Broken Heart 09 Only Lycans Need Apply(62)

She whispered, “I love you.” She swayed, the knife tumbling out of her hand as she fell to her knees. “Love is worth sacrifice,” she said. “Remember that, Moira. Remember. And be worthy, my darling.”

She slid to the floor, lying down as though she was merely trying to take a nap.

I watched, both apart and within, as the little girl stood for a moment, tears falling as she saw her mother die.

• • •

I came to in my body, swaying, trembling, blinded. It took me a moment to realize that I had solid ground under my feet and for my eyesight to adjust. I couldn’t quite get my breath back, either. I was being suffocated by grief on so many levels. I felt betrayed. They’d kept the truth from me. The memory I had about Ruadan and my grandfather’s conversation made more sense. My grandmother passed away just a couple of months before my mother had been killed. I didn’t remember much about my grandmother. My mother had been my world—a world shattered because some goddamned man claiming to be my father shoved a knife into her. Why would Grandfather keep that blade?

I heard the whoosh mere seconds before the blue-flamed torches lighted. The chamber was much smaller than the previous room. I stood between two beautifully decorated sarcophagi. It was as though this king and queen had been put to rest just a minute ago, so spectacular was the craftsmanship and painted imagery.

Even though I was no doubt moments away from being the first meal of two Ancient vampires, I couldn’t help but marvel at the burial chamber. The torches reflected obsidian walls that held no decorations. Shamhat and Amahté had not included their death journeys because, technically, they didn’t go on any.

I was stunned by the idea that I would soon witness an actual ancient Egyptian arise from his coffin. I almost wished Dove was here. She was the only one who could enjoy this situation in the same way I did. Well, except she’d probably hyperventilate before she experienced any giddiness because she really did hate enclosed spaces.

Blue and green magic appeared over the sarcophagi, looping over the lids in sparkling ribbons. The lids trembled and slowly, creepily, slid forward until the heavy painted stones thudded to the stone floor. The magic dove inside, and I heard rustling noises.

I couldn’t move. Whatever had dragged me into this place hadn’t exactly let go. It was as if I’d been cemented to the floor. All I could do was watch . . . and wait.

Most sarcophagi had interior coffins, making the discovery of royal mummies like opening up a morgue version of nesting dolls. But these didn’t seem to have that feature. I knew that because two wizened forms sat up, and both turned to look at me at the same time.

I screamed.

The vampires didn’t seem to mind.

It wasn’t like the Mummy movies at all. They weren’t decrepit, eyeless, dirty-bandage-wrapped corpses. They looked human-ish, just really starved and horribly gaunt. Both had caramel skin, and both of their gazes were pinpoints of red. They were dressed in fine linens that looked as though they had just donned them. Amahté’s hair was shorn, but Shamhat’s was brown and gold and fell in waves to her waist.

If I hadn’t been glued in place, I might have collapsed. Instead, my legs trembled violently. Oh, I wanted to run. It was a natural compunction because the undead were currently creeping out of their coffins.

They didn’t say anything, but their gazes were riveted on me. The only noises were my heavy breathing, and the whispering sounds of the corpses climbing out of the sarcophagi. I wasn’t exactly sure what to do . . . or what to expect.

Shamhat got to me first. Her bony fingers gripped my shoulder, her fetid breath rolling across my face. Fear tumbled through me. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t run. Screaming wasn’t doing much for me, so I stopped wasting my breath. My breathing was so shallow that I was barely getting air into my lungs. And I was fairly sure my heart would explode any second. Sweat rolled down my spine, my neck, my temples.

I had chosen this moment.

Destiny.

Fate.

Choice.

All intertwined . . . and it was okay, I realized. It was . . . what I wanted. What I needed to do.

And I couldn’t exactly change my mind now.

Shamhat waited for him, for her husband.

Even though fear fogged my mind, clouded my lungs, liquefied my knees, a small part of my brain wondered about a love for all time. Shamhat and Amahté were truly a love for the ages. He had gone to the Underworld to save her soul. And chosen to lie with her, buried and undiscovered for three millennia, because his life was not worthwhile without her in it.

And I wanted to believe that kind of love was real.

What was I thinking? Two vampires were getting ready to reconstitute their forms by feasting on mine. I was promised ambrosia, but I realized now that it was a pipe dream.