Finale (Caraval, 3)

Jacks’s cool hand cupped Tella’s cheek. “All right, my love.” He tilted her face toward his as he lowered his lips to hers.

Tella pressed her palms against his chest and shoved off of his lap. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking the pain away.”

“You didn’t say you had to kiss me.”

“It’s the most painless way. It will still hurt, but—”

The last time they’d kissed, her heart had stopped working properly.

“No,” she said. “I’m not letting you kiss me again.”

Jacks ran his tongue over his teeth, thinking for a long minute. “There is another way, but”—a second hesitation—“it requires an exchange of blood.”

A rigid spike of awareness shot down Tella’s spine. Blood sharing was powerful. Tella had learned during her first Caraval that blood, time, and extreme emotions were three of the things that fueled magic. Tella had drunk blood before. She didn’t recall it clearly, but she knew she’d been on the brink of death after her altercation with the Undead Queen and Her Handmaidens. She might have even died, but then she’d been fed blood, and it had saved her life. But blood also had the ability to take life. One drop of blood had once cost Scarlett a day of her life.

“How much blood would you need to drink?” she asked.

“I don’t need to drink any, unless you wish to do it that way.” He flashed her a feral smile as he pulled a jewel-tipped dagger from his boot. Half the gems were missing, but the ones that were still there sparkled, bitter-blue and ruinous-purple.

He sliced the dagger down the center of his palm. Blood, glittering with flecks of gold.

“You’ll need to do the same.” Jacks handed her the knife.

“What happens after I cut myself?”

“We clasp hands and say magic words.” His voice was teasing, but his unearthly eyes were gleaming with grave intent as he held his bleeding palm for her to take.

He did not look human at all as gold-flecked blood continued to well in the hollow of his hand. It should have frightened Tella, but there was too much grief and too much pain, she didn’t have room for emotions like fear.

She didn’t even feel the dagger’s cut as she pressed it to her palm. Blood welled, darker than the glittering stream running down Jacks’s wrist. But he made no move to stop its flow. His eyes were on her hand, watching as two red beads fell and stained her sullied yellow sash and her periwinkle skirt. Her gown had started out the day so bright, but now it was ruined, like so many other things.

Tella handed Jacks the dagger back, but he dropped it to the ground, and took her bleeding hand in his.

His pulse was racing. His palms had never felt so hot. The blood from his wound felt eager to mingle with hers. “Now repeat after me.”

The words that followed were in a language Tella didn’t recognize. Each one rippled to life on her tongue, metallic and magical-sweet as if she could taste the blood flowing between their hands. It surged faster and hotter with every foreign word. Jacks had promised to take her sorrow and her pain, but something about the exchange made her feel as if she was agreeing to give him even more.

Stop, before it’s too late.

But Tella couldn’t stop. Whatever Jacks wanted to take, she’d let him have it—if he just took away her grief.

The last three words he spoke all at once, in a voice that thrummed with power: “Persys atai lyrniallis.”

These words did not taste sweet at all. They latched on to her tongue like barbs. Biting and sharp and utterly unholy. The leather couch, the empty fireplace, the cluttered desk all disappeared.

Tella tried not to scream or crumble against Jacks as invisible cords of magic lashed around their clasped hands; it felt like threads of flames and burning dreams. Then the fire was spreading, searing her arms, scorching her chest, and branding her flesh as raw magic infected her veins.

“Don’t let go,” Jacks commanded. His other hand was now clutching her unwounded palm. But Tella could barely feel it. She was back in the cavern, on the rocky floor, watching her mother walk away from her. Then Gavriel was there, and this time there was no spinning wheel between them. Tella was seeing the Fallen Star pull the dagger from his chest, thrust it into her mother’s heart, and twist until—

“Look at me,” Jacks hissed through his teeth.

Tella opened her eyes.

Jacks’s forehead was damp with sweat and his chest moved unevenly as his ragged breathing matched hers. He wasn’t just removing her pain, he was taking it. Bloody tears streaked his cheeks and agony turned his eyes pale.

Tella clutched his hands tighter and pressed her forehead to his.

“Is this transaction too intense for you,” Jacks panted, “or are you actually worried about me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Don’t lie to me—I feel everything you’re feeling right now.” His lips moved so close to her mouth she could taste his bloody tears dripping down the edges. They were bitter, full of loss and grief, but also cool and pure like ice. It wasn’t quite a kiss, but it didn’t hurt so much when she brushed her lips against his.

Maybe she should have let him kiss her … maybe it wouldn’t hurt her this time.

“I promise it won’t hurt this time,” he rasped against her mouth.

Tella let her lips pass over his again. He was a liar and a Fate. But when she pressed her mouth to his, it felt better than anything else had that day.

Her pain shattered as he kissed her back. Everything was a tangle of tongues and tears and blood and heartbreak as Jacks continued to take her sorrow. He drank it in with every needy movement of his cold lips against hers. His hands stayed locked with Tella’s, but they snaked behind her back, holding her tighter and caging her in as they both tumbled onto the floor.

This was nothing like their flawless first kiss during the Fated Ball. This kiss was urgent and wild and raw and corrupt. Full of all the terrible emotions flowing between them. A torrent of sorrow and pain. They were on the rough carpet and all over each other. Her teeth sank into his lips, biting sharp enough to draw blood.

He kissed her harder, possessively, nipping her jaw, then her neck, as his lips and teeth trailed down to her collarbone.

Before, he could feel her emotions, but now she could feel his. Even though he’d taken both her pain and her sorrow, that wasn’t what he was feeling now. He felt desire. Desperation. Lust. Obsession. He wanted her. She was all he wanted. All he thought about. She felt it in the way the kiss began to shift from reckless and hungry to languorous and savoring, as if he’d considered this for a very long time and now he was acting out all the things he’d imagined.

A faraway place that Tella tried to ignore told her this was all a great mistake—Jacks wasn’t really the one she wanted, Legend was. No matter what he did, or what he was, it would always be Legend. Maybe she could never actually have him, but she wanted him. If she was going to kiss one of the villains, she wanted it to be Legend, not Jacks.

She needed to push Jacks away.

But Legend never touched her anymore. Even if Legend had been there, he might not have held her, let alone kiss her. And it felt so good to be kissed, to be cherished and touched. To feel desire instead of pain. The sorrow was almost gone, and the kiss grew more intense. Or maybe now that Tella was no longer feeling crushing despair or seeing death, she could truly feel the entire kiss, and every inch of Jacks’s body as it pressed against hers.

But even in her muddled state, Tella knew she couldn’t let it continue.

She ripped her bleeding hand free of Jacks’s and ended the kiss.

Jacks made no attempt stop her. But he made no further effort to move away. They were both on their sides, chests pressed together, legs all tangled.

The pain and the sorrow and the hurt were gone. But so was all of her strength. She was boneless. Empty. There were splatters of blood all over her dress and her hands, and all over him. Something intimate, beyond the physical, had just passed between them.

Red tracks ran down his cheeks, ghosts of tears he’d cried for her.

She should have tried to leave. But her body was exhausted. And she liked the way it felt when Jacks wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight to his cool chest as if he wanted her to stay. After she regained her strength, she would go back to hating him. All she cared about now was that the pain was gone. “Thank you, Jacks.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m not sure I did you a favor, my love.”