Eternity's Awakening (The Vein Chronicles Book 3)

by Anne Malcom

  Sophie held on for a second longer, the image of Conall’s wild gaze keeping her from surrendering, the memory of those electric irises full of wildness and love.

  But even the unyielding grip of her wolf was nothing compared to the witch, the one harnessing whatever was already inside Sophie.

  “Relax, child. This will be lost from your memory until I wish it. Until the time is right.” The voice had blood trailing from her eyeballs—punishment for not meeting the gaze. “The pain will stop when you look at me. Everything will stop.”

  Sophie’s eyes pounded, and then her gaze met the black and cold stare of death.

  And then it did stop.

  Everything.

  And the last thing Sophie felt was immense relief.

  Chapter 13

  Isla

  I regarded myself in the mirror. I looked fabulous, obviously. A certain Parisian designer was getting to keep all his digits and his family was out of harm’s way. They were never exactly in harm’s way, as it was, but he didn’t know that.

  Obviously he hadn’t known I was a vampire either; he’d just thought I was a crime lord’s demanding and dangerous wife.

  I didn’t like having to be the wife of someone dangerous in order to make my demands known, but when dealing with the human world, I had to work within the human parameters of patriarchy. It wasn’t as threatening to be a woman telling a man—no matter how gay he was—that she would break all his fingers if he didn’t make her a fabulous dress. Well, not without showing fang, anyway. And we’d only just gotten the publicity nightmare with all that straightened out.

  He had really outdone himself. It was a midnight black, crisscross halter neck in sheer chiffon, near strangling me with the embroidered lace circling my neck. I wondered if he added such a detail for its striking effect or because he was pissed that I’d threatened him. Whatever, it had a striking effect and I didn’t need to breathe anyway, so it was all good.

  The chiffon then spanned downward in a teardrop shape, clinging to every part of my body, completely sheer apart from hand-beaded lace panels covering my breasts and heavy-beaded embroidery at my waist. Delicate roses were stitched in black, snaking up my torso.

  From my hips, the chiffon waterfalled downward, draping beautifully and only hinting at the skin of my legs with its sheer fabric. It trailed behind me in a modest train that wouldn’t get too fucked up if this wedding were to turn into a bloodbath. I just hoped it would do so after everyone saw how hot I was.

  My hair was teased and then yanked into a messy bun, red ringlets escaping here and there, accentuating my makeup—which, for once, was rather subtle. I only had a dusting of coppery hues on my eyelids and a nude lip. Unheard of for me, but somehow it worked.

  I continued to stare at my emerald green eyes, diving into the depths and remembering what those eyes saw five hundred years ago.

  My hair tumbled in ringlets, almost down to my waist. It wasn’t seemly for a woman to have her hair down, especially a bride, but I had insisted.

  Jonathan liked it long.

  I pinched at my cheeks to bring about a blush, my fingers lingering on the rush of blood to the surface. How much longer would I have warm blood flow? How much longer would I take breaths, frenzied and shallow whenever Jonathan was near?

  “You are a fool,” I whispered to my reflection, even as my eyes glowed with happiness and my mouth turned up. The knowledge of my true nature wasn’t enough to chase away the only lasting feeling of happiness and love I’d ever experienced.

  Jonathan loved me, and I loved him. Details of life—or more accurately, my death—seemed of no consequence today. My wedding day.

  I ran my hands over my midsection, trying to suck in the oxygen I still needed to survive. The corset made such a motion painful, and I only got a sliver of air into my lungs in such a way that made them burn and my head feel light for a moment. It passed. Corsets were not my thing, but Jonathan had commented on how fetching he found them—in passing, of course—so I gladly accepted the pain and the trouble breathing in order to see his face when he saw my gown.

  It was pure white, the finest of fabrics, with a thin beaded lace overlay. The sleeves dipped off my shoulders, displaying my pale skin, then puffed slightly and ended at the top of my arm. I wore long white gloves so only a small portion of my skin was on show. From my bust downward, the dress fell softly, skimming at my curves, not hiding them completely but merely hinting at them.

  I didn’t need to pinch my cheeks in order to blush that time, the thought of Jonathan finally skimming those curves with his hands reddening my entire face.

  I held my palms to my cheeks in an effort to call them down.

  “I am a fool,” I whispered to my reflection. “But I am a fool in love.”

  A knock at the door jerked me out of my head. Which was good, as the coldness in my toes had begun creeping up to my knees at the memory of my first wedding day. At my blind happiness. Blind stupidity.

  And there I was doing it all again.

  The door opened, and I glared at Rick as he stepped into the room.

  “You’re supposed to wait until someone calls out after knocking,” I snapped, touching up my lipstick before turning to face him. “I could’ve been naked.”

  Rick froze as his eyes climbed up and down my body. It wasn’t exactly the hungry gaze he’d worn before the human entered the picture, but it wasn’t a fraternal glance either. It was a distinctly male gaze.

  “You could’ve been naked?” he repeated after clearing his throat and blanking his features. He nodded toward my body. “So this isn’t naked now?”

  I winked at him. “This is me, Rick. Do you expect anything less? Or maybe people did expect a lot less. This is actually practically demure for me.” I glanced at his jet-black slim-cut suit, unbuttoned charcoal shirt underneath, no tie.

  “Looking rather spiffy yourself, bro,” I continued. “It’s okay if I call you that, right? Since we’re family? Well technically, almost. Even if Thorne is very adamant that it’s not the case.” I sat on the bed so I could slide on my strappy Louboutins.

  “No, it’s not okay,” he said through gritted teeth.

  I glanced up, grinning. “Okay, noted.” I put my attention back to my shoes. They were complicated as all hell to put on, which meant I’d have to be buried in them, obviously. “So, bro, what’re you doing seeing the bride before the wedding? Coming to profess your eternal love for me? I’m afraid you’ll have to get in line, behind the immortals who want to kill me.” I shrugged. “It’s first in, first served, I’m afraid.”

  “You’re wearing all black,” he observed, instead of replying or declaring his eternal love for me. “To a wedding.”

  I rolled my eyes, then gave myself an appreciative wink in the mirror. If you don’t acknowledge how good you’re looking, then you invite no one else to, and I love compliments.

  “I’m aware,” I said. “Black is the color of my soul, and hides blood the best.”

  “I repeat, a wedding,” he continued, eyes hard but still holding that glint that told me he was at least somewhat amused.

  Another eye roll. “Just making sure you know it’s my wedding,” I said dryly. “And how many weddings have you been to? I’d assume a lot of vampire ones, kingly duties and all that. So you should know better than me that every single one ends in blood, and more than a few funerals. If they don’t, they’re an utter fucking bore. If no one dies before they cut the cake, just warning you, I’ll be killing someone, and since you’re crashing this shindig, I’d watch your back.” I paused, putting in a black diamond earring. “Does the groom know you’re here? And if he doesn’t, can I please be there when he sees you for the first time? Call it a wedding present.”

  I couldn’t imagine that Thorne would be happy at his semi-estranged brother turning up at our wedding. He was barely handling him turning up to all the battles we kept getting in the middle of, even if he did sometimes kind of help save our lives and all that jaz
z.

  In Thorne’s opinion, Rick was not only the reason we were in this predicament, but he was also the man who invented Crocs—in other words, the Devil incarnate.

  I didn’t hate Rick, especially now that the pesky problem of our sexual tension had been solved with the appearance of the human. Even with her still MIA, there was no longer that awkward connection between the two of us that had lingered before.

  If only he’d stop taking himself so seriously, then we might have been able to be friends. Then again, if he stopped taking himself so seriously, it wouldn’t be near as amusing making fun of him.

  “Thorne knows I’m here. In fact, he asked me to come,” Rick said, unbuttoning his jacket to sit on the armchair beside my vanity.

  I raised my brow while fastening my black diamond tennis bracelet. “He asked you to come?” I repeated. “Yeah, right.”

  “Believe what you will. But he invited me here most likely because you invited Jonathan, and he seems to be under the impression that he very well may show up.” Accusation rang in his tone.

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, you too?” I huffed. “I’m done with the lectures about what a bad idea it was to invite my ex-husband turned evil vampire leader bent on killing the Scooby Crew to our wedding,” I said. “Honestly, I did it because we were getting nowhere with your little peace talks and sporadic battles. He was trying to keep us distracted. For what, I’m not sure. But I know my mother’s involved, so it’ll be something underhanded and snide. Just trying to actually invite this battle of the ages so maybe we’re not still expecting it in a century. I’ve got other things to do, you know.”

  Rick gazed at me, unblinking. “That may be so, but you invited this so-called ‘battle of the ages’ to your wedding when you’re not only still feeling the effects of the spell cast by Malena—and still will be until she’s banished—but also in the midst of your Awakening.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “If this is going to be another speech on how weak I am currently, I’ll be finding out how blood fares on this gown sooner rather than later,” I bit out.

  He didn’t look bothered by my threat, and if he thought he was safe because I didn’t want to ruin my dress before my wedding. He was actually probably right; I looked bomb as fuck, and I wasn’t about to ruin my entrance.

  “No, though that is something you fail to seem to care about,” he said mildly. “I’m not talking about their ability to harm you, because it’s apparent that that’s not the intention here.” He regarded me. “I’m talking about the fact that the second you go into battle and touch someone who has the chance to get away, they’ll know you’re in your Awakening, if they don’t already. Then efforts to capture you will likely double. Because they don’t want to kill you. They want to capture you alive.” His eyes met mine, as if he was plucking thoughts from my head. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Just like you knew that part in the prophecy wasn’t pertaining to you and Thorne as everyone has come to believe,” he continued.

  I paused in front of the mirror.

  “It is not strictly your union that’s meant to change things, it’s the life you would create should you not be wearing that ring.”

  Rick was in my space, hand in mine, running his thumb over top of the warm metal. The crystal glowed lightly under his touch. He had caught me quite off guard, so I was still frozen when he continued to speak. “I’m guessing Thorne isn’t aware of the little part in the prophecy where the mix of Praestes and Ambrogio’s Vein Lines will create a child who is nothing like the immortal world has ever seen?”

  I didn’t falter under his stare. “I chose not to share that little titbit because I hate children, so the point is moot.”

  Sophie had pulled me aside quite a lot earlier in the piece.

  “Hey! Watch the merchandise!” I snapped, yanking my sleeve out of her grip. “This is vintage Chanel.”

  She didn’t look perturbed. She looked a little frantic, truth be told. But these days Sophie was always frantic, what with werewolves, crazy witches, and scary powers inside her.

  “Dude, have you considered a day at the spa?” I asked. “You look super tense. I could totally drive the witch’s babysitting duty for a day so you could get a rub-down and a facial.”

  “You need to make sure you don’t have sex with Thorne until I’ve given you the charm,” she hissed, eyes darting to the door she’d slammed shut behind us.

  “Ah, no duh, witch,” I replied. “You really think I want to be carrying a bun in this oven?” I pointed down to my stomach. “No thank you. I do not like children, and I don’t want the responsibility of having to fuck a little vampire human half-breed up in the appropriate manner.”

  Unbidden, a small child with Thorne’s midnight hair and emerald eyes came to my mind.

  I reared back internally, disgusted with myself.

  Sophie regarded me like she could see into my brain. Maybe she could. Maybe I needed one of those little tinfoil hats to guard my thoughts. Or was that just with aliens?

  I made a mental note to Google it later.

  “I’m serious, Isla,” she said.

  I raised my brow. “So am I. I. Hate. Children. And getting fat. I’d surely punish it for that fact alone.” I paused, tilting my head. “No wonder my mother is joining forces with a rebel army trying to kill me. It’s for making her wear maternity wear.”

  “Isla,” Sophie demanded.

  I sighed. “What now?”

  Her general demeanor told me there was something more to this than her abhorrence for the thought of maternity wear.

  “There is another part to the prophecy, in the book. I dismissed it because we thought your Awakening was decades away—”

  “Mother Nature is a shrew, move on,” I said, not getting good feelings about this.

  “The child of the dark and the being designed to hunt it will come together in Fatal Harmony,” she whispered, voice empty.

  “Oh fuck, not this again,” I muttered.

  “And this Harmony will create one of each of the two. Not vampire or human, but something else. Something that will change the fate of the world.”

  I blinked at her, waiting to see if any more nonsense would be spoken from the jukebox that was my witch.

  Nothing else came.

  I folded my arms as her eyes cleared. “Okay, so the gist of that was ‘don’t get pregnant, it’ll open up a can of shit,’” I said. “I got it. Just make me that little charm quick smart, why don’t you? I get irresponsible when I’m horny.”

  I hadn’t told Thorne because I wasn’t an idiot. Who needed another stupid riddle spouted from who knew where about our ‘Fatal Harmony’ and the end of the world.

  Snore.

  I wasn’t getting pregnant.

  So that was that.

  I’d thought I was safe now that I had the little ring and no one but Sophie and I knew.

  I was wrong.

  “Did the witch tell you?” I demanded, ripping my hands from his grip. “Because her Whore of Dishonor title is getting stripped right this second, and I swear to Karl Lagerfeld I’ll give it to Scott.”

  “It wasn’t the witch,” he said.

  I narrowed my eyes. “What? You read it in US Weekly or something, then?”

  He buttoned his jacket. “It is not of import how I came about the information. It matters that the information exists and that the enemy quite likely has the means to acquire it.” He gave me a look. “Rings can be taken off, Isla. Fingers severed.” He glanced down. “Remember that next time you invite war without planning.”

  Then he walked out. And what a great exit to put me in good spirits to marry the love of my undeath.

  I had barely a moment’s peace before another immortal barreled through the door.

  “Okay, I’ve got a car running in the alley and I can totally curse all these mofos to give us a head start,” Sophie said on entrance, winking at me and also handing me an entire bottle
of Cristal. She was cradling whisky.

  I sipped the liquid, thankful for my bestie. “Ah, tempting, but it would be a shame to waste the dress,” I replied.

  Sophie stared at me, whistling as she did so. “Yeah, that’s a dress,” she decided. Then her eyes met mine. Something strange, empty almost flickered in hers before it was gone, replaced with a slight twinkle. “You make a hot-as-fuck vampire bride, bloodsucker,” she said, voice husky.

  The twinkle turned into a shimmer, and I totally thought she was going to do something girly like cry. But then it disappeared, and again I got a glimpse of that strange emptiness. “If I swung that way and didn’t have a werewolf playing soccer with my heart, I would totally kill Thorne and run away with you,” she said.

  I grinned. “And if Thorne didn’t have the most magical dick in all the land, I might let you,” I returned, then paused. “I guess I kind of love him too.”

  Rick’s words spun in my head, as did the ever-increasing feeling of doom. That fear that Jonathan would come and take away every single thing I’d accumulated, every single person, including the witch in front of me. Including the man who was likely looking totally fuckable waiting to marry me.

  Suddenly the need to run was overwhelming. “Fuck,” I whispered. “Am I making a mistake? The very fact that I care whether or not I’m making a mistake spells a fuck of a lot of trouble.” I downed more wine.

  Sophie stepped forward. “Don’t get in your own head right now, Isla,” she said, snatching my hand. Her eyes held mine. “This is a good thing, you and Thorne. Fuck, even if it does start the end of the world, I’ll still support it.” She winked, again, though something felt flat and foreign about it. Then again, I wasn’t the best judge of character right now since I felt rather flat and foreign.

  “You deserve this,” she continued. “The dress, the diamonds, the party. But especially the human who looks at you like you aren’t evil incarnate but some kind of salvation wrapped in damnation. The human man who would tear his own heart out just in case you needed a spare.” She squeezed my hand. “There are a lot of things that I’ll stand by and let you fuck up. Even more that I’ll help you fuck up. But this is not one of them. If I need to, I’ll charm you to walk down that aisle.”