Bereft: Foretold

50 | A Stolen Heart

SARA

One Month Later

The moon rose full and bright outside the open balcony doors.

I focused on it for a long while as my fingers tightened on the knife's handle and I watched the cold light reflect off the blade.

It'd been weeks since I'd woken from that enduring darkness, that dreamless sleep that awaited all mortals at the end of their lives. Those weeks had been unerringly silent, with the keen lack of a certain crimson-eyed gargoyle.

From the couch came the rustle of pages turning. The Sin of Lust sat cross-legged on the cushions with a magazine propped open in her lap, her lavender eyes flicking to and fro as she read the articles despite how dim it was in her living room. The elegant curls I remembered her sporting were gone, replaced by a short bob cut, the severe edge highlighting the sharp angles of her jaw and cheekbones.

She exhaled through her nose and muttered, "Get on with it already."

"I am!" I retorted as I shifted my knees on the hardwood and adjusted the little glass candy dish for the umpteenth time. I held the kitchen knife and my other hand above the dish with the blade's point barely digging into the soft flesh of my fingertip. I again went over the five requirements needed for the ritual, murmuring them under my breath as I continued to stall.

One: a celestial occurrence. The moon was full and vivid, a silver medallion hung in a tapestry of a billion specks of light.

"Could have fooled me." Amoroth—Kyra—turned another page, then paused. "Why are you doing this in my home?"

"Because you wouldn't come to mine."

She shrugged, licked the pad of her thumb, and went back to reading. "I'm busy."

Two: the presence of a higher species. As a Sin, Kyra was one of the highest in the realm's metaphoric food chain, though I'd never admit as much to the cattish woman. Her ego was big enough as it was. I'd been harassing the woman for weeks now and had found that, for whatever reason, she didn't seem to mind. Much.

Three: blood. I pressed the knife's point into my finger and sucked air through my teeth when the incessant pressure finally broke the skin. Ruby drops welled and dripped in the dish I'd borrowed from Lust.

Four: a soul. Bringing my wounded fingertip up to suck the copper flavored liquid from it, I felt the rapid flutter of my pulse against my lips and resisted the urge to bite the inside of my cheek. A soul. Yes, I had a soul.

Five: the name of a Sin.

I had no reason to hesitate now. The knife shook in my hand as I glanced at the drops of blood in the dish, then at the night sky beyond Kyra's apartment. I swallowed, felt my throat close in upon itself like folded sandpaper, and whispered, "Darius."

Nothing happened.

I said it again, louder, and heard nothing but my pulse in my ears and the distant sounds of the city far below the balcony. Everything was as it should be and I'd completed the ritual calling to perfection. Kyra had explained to me the requirements—and I'd lived through their effects in the past. He'd heard me. He had to have heard me.

One month ago, the Sin of Pride had returned me to life. I didn't know how he did it, because I hadn't been allowed to know. He'd refused me the chance of asking when he'd disappeared before I'd even opened my eyes. I was angry, and upset. Cage had explained that it was "for my own good," that as a mortal woman I had no real reason to further integrate myself in Darius's life, that it was dangerous, and that I was fortunate the Sin of Pride had "made the right choice."