Alpha Asher and Lola novel Chapter 240

Chapter 240

“My Queen.”

Tristan, my first in command. The man I considered both a friend and a worthy enemy. A Vampire I had once hated with every fiber of my being, only to now trust him with every beat of my heart.

He was dead.

Cold. Unmoving. Not a spark of light in his eyes.

He pushed me out of the way. He took the blow that was meant for me. He gave his life for me and its broke Freya’s spell.

Tristan loved me.

Holly’s head was bowed, her hair a dark veil that covered her face as she wept. Her hands were stained red with Tristan’s blood, but she didn’t seem to notice. She continued clutching at his shirt, whimpering, and whispering under her breath.

Without warning the blood ruby unleashed a blast of light that left me seeing spots. Holly ripped the blade from Tristan’s unmoving chest, dropping it as though it were poisonous.

Freya’s face had lost its triumphant luster, taking on a more sinister expression. It looked like her skin had been pulled too tightly over her bones, stretching across her face in a way that emphasized every dip and curve. Her cheeks were just a touch too hollow, her eyes bulged from their sockets ever so slightly. Her teeth pressed at her lips, pushing them outward.

Her eyes flickered from the dagger to where I sat in the grass, the start of some sickening plan or idea taking form in her head. Before she could react-before any of us could react, Holly stumbled to her feet.

I should’ve noticed something off when she went silent, no longer crying or whispering under her breath.

Long strands of inky hair hung over her face, partially shielding it from view. From where I sat, I managed to catch a single glimpse of her eyes. My stomach plummeted as I took in the haunted light that filled her entire being.

Holly, the sister that betrayed me, the one I craved since I was a little girl, unleashed a wail that made my hair stand on end.

For a split second, I thought she was going to attack me. After all, it was my life Tristan died for. Never could I have anticipated Holly charging at her own mother, grabbing onto her dress with blood-stained hands as she screamed and snarled like a wild animal.

“You killed him, you killed him, you killed him!” Holly wailed, her voice cracking several times over.

Freya’s lips pulled back from her face in a distasteful sneer. “Get off of me, girl. Have some class. We do not cry over men.”

She shoved Holly away, who stumbled backwards but didn’t fall. Her shoulders were hunched as she took in breath after breath. Bloody handprints littered Freya’s skin from where Holly had made a grab for her.

Digging my fingers into the dirt, I pushed myself off the ground and onto my feet. I inched closer to Breyona, hesitating when I caught the unearthly glow of magic in Holly’s eyes.

Suddenly, the bloody handprints on Freya’s body began to smoke.

Freya noticed the same time as I did. Her bulging eyes went wide, so wide that I could see the network of veins running across them like spider webs. Unlike normal veins, these ones were black-tainted with darkness.

“You… You dare use blood magic on me?”

She scoffed at Holly. “I am your mother.”

Holly didn’t so much as blink at her mother.

Her lips barely moved, forming words that came out as a cold whisper.

“You’re nothing but an empty vessel.”

If I hadn’t witnessed it myself, I wouldn’t have known what to make of the sound. It was the crash of a vase against a hard floor. The crack of a bone snapped in two, it’s splintered echo ringing in your ears.

Only, it wasn’t a vase or a bone that created that sound.

It was Freya.

What started as a hairline crack running down her arm, splitting her pale skin in two, began to widen. Like the brittle edges of a chasm, her flesh began to crumble. More and more cracks formed, each one stemming from the bloody handprints Holly had left on her mother’s skin.

One crawled down Freya’s neck, another across her chest and cleavage. A third inched up her neck, cleaving her jawline in two.

Freya looked down at her hands and the widening cracks flooding her body, a look of bewilderment on her face. Something in my gut told me this emotion was new to her.

“What is this magic!? No! No, it’s not possible. You’re nothing! You’re not powerful enough to kill me!” She half- shouted at Holly, who stood there impassively, a look of detachment marring her face.

“I don’t have to be as powerful as you, mother. You killed him, and it’s his lifeblood that’s killing you.”

Holly’s words rang in my ears. As I stared down at Tristan’s body, noting how even in death his eyes were trained on my younger sister, I realized she was right. As disturbing as it was, there was a sick sort of beauty behind watching the Blood Witch crack and crumble like old porcelain.

It felt like Tristan was here with us, dealing one final blow before his soul slipped away.

Freya’s entire face transformed as she opened her mouth and let loose a furious scream. Her jaw opened wider than it should have, more cracks crawling up her face from how taut her skin was pulled.

The sound alone was deafening, sending a sharp wave of pain straight into my head. I barely noticed the difference as I slammed my hands over my ears. Breyona’s wolf was several feet away, writhing in pain as tendrils of shadow danced off her fur- covered body.

“NO!” She screeched, making a go at Holly with her arms raised and hands extended.

As her foot came down, cracks spread up her legs until her flesh crumbled in a sea of cream-colored shards, raining down into the grass. Freya screamed a second time, but this sound was one of agony. Everything from her kneecap down was gone, even the gown she wore had crumbled. Her arms went next, showering the earth and sinking deep into the soil.

She fell to her knee’s, her arms gone and shoulders quickly eroding. The screaming stopped when her face caved in, her jaw becoming just as brittle as the rest of her. Her eyes sunk into the hole in her face, followed by her nose and lips, melting into the shards of her auburn hair.

Within seconds, there was nothing left.

The Blood Witch was gone.

Holly had killed her.

She barely seemed to notice, turning so quickly her hair was ripped from her face. There was only one problem. The spot

Tristan died in was empty. His blood staining the grass was the only thing that remained.

We locked eyes, and despite everything we’d been through, the only thing that passed between us was panic. That panic quickly turned to grim realization when Breyona let out snarl that froze the blood pumping in my veins.

Slowly, we turned to face the source of Breyona’s aggression.

It looked like Tristan, blonde hair blowing in

the breeze, standing on two feet as he scanned his surroundings, but it wasn’t him. The way he moved was off. Many times he’d look down at his hands, spreading his fingers before clenching them into fists.

Holly sucked in a sharp gust of air that fractured into a sob, one that caught the attention of Tristan and had him turning in our direction.

I recognized the eyes I stared into.

They were my father’s.

A deep blue just a few shades darker than Tristan’s stared out at us. With the slickness of oil, they slid to Holly’s face, registering the grief that painted her delicate features in deep shadows and sharp angles.

“What did you do, Holly?” The voice that emerged didn’t belong to either Tristan or our father. It was an amalgamation of both.

Breyona’s hackles lifted as her body coiled, seconds away from pouncing.

Holly’s hands trembled as she brought them to her mouth. Several times she mouthed the words, but it wasn’t until the last time that they finally managed to stick.

“The right thing.” She whispered.