Page 41 of Immortal

The God of War did not reply. Was it remorse that shone in his eyes, or triumph? Did it matter? How did I ever imagine he cared for me? He’d never seen me as an equal, just a tool to be used, a fool to be tricked. Such bitterness crawled up my throat. I was tired of fighting, of scheming, hoping against the odds. But I would never forget what my life had cost my grandfather, and I would not waste it.

“It was all a lie,” I said slowly, my mind scrambling for a way to delay him. “The time we spent together, your interest in me, your protection from the Dragon Platform—everything was false.” My voice rose, thick with rage. I almost shouted the last.

He looked away like he was unable to hold my gaze. There was no satisfaction in being right—only pain.

“Lord Zhangwei, complete the ritual,” the queen commanded.

Ever obedient, the God of War opened his hand. In his palm lay the strands of my hair, those he’d claimed yesterday. “A token of the heart, given of your free will.”

An icy fear engulfed me now. “Your magic is vile, as are all of you,” I raged, struggling against my bonds. Anger was the only tool left to me—futile against my captors, yet vital to preserve a sliver of hope. “You can’t take the lotus from me.” Yet nothing seemed impossible for the immortals.

Zhangwei wrapped my hair around the hilt of a dagger. The black strands fragmented, pooling into an inky sheen that coated the blade. He’d trapped me well, the heartless villain. The Wuxin weren’t the worst monsters in the realm. Memories flooded me of how he’d watched over and healed me, of his consideration and care, playing on my emotions with the same skill he used to pluck his qin—

Lies. All lies.

“Now, Lord Zhangwei.” The queen’s voice rang with sudden resonance. “Claim what you need.”

The Divine Pearl Lotus was for him, not the queen? The rumors of his injury flashed through my mind, the startling coldness of his skin, his own admission.

Some days I still feel its shadow.

“The Wuxin attack—you never recovered from it,” I said slowly. “All these years, you’ve been suffering, hiding your condition. Seeking the one thing that can save you.”

With you, I am warm.

When he’d said this, I thought it meant something more, the glimpse of a declaration—but it was the stark truth. He didn’t want me, but the power of the Divine Pearl Lotus. And he would stop at nothing to claim it.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I must do this.”

His remorse meant nothing. It was worse that he understood the anguish he’d inflicted on me and still chose betrayal. I would never forgive him. Rage and shame swept over me along with a bitter, clawing hate . . . the hate I should have felt for him all along; it would have kept me safe.

The God of War’s gaze shuttered like he was blocking something out, his viselike grip locking tighter around me. There was no mercy in him, just the unyielding force of his might. His eyes blazed until they appeared all white, as clear as the ice in his heart.

Then he raised the dagger and thrust it into my chest.

15

My body splintered with pain. Shadows blotted out my consciousness, but I fought to stay awake. The God of War did not drive the blade deeper, leaving just its tip buried in my flesh, yet the agony did not lessen. Numbly, I stared at the blood trickling from the wound, the red lights of his magic coursing from the blade into me. Something wrenched from my chest, surging free—a glittering trail of stardust, flowing toward the god. The immortals were as vicious as their magic. Somehow, they’d found a way to steal the lotus. Bound by his accursed power, I glared at the god who stared back at me with unrelenting, despicable calm. All I wanted now was to hurt him as he had me.

“Why did you do this to me?” I’d make him spell out his treachery, to destroy any last remnant of emotion I might still feel for him.

“The lotus was the only cure to what ailed him,” the queen answered, her eyes shifting from the God of War to me.

“Immortals never share, you only take.” Venom laced my words, if only they could draw blood.

The color leeched from the immortal’s face like this was draining his power. I hoped he was suffering, I hoped it hurt. The force restraining me vanished abruptly, like he could no longer sustain it. My legs gave way—but Lord Zhangwei’s arm slid around me, holding me fast, yet not loosening his grip on the dagger in his other hand. I recoiled from his touch, struggling in his grasp, a sparrow in the merciless claws of a tiger.

His eyes were black as coal. “Trust me—”

“Never again,” I swore. “They were wrong about you. Your heart isn’t made of ice—you have no heart.” This was his true self: selfish, cruel, and ruthless.

He didn’t answer, maybe he didn’t care. “Will I die?” I asked.

“No, I won’t let you,” he said fiercely.

“My grandfather gave me the lotus because I was poisoned. If you take it, aren’t you killing me?” I wouldn’t let him cower behind meaningless assurances, those that veiled his villainy.

He nodded at the dagger. “I am only taking what remains, after the lotus cured you. What was healed will not be undone. You won’t retain the other traits it might have yielded, but you will live.”