armintrout.jennifer: blood ties 4 - all soul's night
blood ties 4 - all souls night
by jennifer armintrout
Prologue: Daymare
Some days, I dream of the time that I spent in Marianne's soul. Or is that the time that she spent in me? In
reality, it was horrible, but in the dreams, it feels wonderful. Powerful. Another soul gliding over mine like
silk, whispering in my head.
I stand over Nathan. He's still restrained, babbling, senseless with fear and the spell his sire had cast over him,
bleeding from the wounds scored deep into his flesh by his own hand. Marianne leans tenderly over her
husband, kisses his mouth, calms him. And then the power swells up inside me, and she screams for mercy in
my head. All I know is blood and tearing flesh. Darkness and warmth with the copper-tinged smell of slowly
ebbing life urging on my bloodlust.
I don't even consciously drink. I don't feel or taste the blood, and though I know, somehow, that I am
dreaming, I find it unsettling, as if some understanding is just out of my reach. If only I could see the greater
picture.
I consume without drinking, reach my fill without satisfaction. And when I raise my eyes to the evaporating
darkness, I see the ballroom where Marianne met her fate. All around me are the bodies of people I know:
Nathan, Max, Bella, even old friends long since dead, like Cyrus and Ziggy. Their blood is on my hands. Their
life in my veins. Their tortured screams rolling through my head like the sweetest symphony I've ever heard.
And then Jacob Seymour is there, seated at the head of the massive dining table. He wears a crown of thorns
and the blood that drips from his wounds is black tar, staining his white hair and shining golden robes. A huge,
silver-domed platter covers the table, and I remember-in that dream memory that doesn't quite see reality the
way it happened, but still manages to catalog every horror you've ever known-what will come next. Clarence
appears, as if from nowhere, his dark, regal face a mask disguising the hate he feels for the task, and removes
the cover. On the platter, arranged in a way that is familiar, yet shocking, is Dahlia, her skin pale and mottled
blue with death, a carpet of rose petals beneath her halo of red curls.
And then, with the voices still screaming in my brain, I laugh. Blood flows from my mouth, splashing to the
tabletop, my hands, my lap that is suddenly and inexplicably dressed in a voluminous gown to match Jacob's
attire, and I laugh.
But when I wake, I'm screaming.
One: A Shot In The Dark
This day, when I bolted upright in the bed, throat tensed, vocal cords poised to emit a scream as soon as the
gasping breath I'd drawn forced its way out, a hand clamped over my mouth. Nathan was already awake.
Don't make a sound,he warned through the blood tie, his body rigid with tension that jumped through our
