EMMALINE
The room feels smaller now. The air thicker. Davina’s words hang between us like smoke, choking the breath out of my lungs. I can barely think, barely breathe.
My head jerks up. “What are you talking about?” My voice comes out hoarse, breaking at the edges. “What prophecies?”
Davina doesn’t answer right away. Her gaze lingers on me, wide, fearful, trembling. Then, as if she’s forcing the words up through something heavy, she whispers, “The prophecy of the blood that saves and destroys.”
My stomach twists painfully. My shaking hands, move to cover it on instinct. My baby. My precious, tiny life. My heart stutters as warmth spreads beneath my palms, and I swear I feel the faintest thrum under my skin. No. I can’t let them touch this child. I can’t let them take it.
Dante rises
