My death had arrived.
The truth was . . . in this moment . . . this moment when Amahté grasped my waist . . . and showed his fangs . . . this moment when two mates rejoined . . . this awful, beautiful moment when my flesh was pierced . . . my blood eagerly imbibed . . . I wished for so much more. Drake filled my thoughts. We’d had little time to know each other. But I suspected he would’ve been the one for me.
Love.
Sacrifice.
Always.
Chapter 23
“Are those stories of Dean and Sam Winchester truly a historical account of humans who track and kill paranormal creatures? Is that the purpose of the television? To show what other people are doing?” The fluid female voice held fascination and concern. “I do not blame them for killing the wendigo, but I do not agree with killing werewolves. I’ve always liked werewolves.”
Me, too. My mind felt mushy, like someone had put my brain in a blender and hit PUREE. I heard the word, tried to process the question, and somewhere there was an answer. My response, however, came out as “Oooooouch!”
“I do not think that is an appropriate response. Do you suppose I am speaking this new language incorrectly?”
“No, dear. I think the poor girl is trying to wake up.” I felt a poke on my shoulder. “Are you alive?”
My eyes fluttered open, and I stared up at two really gorgeous people. They looked rather worried.
“We learned your language through imprinting with your memories,” said the beautiful woman. “And we learned about the world as it exists now. I would like a car. I think it would be far more fun than a chariot.”
“You drove chariots very well.”
“Thank you.” She leaned over me, her curtain of silky hair falling across my face, and kissed the man.
Shamhat. Amahté.
Holy shit. I was alive.
“Did I drink the ambrosia?” I asked. Panic consumed me. Dove needed it. And I was alive, and I really shouldn’t be.
“Why on earth would you need ambrosia?” asked Shamhat. “You’re a . . .” She frowned, looked at Amahté, offered a word I didn’t recognize.
He looked at me, smiling. “Unicorn.”
I laughed. It came out more like a rusted croak, but I couldn’t stop. “Unicorns aren’t real.” But they were, weren’t they? What a silly statement to make. I sat up, and I honestly didn’t feel too bad. “Where’s Drake?”
“What’s a Drake?” asked Shamhat. “Is it a car?”
“No, he’s a werewolf. He was in the other room.”
“Oh,” said Amahté. “That explains all the howling and banging.” He lifted a hand, and the wall disappeared.
A very pissed-off Drake, who apparently had forgotten to get dressed, marched into the space looking as though he might kill something with his bare hands. “Moira!”
“You’re naked,” I pointed out.
“See? That’s why I like werewolves so much.” Shamhat sent a sly glance to Amahté, but he only gave her an affectionate look and then tweaked her nose. She giggled.
I hadn’t expected an Ancient vampire to giggle.
“I think her mate would like to see her,” said Amahté. They moved aside, and Drake, still very much naked, dropped to his knees and scooped me into his arms.
“Are you all right?” he growled. (No, really. He did.)
“I’m alive.” I know I was echoing this sentiment a lot, but . . . hey, alive, all right?
He crushed me into his embrace and kissed the ever-living hell out of me. Oh, my God. Being alive was so, so awesome.
“Never sacrifice yourself again,” he demanded. “Do you understand me?”
Then he kissed me again.
“I didn’t know werewolves could mate with unicorns,” said Shamhat. “The world truly is a different place.”
Drake turned an incredulous gaze to the woman, who offered him a radiant smile, and then he frowned down at me. “Unicorns are extinct.”
“Extinct? As in, they really lived?” I asked. But I knew, didn’t I? It was why my mother had died. To protect me. And protecting me was protecting our secret, too. My heritage.
“Only a unicorn could open the pyramid and survive it,” said Shamhat. “So, no, unicorns are not extinct.”
Drake stared at me.
“Why are unicorns extinct-ish?” I asked.
“Unicorn blood and horns were coveted by humans and paranormals alike. The horns were used to make weapons and other objects because of their mystical properties. And a unicorn’s blood can heal anyone of anything.” A gruesome kind of worry entered his gaze. Uh-oh. That wasn’t good.
“And unicorn horn can kill anything,” said Shamhat. “Even an immortal. And that’s also the only way to kill a unicorn.”