blades where a lotus blossom is etched into my skin. “They’re…fading.”
“What?” I hurriedly look at the ones on my arms, my shoulder…the little blue anchor on my hand.
It’s just like he said. They’re fading. All of them. Even the one that means the most to me. The one that ties me to Dorian.
“What’s going on?” I can’t even keep the panic out of my voice. “How could that even be possible?”
Dorian grimaces before spinning me around to face him. He takes my hand and runs his thumb over the anchor mark he gave me in an act of love and commitment. It’s now a grey-blue, so much lighter than the one he also wears.
“It seems as if your body is healing itself. It’s purging the ink from your skin. Even mine.”
“So what does that mean?” Could this mean that I’m no longer marked by Dorian? That I am no longer his?
He drops my hand like it’s on fire, like he can’t bear to touch me. He won’t even look at me. “I don’t know.”
“Are there any others? Something…new?” He told me about the mark of the Dark, and the ancient prophecy that I could bear the ultimate symbol of corruption—the mark of the beast—upon ascension. I hadn’t seen or felt anything, but I also hadn’t realized that my tattoos were fading either.
“No. Get dressed. We need to speak with the others.”
Then he’s gone, leaving me cold and a little sore. I wash up with trembling hands and tie my hair back into a simple ponytail. When I exit the bathroom to get dressed, I find that he’s not in my room. I’m not surprised; I’ve grown used to Dorian’s disappearing acts. Still, I can’t understand his indifference.
I step out into the living room where everyone is seated, Dorian included. They each look at me expectedly, yet no one says a word. What the hell? Why do I feel like I’ve been banished to the principal’s office and they’re waiting on me to confess my crimes.
“Sit down, Gabriella,” Dorian says, his voice still so cold and distant. “Please.”
There’s a space beside him on the loveseat, but I slide onto the arm of the armchair where Morgan is seated instead. Dorian exhales slowly, releasing his frustration, yet doesn’t say a word.
“Anyone wanna tell me what the hell is going on?” I ask, tired of the awkward silence. No one makes a move to explain except for Alexander, who appears fresh and rested, despite being up all night watching my suicidal roommate.
“We think we know what may have triggered Morgan’s hallucinations last night.”
“Okay…?” His elusiveness is frustrating, and I have half a mind to tell him to cut the crap and spit it out. But, you just don’t talk like that to your formerly dead dad who happens to be a ruthless, supernatural assassin, do you?
“Gabriella, it’s you.”
“Me?” I look down at Morgan, but she diverts her gaze to an imaginary thread on her sweatshirt. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and she isn’t wearing an ounce of makeup. There are bags under her eyes, but no sign of further self-inflicted harm. And for that, I’m thankful. Even if she can’t bear to look at me.
I stifle the dull ache of her rejection and turn back to Alexander. “How did I cause Morgan to act out like that?”
“Your ascension…it generated some type of surge of supernatural energy,” Niko adds. “Whatever was lying dormant inside Morgan was pushed to the surface when you ascended on your birthday, amplifying her sight. And there’s a good chance that there are others—humans with just a touch of magic—that now have enhanced abilities as well.”
“Could that explain that guy from yesterday? From the hotel?”
He shakes his head and purses his lips, clearly still pissed about nearly being poisoned. “No. He was a Nobody. A pawn. And whoever sent him is a dead man.”
“Gabriella,” Dorian says just above a whisper, yet I hear him loud and clear. My name is velvet on his lips and my body instantly reacts to the sound
“What?” I hurriedly look at the ones on my arms, my shoulder…the little blue anchor on my hand.
It’s just like he said. They’re fading. All of them. Even the one that means the most to me. The one that ties me to Dorian.
“What’s going on?” I can’t even keep the panic out of my voice. “How could that even be possible?”
Dorian grimaces before spinning me around to face him. He takes my hand and runs his thumb over the anchor mark he gave me in an act of love and commitment. It’s now a grey-blue, so much lighter than the one he also wears.
“It seems as if your body is healing itself. It’s purging the ink from your skin. Even mine.”
“So what does that mean?” Could this mean that I’m no longer marked by Dorian? That I am no longer his?
He drops my hand like it’s on fire, like he can’t bear to touch me. He won’t even look at me. “I don’t know.”
“Are there any others? Something…new?” He told me about the mark of the Dark, and the ancient prophecy that I could bear the ultimate symbol of corruption—the mark of the beast—upon ascension. I hadn’t seen or felt anything, but I also hadn’t realized that my tattoos were fading either.
“No. Get dressed. We need to speak with the others.”
Then he’s gone, leaving me cold and a little sore. I wash up with trembling hands and tie my hair back into a simple ponytail. When I exit the bathroom to get dressed, I find that he’s not in my room. I’m not surprised; I’ve grown used to Dorian’s disappearing acts. Still, I can’t understand his indifference.
I step out into the living room where everyone is seated, Dorian included. They each look at me expectedly, yet no one says a word. What the hell? Why do I feel like I’ve been banished to the principal’s office and they’re waiting on me to confess my crimes.
“Sit down, Gabriella,” Dorian says, his voice still so cold and distant. “Please.”
There’s a space beside him on the loveseat, but I slide onto the arm of the armchair where Morgan is seated instead. Dorian exhales slowly, releasing his frustration, yet doesn’t say a word.
“Anyone wanna tell me what the hell is going on?” I ask, tired of the awkward silence. No one makes a move to explain except for Alexander, who appears fresh and rested, despite being up all night watching my suicidal roommate.
“We think we know what may have triggered Morgan’s hallucinations last night.”
“Okay…?” His elusiveness is frustrating, and I have half a mind to tell him to cut the crap and spit it out. But, you just don’t talk like that to your formerly dead dad who happens to be a ruthless, supernatural assassin, do you?
“Gabriella, it’s you.”
“Me?” I look down at Morgan, but she diverts her gaze to an imaginary thread on her sweatshirt. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and she isn’t wearing an ounce of makeup. There are bags under her eyes, but no sign of further self-inflicted harm. And for that, I’m thankful. Even if she can’t bear to look at me.
I stifle the dull ache of her rejection and turn back to Alexander. “How did I cause Morgan to act out like that?”
“Your ascension…it generated some type of surge of supernatural energy,” Niko adds. “Whatever was lying dormant inside Morgan was pushed to the surface when you ascended on your birthday, amplifying her sight. And there’s a good chance that there are others—humans with just a touch of magic—that now have enhanced abilities as well.”
“Could that explain that guy from yesterday? From the hotel?”
He shakes his head and purses his lips, clearly still pissed about nearly being poisoned. “No. He was a Nobody. A pawn. And whoever sent him is a dead man.”
“Gabriella,” Dorian says just above a whisper, yet I hear him loud and clear. My name is velvet on his lips and my body instantly reacts to the sound
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