Free HER SWEETEST DOWNFALL (Paranormal Romance / Fantasy Novella) (Forever Girl Series - a Journal) by rebecca hamilton Page B

She would be a monster, trapped to darkness, and she would be giving herself over to the dark deeds of the elemental council. How could she possibly reconcile that with the idea that any of this was for some greater good?
    But just as Ethan had said, the mark of the serpent burned harsher with each passing hour, the Cruor blood becoming less effective as a topical ointment.
    “I’m ready,” Ophelia said finally, but the tightness in her throat betrayed her words. 
    Kneeling on the other side of Lenore, Ethan stared at Ophelia. The Cruor’s breathing was stronger now, and her head steadied in Ophelia’s lap.
    “Ophelia,” Ethan said gently, “I would have failed without you. You were strong in my moment of weakness. You are strong and fierce and beautiful. I can see now why you were chosen.”
    Ophelia swallowed and mumbled a quiet, “Thank you.”
    “Promise me—promise you will not mourn my loss when the time comes,” Ethan said.
    “What are ye saying?”
    He clenched his jaw and shook his head. “If you’re ready, we can begin.”
    “Ethan,” she said sharply. “Tell me what you mean. What loss?”
    “It’s time,” he said more fiercely this time.
    Though her frustration boiled in her stomach and caused a tremble in her jaw, she let it go, and reached her forearm forward, in front of Lenore’s mouth. Her arm was trembling, only to shake more furiously when Lenore’s fangs snapped out. 
    Ethan nudged Ophelia’s arm away. 
    “Wait,” he said. “Not like that.”
    Ophelia lowered her arm to her side. Before she could question him, Ethan came around to sit behind her. She leaned back into his chest, and his lips brushed against her ear.
    “I’m going to have to hold you, Ophelia. You are going to want it to stop while it’s happening. Once this starts, there is no turning back. Are you certain you are ready?”
    How could she be? An insistence born in her core, however, drove her actions now, and it was a force stronger than the serpent’s burn. It was for her mother, her father, and the risks they took to protect her. It was for others like them who would suffer their fate.
    “I’m ready,” she said. 
    At first, Ethan’s grasp on her wrist was gentle. A sadness swept over Lenore’s face; perhaps it was fear, though Ophelia couldn’t fathom what fear Lenore would have. Ophelia’s heart pounded in her ears, the pressure filling her head and making the room spin.
    Lenore’s fangs pricked into Ophelia’s flesh like twin thorns, at first only aching mildly. A haze seeped into Ophelia’s mind, a shushing calm like a breeze bending the tall grass in the field. Her heart rate slowed, and her eyelids fluttered as a fatigue settled over her. Lenore’s voice pulsed in her mind—a jumble of overlapping words . . . indistinct, meaningless . . . but Ophelia could feel them change her consciousness, burning a sense of knowing into her mind.
    Lenore dug her fangs in deeper, the pressure uncomfortable and nauseating. Through the haze, Ophelia became aware of the blood gushing from her arm, soaking Lenore’s face, neck, and clothes. The sloshing of Lenore feeding from her. No longer did Ophelia feel listless, as though she was floating atop a river; instead, she felt pinned between Lenore and Ethan, impaled by Lenore’s bite and restrained by Ethan’s ever-firmer grip on her wrist.
    The icy bite mark itched, as though in the early stages of frostbite, and soon the chill branched out through the veins in her arms, so cold it burned. She needed to stay still, but soon the pain reached her shoulder, stronger with each passing moment, and she screamed. She tried to pull away, but Ethan’s fingers dug deeper into her wrist and his other hand gripped her arm at the elbow. His biceps squeezed against her shoulders as he tried to keep her in place. 
    The jolt of trying to yank her arm away created a tear in her forearm, and Ophelia vomited at the sight of the wound, black and purple, her flesh