o_18vdqvms01tdp1ck54q91frg17mg2d.pdf

TWENTY-TWO
HORROR AND SHOCK CONSUMED ME, so much so that I thought my soul would shrivel,
that the world would end right then and there—because surely, surely it couldn't keep going on
after this. No one could keep going on after this. I wanted to shriek my pain to the universe. I
wanted to cry until I melted. I wanted to sink down beside Mason and die with him.
Elena released me, apparently deciding I posed no danger positioned as I was between her and
Isaiah. She turned toward Mason's body.
And I stopped feeling. I simply acted.
"Don't. Touch. Him." I didn't recognize my own voice.
She rolled her eyes. "Good grief, you're annoying. I'm started to see Isaiah's point—you do
need to suffer before dying." Turning away, she knelt down to the floor and flipped Mason over
onto his back.
"Don't touch him!" I screamed. I shoved her with little effect. She shoved back, nearly
knocking me over. It was all I could do to steady my feet and stay upright.
Isaiah looked on with amused interest; then his gaze fell to the floor. Lissa's chotki had fallen
out of my coat pocket. He picked it up. Strigoi could touch holy objects—the stories about them
fearing crosses weren't true. They just couldn't enter holy ground. He flipped the cross over and
ran his fingers over the etched dragon.
"Ah, the Dragomirs," he mused. "I'd forgotten about them. Easy to. There's what, one? Two of
them left? Barely worth remembering." Those horrible red eyes focused on me. "Do you know
any of them? I'll have to see to them one of these days. It won't be very hard to—"