by Eve Langlais
“I understand you’re hurt and angry, but this is not the solution,” said Desmond.
“I am angry, and no amount of excuses from you will change that. But I am also grateful because I met two people who genuinely care for me.” She grabbed Titus by the arm and glanced at his wrist. It was how he’d given her his blood that fateful day. However, that had been an emergency. This was by choice.
She grabbed him and yanked him towards her, inhaling his crisp, clean scent, the cooling sensation of his presence. She brought her lips close to the smooth skin of his neck and whispered, “With this mark, I join myself to thee.” She pressed her lips to his skin and opened herself to him, all that was needed to forge the connection on her end. The tingle of the link ignited immediately as if eager to reconnect.
It could have ended there, but she could feel Desmond’s simmering rage.
Let him be angry. His fury might help her not to soften. She couldn’t return to him. Not after the taint placed on her by his brother. He deserved better.
Better than me.
She angled her neck for Titus. “Give me your mark.”
“With pleasure, dearest.” The coolness of Titus’s lips preceded the pinch of his fangs as they slid into the column of her neck.
An inarticulate growl came from Desmond. “You are doing this to hurt me.”
She cast him a glance and fought to feel nothing at the pain tugging his features. He couldn’t suspect that she did this not only for herself but also for him. He needed to move on. Find someone else, even if the very thought hurt.
“I am doing this because Titus and Logan proved to me that I come first. They put their lives on the line for me. Now, it is time for me to give them something back.”
Turning to Logan, she raised her lips to his. “Kiss me?”
“Anytime,” was his murmur as he dipped his head. Their lips met in a soft meld, a mix of breaths, and she pushed her mark onto him, even as he nipped her to stake his claim.
The kiss continued longer than it needed to, and for once, the fear didn’t overwhelm Adara, even when Titus pressed himself to her rear. Sandwiched between them, she sighed as the emptiness inside her filled, and for a moment, she almost felt whole again.
The slam of a door stifled that warmth, and when she sobbed, the arms that held her comforted, but they couldn’t fix what was broken.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Desmond left before he killed them all.
Even her.
How could Erela hurt him like that?
The burst of anger fizzled at the reminder of how grievously she’d been betrayed. His lover had been tortured by his own half-brother—and Desmond had not been there to prevent it.
Mammon had used her to hurt him. But how did his sibling even know of their secret relationship?
Such care had been taken with their meetings. Apparently, not enough. It was dumb to imagine that no one noticed. After all, those smuggling the notes knew. Someone might have begun to wonder about their many absences. There were always those looking to tear down those bigger than them.
We were going to change that. He and Erela had plans. They’d wanted to change the old ways. Challenge the laws.
They were in love.
As he exited onto the street, Desmond almost closed his eyes as he remembered the day they met.
A wedding of all things, between two dimensions already good friends. All the leaders and families of good-standing were invited to celebrate, even the dark lords.
None expected them to appear. The invite a mere courtesy. Yet, for some reason, Desmond had chosen to attend.
That was where he first saw her. Strict of countenance, her hair scraped into a bun. She guarded her king with a sharp eye.
It brought out the mischievous side of him. He’d entertained himself at the dinner by tossing olives in Erela’s direction. Seeing if she’d flinch. He’d paid a serving boy to spill wine on her white habit. She never left her post.
All kinds of petty little things, and not once did she look at him.
So, imagine his surprise when upon entering his guest chambers that evening, the point of a sword was pressed against his throat.
She stood before him. “Why?”
A loaded word with an even more loaded reply. For one of the few times in his life, he stuck to the truth.
“Because I find you fascinating.”
Did she melt at his words and take him to bed that night?
Not even close. Erela nicked the skin of Desmond’s neck, bleeding him, and hissed, “Don’t come near me again, Ifrit, or next time, I’ll slice you from neck to groin.”
The challenge was more than he could handle.
After that, he ran into her on purpose, and while she threatened him plenty, even bruised him and cut him, they eventually ended up lovers.
Lovers that would be punished should anyone ever find out. Because Erela’s people only mated with their own.
But Erela had chosen him, and he didn’t care about the consequences. Who made the laws forbidding them from being together?
They obviously didn’t understand how love worked.
He still recalled how his heart used to race when the time of their trysts approached—making a lie of those who claimed him without one. He had a heart. He felt. He loved. Loved so much.
Some would claim the forbidden nature of their relationship was what appealed. Others would blame the sex.
The really good sex.
But he knew it was more than that.
She’s the one.
And he had been ready to let everyone know. To hell with what their families thought. The stupid ban would end with them.
He’d truly believed it would happen until the mark, the one they’d shared one glorious afternoon, their naked bodies entwined, always glowing so warm in his chest, went dark.
In that moment, a coldness entered him. An empty place that only Erela could fill. For a while, anger kept him warm, but even it faded. Nothing mattered. Not anymore.
Until the day he realized that she might still live.
Now, there was a chance to fill the void within him. To have what had been taken from them. Except…she no longer wanted Desmond.
She’d suffered because of him. The jealousy of his bastard brother had brought her extreme pain, and now she couldn’t forgive Desmond.
At the moment, he wasn’t sure he could forgive himself.
It broke something inside to hear how she suffered. She was right. Their pain couldn’t compare. Especially since he’d thought that she had betrayed him. Thought she’d lied about wanting to get married and bear his progeny.
Meanwhile, she’d been tortured.
In the end, because he hadn’t found her, she’d had to save herself.
My fault. Desmond should have dug deeper. He’d taken the muffling of their mark to mean that she was dead or, as Mammon taunted, that she’d gone. He’d never once imagined the truth. Never once suspected that the tribunal had gotten involved.
They’d made her forget him.
They’d hidden her.
They knew.
They. Knew.
And now, they would taste his vengeance.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Logan stood beside Titus and watched out the window of the townhome the vampire had rented while his mansion was rebuilt. In the yard, Adara went through the motions of an imaginary battle. Her movements so fluid, they almost blurred.
“She’s good,” Logan remarked.
“She was trained to be a killer.”
“To kill who?” he asked.
Titus rolled his shoulders. “She won’t say. She is still claiming she doesn’t recall much of her earlier life.”
“You think she’s lying?”
“Not entirely. Hints of the spell still cling to her. But she is remembering things, she’s just not sharing.”
“She looks nothing like the woman we met months ago.”
“That was but a disguise.” T
itus gestured outside. “This is the real Adara.”
A woman who stood almost six feet with platinum hair bound back in a braid. There remained no sign of the frailty that she used to exude. Her confidence grew by leaps and bounds. It made her even more attractive than before.
Which, in turn, drew attention.
“Kevin and a few other pack members caught Desmond watching the place again.”
“So I heard,” Titus remarked, turning from the window and heading for the decanter of blood wine on the sideboard. “He just won’t give up. Apparently, he thinks if he hangs around long enough, he’ll find forgiveness.”
“Kind of sounds like someone we know.”
Titus grimaced. “If you are referring to Stefan, then I am not interested in his apologies either.”
Apparently, the incubus hadn’t died in the attack with Mammon. But his injury didn’t give him a free pass. According to Titus, Stefan was the reason Desmond knew about Adara. Although, the incubus didn’t go so far as to hand her over.
“He still claiming he wasn’t in cahoots with Mammon?”
Titus tossed back the drink before replying. “Says that wasn’t him. Claims someone else was feeding Mammon intel about Adara’s whereabouts.”
“Exactly how does one contact someone living in Hell?”
The vampire rolled his shoulders. “I don’t know, but there must be a method. Why?”
“Because, if Stefan wasn’t the mole, then that means there’s still someone close to us that can’t be trusted.”
“You suspect one of yours?” Titus fixed him with a gaze.
Logan bristled. “My pack is one hundred percent loyal to me.”
“Are they? I would have said the same of Stefan.”
The reminder left a bitter taste. Logan paced. “Could be someone has been spying on our movements.”
“It wouldn’t be that hard. We weren’t paying attention to the possibility before.”
“Well, we’re watching now,” Logan growled. He didn’t intend to be caught off guard again. “Let me ask you something that’s been bugging me. Doesn’t it seem odd that her ex-boyfriend and psycho kidnapper came looking for her, but her family hasn’t.”
“It is odd.”
“And?”
Titus returned to stare out the window. “I think the same thoughts have crossed Adara’s mind.”
“You don’t think they’re partially responsible for what happened to her, do you?”
Titus tucked his hands behind his back. “An interesting man called Wes Fesler once said, ‘there is no greater blessing than a family hand that lifts you from a fall; but there is no lower curse than a family hand that strikes you when you're down.’”
“Meaning?”
“I don’t think Adara’s problems are over yet.”
Logan didn’t have to hear Titus say it aloud to hear the unspoken bit of that thought.
This is just the beginning.
Epilogue
The dream began in the field. But Adara had no interest in it. Nor in the wall behind it.
The home and past she’d lost should remain that way, for she could never return.
What did interest her was a question everyone seemed to ask her.
How did I escape?
Mammon had joked about the chains waiting for her. She remembered those bonds. Thick and cold, dragging at her limbs, keeping her a prisoner.
Only rarely did Mammon release her from them, and just so she could be healed. The metal interfered with the process.
The healing sessions were blanks in Adara’s memories. Passed out and on the point of death, she didn’t know how it had happened. Or even who’d done it.
But she must have regained enough of her senses in one of those sessions to flee.
If only she could remember it.
She awoke in shadows, the sun having almost set. She could feel the reassuring tug of Logan, and that of Titus. She took comfort in their presence. Adara ignored the third tie. Kept a door slammed down over it so that Desmond wouldn’t get a single inkling of her thoughts and emotions.
As she sat up in bed, she cast a shadow on the wall, and it almost appeared like a robed figure.
Blink.
The hand stretched from the robe and grabbed her chin. “She’s almost dead. Again.”
“Don’t lecture. You said I could do what I liked with her,” Mammon grumbled.
“You were told to keep her alive.”
“She’s alive.”
“Barely.”
“Then fix her.”
The hand pressed down on her, and magic pulsed into her, soothing the aches. Reducing the pain.
“This will take some time.”
“I have matters to attend. See yourself out when done.” The heavy tread of feet receded, and the ominous weight of Mammon’s presence lifted.
She fluttered her lashes, and her lips parted. “Help me. Please.”
The robed figure recoiled.
She reached for him. “Please.”
“There is no help for the Forsaken.”
Blink.
It took Adara a moment to realize what the vision meant. A moment for the rage to solidify.
The tribunal hadn’t merely cast her aside when she sought them for aid. They’d played a part in her torture.
And for that, they would die.
* * *
The End
…but stay tuned for Kiss of Light.
Looking for more urban fantasy type books by Eve Langlais?
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