While Tariq fought off the small army of recruits, the Malinov brothers defiled his creation with their tainted blood. Then Vadim stood over each of the horses and chariots. Charlotte watched in horror as a small shadow was wrenched from him at each of the carvings. The shadows seemed alive, writhing as if in pain, wiggling like tadpoles. Vadim’s blood was dripped onto the things, and then each man spit, mixing his saliva with Vadim’s blood. The small, shadowy, wormlike creatures desperately tried to return to their maker, but Vadim sent the shadows deep into the wood.
One of those things was inside her. It had entered her, and even Tariq couldn’t remove it. She shivered, the cold so far into her bones that now she felt frozen. There was more to do, more to understand.
She fought to stay close to Vadim, although his presence repulsed her. The battle raged in the background and yet he didn’t even look at the army he’d created that Tariq was fast destroying. Vadim turned his head and muttered something to Fridrick, who grinned insanely and nodded.
First Fridrick brought a child to Vadim, a young boy no more than ten. Vadim barely looked at the boy. He simply picked up the child and tore into his throat. Blood sprayed over a horse. Vadim moved in a circle making certain the blood hit each of the horses. He murmured words while he did so. At first she could only see the dying child.
Come back now.
She couldn’t. There was something more. Something she had missed. Fridrick brought another victim to Vadim. A woman this time. He did the same thing without sparing her a glance. He tore into her throat and sprayed her blood over the horses and chariots. This time, Charlotte didn’t look at the woman or Vadim. She looked at the blood. The shadow rose up and swam through the blood, taking with it tiny cells she would never have seen if she’d been looking through human eyes. She was looking through eyes that were mostly Carpathian. The shadow consumed red blood cells.
That was how the curse worked. The victim of the splinter would wither and die. But how did the splinter multiply? How could there be more than one victim per horse or chariot?
Come back now or I will force you to do so.
Tariq was already doing so. She felt him yanking at her, pulling, but she barely heard his voice. Icicles formed on her skin. In her hair. She breathed them into her lungs until she had to fight for every breath she took. It was right there. Right in front of her. The wasting illness. The splinter somehow consumed the red blood cells and no amount of transfusions could save the victim once enough time had passed. Vadim would know instantly where that victim was and he could, at his leisure, should he be in the area, find and kill the man, woman or child.
But how did the splinter multiply? What had he done to make certain the cycle could repeat itself victim after victim? She tried to think about it but her brain felt mushy. Detached. She was cold. Icy even, but she couldn’t think what to do about it. The splinter was wholly Vadim’s, yet the same one could be used over and over. How? How had he done that?
She shivered, hearing a call, one she needed to answer, but she’d forgotten how. The saliva, she murmured. Something Vadim did when the others mixed their saliva with his blood. It hurt to think, but she had to know. They had to know, but now she wasn’t positive who they were. She shivered uncontrollably, trying to conjure up the scene in her mind, to pay attention to Vadim, not the others, as they spat onto the wiggling parasites and mixed saliva with Vadim’s blood.
His lips were moving. His hands waving. She pushed the memory into her mind so Tariq could see. So the others, whoever they were, could see. It hurt, a thousand icicles stabbing her brain, but she managed it.
Tariq ripped her back through the tunnel. His hold was ruthless, impossible to ignore. It wasn’t so much on her body; Tariq had always been locked with her, his arm a band around her chest, but this was in her mind. He had commanded and now he was forcing obedience. Her barriers were down. All of them. It was the only way to enter the time tunnels. The journey back seemed longer than ever. Colder. She didn’t think she would have made it back on her own.
When Charlotte found herself in the present time, she was wrapped in Tariq’s arms, but each of the other males had a hand on her. Her head. Her shoulders. Both legs. One circled her ankle. The terrible shaking of her body made her teeth chatter. She couldn’t stop it. She was consumed by the cold. Every breath she took, she wheezed and struggled for air. Her lungs labored and hurt. So bad.
“You have no choice,” Siv stated.
That sounded ominous. Charlotte tried to look up at Tariq to question what Siv meant. What choice? About what? But she couldn’t think. She was cold. So cold. And exhausted. Her lashes drifted down, weighted, she was certain, by icicles. She meant to tell Tariq to get the ice off of her, that she couldn’t get warm with it surrounding her like a blanket, but the effort was too much.
“Sielamet, you cannot go to sleep,” Tariq said. “Stay with me. Talk to me.”
She had the sensation of moving and knew he was carrying her, taking her somewhere. She tried to turn her head into his shoulder to burrow deeper, but his usually hot body wasn’t even warm. She only found more ice. Sheets of it.
“Safeguard,” she whispered. “He used the word safeguard.” She hadn’t known what that meant when Tariq had used it, but now she knew Vadim had somehow turned the tables on her. While she spied on him, she hadn’t thought that he might have safeguarded his cruel work in some way.
No. No. No. Tariq felt the blow like a terrible punch to his gut. His heart stilled, stopped beating and then became frantic. His breath caught in his throat, and he couldn’t control his heart as it hammered out a protest. This couldn’t be happening. Not after finding her. Not after being with her. Laughing with her. Falling in love with the woman she was. Tariq crushed her frozen body against the warmth of his. She was fading too fast. Her heartbeat far too slow.
“Maksim, Dragomir, any of you, did you catch the weave he used for the safeguards he erected around the horses and chariots just before he removed all evidence of his having been there?” Tariq wanted every single man to give input. He couldn’t afford to get it wrong. He had an extraordinary memory when it came to spells and weaves, but this was too important.
He found himself praying to whatever gods there were, every one he’d ever heard about in his long life. Don’t take her. Whatever happened, he would follow. He would never allow her to travel into the unknown without him but…