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

done. There was something else afoot in this moment that she did not want to interrupt.

Gaia clenched her fists. “I am tired of you, Pitch. An enigma even the Five cannot read. What magic have you used on yourself? Wolfgang is a Red Blood and therefore shielded, that I understand. But you? I can taste that you are one of ours, but I cannot tell what you are. Your secrets are to be revealed now, Pitch. Or I will force them out of you.”

“Why do you care so much, Gaia?”

“Because I have my suspicions about who you are.” The last three words she emphasized, letting each sound drip from her lips like venom. “And if I am correct, I will rip your head from your body and bathe in your blood.”

Mercy was close enough to Pitch to hear the creaking of his grinding jaw.

“You do not know who I am.”

“That lie is almost enough to confirm what I think.”

The shadows around him started to boil. “And to that, I say you would be wise to keep your mouth shut.”

Mercy leaned back into Ignes as the ground beneath them rumbled. Gaia was a force to be reckoned with. She could turn the earth into a weapon. She was the leader, Mercy realized. Mother Earth was always the leader.

Wren clapped her hands together, the harsh crack a clear attempt to distract. “Pitch—” she began.

“No. Wren, stay out of this.”

“What has gotten into you?” Wren said as she backed towards Gaia’s side. “We’re all on the same side. Both of you, grow up. Tensions are high. I understand that, but—”

Pitch lifted a hand and slashed it down. His power was not the absence of light, Mercy realized, as darkness sliced from his fingertips. His magic was the space between the silvery strands of moonlight. Not the pitch black of an abyss, but something else entirely.

The magic darted towards Wren, and Mercy watched as her eyes rolled back in her head. The effect was jarring; the whites of Wren’s eyes stared at Pitch. Though there was no way Wren could see anything, Mercy swore something else was looking at them.

Pitch’s smooth voice had turned gravely. “You know as well as I what is coming.”

“We no longer provide Oracular services.” Wren’s voice had changed. Mercy could hear the screaming of thousands in that voice.

“But you know,” Pitch ground out through his teeth.

Before Mercy could consider what was being said, Gaia imposed herself between Wren and Pitch. Another rumble made Mercy’s knees weak.

“You will leave. Now!” the goddess shouted.

All the others in the room were affected. Some grabbed their heads in pain, others held onto the walls as the gravity lessened. Pitch stood in the safety of his shadows, staring at Gaia.

“This is not over,” he promised.

“There is always a beginning and an end.”

“Now you are the liar. And we both know how much you hate lies, Gaia.”

Mercy’s legs wobbled. It felt like the floor was stuck to the soles of her feet, holding her in place. But, at the same time, the rolling earth under her was cracking the hard wood. Splinters exploded from the ground, catching shards inside her thighs and underneath her arms.

“Ignes!” she shouted.

She plunged her hand into her stomach and tore it open. Ignes funneled his fire directly into her, disappearing from sight and healing as much as he could. The others burst into action. Jasper shouted Mercy’s name, but there was only one choice for her to make.

Mercy reached forward at the very last second and caught a lingering tail of shadow as Pitch disappeared.

She thought it would feel similar to teleporting. It wasn’t a good feeling, but she had prepared herself for the sick feeling and her stomach rebelling. But Pitch’s way of traveling surprised her. This was not at all like teleporting.

Strangely, it felt as though she were running. Or perhaps flying. Wind buffeted her body as they moved at impossible speeds. Her body took the brunt of the death defying physics, but Ignes had enough power from Nurin to continue healing her.

Mercy was certain that anyone else would have died if they tagged along in Pitch’s wild retreat. She only survived because of her Phoenix. She didn’t know how he traveled like this and remained alive.

She counted each breath for a full three minutes before they stopped. She skidded to an abrupt halt on dark, polished marble, landing on her hip. Pitch stood with his back facing her, looking out over what must have once been a great hall.

This was the Shadow Man’s home?

Her eyes grew large as she took in the beauty around her. This must have once been a grand Victorian home, but now it showed signs of neglect. Moss and vines grew through windows that only had shards of broken glass left in their frames. Ivy crawled up the walls, inhabited by thousands of white luna moths. Their wings beat slowly, in a rhythm as old as time.

She looked up as a wind chilled her flesh. The ceiling, four stories up, had a hole in it. The moonlight beamed through and washed all color away. A stairwell made of dark stone ascended the opposite wall, the bannister adorned with tormented souls screaming into the darkness.

A few paces before them, an ancient piano rested in the center of the room. Its black top had long ago lost its gleam. A few of its strings were broken, sticking straight up in the air, and a few missing ivory keys left hollow spaces that looked like teeth.

Pitch’s shoulders heaved with angry breaths. “Fools!” he shouted into thin air. “Idiots! They will bring the world down upon our ears.”

He didn’t know she was there, Mercy realized. His hands were clenched, and he was clearly angry, but he did not know she had traveled with him. She resolved to stay quiet so as to not invoke his anger directly towards her.

Sometimes, it was better to not anger a man who was looking for a battle.

Pitch ran his fingers through