Blue Blood (Series of Blood Book 3) by Emma Hamm (books to read this summer .txt) 📕

blink of an eye for her. It was beautiful and kind and loving. Everything she was not. Everything she wanted to be.

Mercy’s punishment was this green world. She existed in a never-ending loop of pain and destruction.

“Mercy.”

That voice was both her salvation and her annihilation.

She breathed out, though she knew it would be the end of her. Slowly, ever so slowly, she opened her eyes.

A figure stood before her. Great and burning, it stretched towards the sky. Heat blistered Mercy’s skin and made her back slick with sweat. But she knew what the being wanted. Mercy wanted the same thing.

She furrowed her brow as she reluctantly rose and stood before it indecisively.

“You know this is how it has to be,” the voice rasped. “Come, Mercy.”

“What if I want it to end differently this time?”

“Wants and needs are very different.”

It had a point. That did not mean Mercy agreed with it. As much as she loved the feeling of grass poking between her bare toes, there was no point in fighting the creature before her. She would be fighting against herself.

The great column of fire swelled as though it understood she had given in. Again. She would always give in.

Mercy stepped forward, feet gliding over the ground. She hoped she would remember the feeling of the cool blades against her soles. She treasured every such memory. They were fleeting, and if she did not take the time to appreciate them, they would disappear forever.

No clothing constricted her movements. She was naked as the day she was born, yet it did not discomfort her. Not even when she curled into the waiting arms of the fire.

Burning. Aching. Agony. Tendrils of fire licked across her skin and peeled away everything that she was.

And then she heard them. The mob.

Angry voices screamed her name. They cried out that she was a monster. The only way to keep their families safe at night was to kill her. To kill the demon spawn.

“I am no demon,” she whispered into the winds pulling at her hair. But she could not say for certain that she wasn’t. How could anyone say they were good, say they meant well, when they had done the things she had done?

“You killed her!” the voices screamed.

Ashes from the fire at her feet stuck to her face in a fine layer of grime. The heat was licking up her legs now, devouring her body. But he was healing her. He who was both her beginning and her end.

“Please,” she whimpered, “please let me die. I just want to die!”

“I cannot,” the crackling voice responded. “You know we are two halves of a whole. You will survive this.”

“I won’t survive you!”

“No,” he agreed, “you won’t. You will become something more. Something greater, more powerful than you can imagine.”

“Something twisted,” she said through gritted teeth. The mob started pulling at her arms, yanking her towards the lake which would douse her fires and cause her immense pain. “We’re wrong, you and I. We’re both clay pieces fired far too long in the kiln. We will shatter!”

He did not argue with her because he agreed. There were pieces of them burning away. Important pieces like compassion crumbling beneath the weight of betrayal, heartbreak, and insanity.

Her toes touched cold water and her blood froze. “Please,” she begged, “don’t make me live this again. Not again!”

“I’m sorry,” his voice sizzled like fire. “It is our punishment.”

“For what?” Screams made her throat raw as she threw her head back and raged at the cruel world. “I have done nothing wrong! I have survived!”

“And it is always the strong who bear the burden of the world.”

3

Jasper lurched up from the floor. He had fallen asleep in his cage, though it was rare that he found any rest here. Coughing, he raised his hand to his throat and wondered when his throat had become so parched. His tongue was like sandpaper.

He tried to swallow but was unsuccessful. Rolling onto his side, he reached for the bucket of precious water. He was thankful they actually brought their prisoners something to drink. Perhaps they remembered that Malachi needed Jasper alive.

Saving the life sustaining liquid was more difficult than he had originally thought. He plunged his hands into the cool water and lifted it to his lips. What remained on his hands he brushed through the long strands of his hair.

Sweat drenched his body. All he could remember from the dream was heat. He was so hot.

If only there was a cold wind to blow through this cursed place, he thought. He coughed again and scooped another handful of water. Never in his life had he dreamed of flames.

“I’m scared,” Bluebell whispered. “This place makes us think terrible things.”

“I know. But we’re going to be fine.”

“You can’t know that. We don’t know where we are. Where we’re going. And you are dreaming of fire and ruin.”

Her voice was tearful, and he did not know how to reassure her. She wasn’t just the creature that shared his head; she was also his sister. Jasper had grown up with her, but had also been caretaker, provider, and parent.

“What did I used to tell you when you were scared?”

She was silent for a few moments. “That if I was ever scared, all I needed to do was reach out and hold your hand.”

“Exactly. And what are you feeling right now?”

“Scared.”

“Then go ahead.” He lay down on the cold ground. “Hold my hand, Bluebell.”

She was capable of much, but his body was a foreign sex to her. Neither of them were entirely comfortable with their shared body and mind. He relaxed into the ground and let the Fairy take control over pieces of his body. His left arm went numb and rose of its own accord.

His right hand was resting across his belly. Jasper knew what she was going to do. She had done it many times before. Softly, the hand she controlled flipped the other and tangled its fingers with his.

It wasn’t much,