. They hum at the edge of my mind like a radio station I can't quite tune out.
What's happening to me?
"There you are!"
I spin around. Vivienne stands at the end of the corridor, her perfect hair still in place, her designer dress unmarked by a single wrinkle. My ex-best friend looks like she stepped out of a magazine. I probably look like I've been running from death.
Which, I realize with growing horror, I have been.
"You disappeared," Vivienne says, walking closer. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "After I said those things in the ballroom, you just vanished. I was worried."
Liar. Through whatever this connection is, I can feel that she's not worried at all. She's curious. Suspicious.
"I needed air," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "The party was... overwhelming."
"Overwhelming." Vivienne stops right in front of me. "Or were you looking for something? Someone, perhaps?"
My heart hammers. "I don't know what you mean."
"You were gone for almost an hour, Lyra. In a place where humans aren't allowed to wander freely." Her eyes narrow. "What were you really doing?"
The mark on my collarbone pulses with heat. I press my hand harder against it, trying to hide any sign that might show through the fabric. "Nothing. I got lost."
"Lost." Vivienne laughs, but it's not friendly. "You always were terrible at lying. Even back when we were friends."
The word 'friends' stings more than it should. We used to be close—before my mother died, before everything fell apart, before Vivienne decided that climbing the social ladder was more important than loyalty.
"I need to go," I say, stepping around her. "Stella's alone—"
Her hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist. Her grip is surprisingly strong. "Wait. There's something different about you." She leans closer, sniffing like a dog. "You smell like... magic. And blood. Fresh blood."
Panic floods through me. Can she sense what happened? Do humans who work with vampires develop abilities to detect their magic?
Another wave of emotion hits me—this time, it's warning. Danger. The feeling is so strong I gasp.
Then I realize: it's not my fear. It's his. Kaelen's.
The vampire prince is warning me through whatever bond we now share.
"I cut myself," I say quickly, pulling my wrist from Vivienne's grip. "In one of the corridors. That's all you smell."
"Show me."
"What?"
"Show me the cut." Vivienne's smile is sharp. "If that's all it is, you won't mind proving it."
My mind races. If I refuse, she'll know I'm hiding something. If I show her my hands—which have no cuts—she'll know I'm lying. And if she gets suspicious enough to report me to the Council...
The mark burns hotter. I can feel Kaelen's presence in my mind now, stronger than before. He's still in the Spire. Still dealing with the Council members who came to investigate.
Still in danger because of me.
"Fine," I say, holding out my palms. "See? Nothing serious. Just a small scratch that's already healing."
I'm gambling that in the dim candlelight, she won't look too closely. That her jealousy and spite will make her see what she wants to see—a pathetic, clumsy former friend who's still beneath her.
Vivienne examines my hands, frowning. "I could have sworn—"
"You were wrong," I interrupt. "Now if you'll excuse me, I really need to get home. Some of us have responsibilities."
The jab hits its mark. Vivienne's face flushes with anger. "At least I'm not selling my blood like livestock. At least I have dignity."
The words should hurt. Three years ago, they would have destroyed me. But after everything I've just experienced—the ritual, the mark, the vampire prince's cold fury—Vivienne's cruelty feels small. Petty.
"Dignity," I repeat softly. "Is that what you call being engaged to a vampire who treats you like a trophy? Who cheats on you with other donors while you pretend not to notice?"
Her hand comes up fast. The slap echoes through the corridor, sharp and shocking.
My cheek stings, but I don't give her the satisfaction of touching it. Instead, I meet her eyes—the eyes of someone who used to know all my secrets, who used to matter.
"Goodbye, Vivienne," I say. "I hope your dignity keeps you warm at night."
I walk away before she can respond. Behind me, I hear her breathing hard, probably trying to decide whether to chase after me or let me go.
She lets me go.
The cold night air hits my face like a blessing when I finally escape the Spire. Snow falls gently, coating the city in white. The Hollow—my neighborhood—is miles away, but I don't have money for transport. I'll have to walk.
The mark throbs with each step. Through it, I sense Kaelen's location like a compass pointing north. He's still inside the Spire. Still distant but somehow present in my mind.
How is this possible?
A car pulls up beside me, sleek and black with tinted windows. My blood turns to ice. Vampire cars always look like this—expensive, threatening, untouchable.
The window rolls down.
It's not a vampire inside. It's a human man wearing a driver's uniform. "Miss Thorne? Lord Nightshade sent me to escort you home."
"I didn't ask for—"
"He insisted," the driver says. "Said it wasn't safe for you to walk alone tonight."
Through the bond, I feel Kaelen's determination. He's protecting me even now, even though he made it clear in that chamber that I'm nothing but a problem to him.
Why?
I climb into the car because my feet hurt and my collarbone burns and I'm too tired to argue with a vampire's orders. The driver says nothing during the ride, but I catch him glancing at me in the rearview mirror. Curious. Worried.
Does he know what happened? Can he sense the magic clinging to me?
We pull up outside my apartment building—a crumbling structure that probably should have been condemned years ago. The driver opens my door like I'm someone important instead of a blood donor who can barely afford rent.
"Lord Nightshade asked me to give you this," he says, handing me a sealed envelope.
Then he's gone, the car disappearing into the snowy night like it was never there.
I stand on the sidewalk, holding the envelope. Through the bond, I feel Kaelen's anxiety. He's worried about what I'll do. How I'll react.
The mark pulses again, stronger now. It spreads warmth through my chest that has nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with connection.
I tear open the envelope. Inside is a note written in elegant handwriting:
Tomorrow. Midnight. The address below. Come alone.
Below that is an address in the Veil District—neutral territory between vampire and human zones.
And at the very bottom, one more line:
We need to discuss how to keep you alive for the next twelve days. After that, you'll die anyway.
My hands shake as I read it again. Twelve days. Christmas Day.
The day I'll either become immortal or die screaming.
I look up at my apartment window. Stella's light is on. She's probably doing homework, waiting for me to come home and tell her about the fancy vampire party.
How can I tell her I'm dying? How can I explain that I have less than two weeks to live because I stumbled into the wrong room and bled on the wrong altar?
The mark burns hotter. Through it, I feel Kaelen's presence like a shadow in my mind. He's in pain too. The bond is hurting him the same way it's hurting me.
Good, I think bitterly. Let him suffer. This is his fault.
But even as I think it, I know it's not true. This is no one's fault. Just terrible, impossible timing.
I fold the note and shove it in my pocket. Tomorrow at midnight, I'll meet the vampire prince who hates me. We'll figure out how to break this curse.
Or we'll both die trying.
I take one step toward my building when a voice speaks from the shadows:
"Lyra Thorne. Daughter of Elena Thorne. Carrier of moonblood."
I spin around. A figure emerges from the darkness—tall, ancient, carrying an obsidian cane.
Councilor Thaddeus Blackwater. The vampire from the ritual chamber. The one who asked about my mother with that knowing smile.
"Your mother had such unique qualities," he says, moving closer with supernatural grace. "I've spent three years making certain those qualities died with her. Imagine my surprise when I discover she had not one daughter, but two."