“Yes,” he said. “But they won’t catch me.”
“John, we have a problem.” Vic sounded almost panicked.
Not that Johnathan could blame him. The sky was growing light with the approach of dawn. The rift bulged outward, the strained sac about to burst. The creatures of the Nether, sensing the nearby carnage, hungered to come through.
“Is Alyse safe?” He wanted to make sure she was far from the violence.
“Yes. I carried her into town before I rushed back here.”
“I know what to do,” said Johnathan.
The Morrigan’s words filtered through his thoughts. The Nether would reclaim its ilk. As a Hellhound, that meant him too. There had been a lingering dread that he wouldn’t survive this encounter, he just hadn’t expected it to end like this.
He crossed the blood-drenched clearing, trying to settle his thoughts. He didn’t dare look at Lydia Fairchild, still caught in Evans’ silver net. What he had to do would doom them both, would condemn all the girls to the same fate.
He hated that he couldn’t save them, but their humanity, like his own, was lost. He tried to shut out Lydia’s whimpers, and knelt to retrieve the gold coin, coated in blood. Appropriate as it had brought so much death. He gripped it tight between his fingers and approached the writhing rift.
Vic blurred to a halt beside him. “You have the coin.”
Johnathan’s heart broke. Vic didn’t realize it yet, what would happen when he sealed the rift. That was fine. It was better this way.
He leaned closer, nuzzling Vic’s cheek, memorizing his scent to keep it with him wherever the rift took him. If only he’d taken more advantage of their time together, but there was no time to ponder regrets, or what could have been.
Johnathan tossed Fairchild’s coin into the rift. “Our bargain is done.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Cernunnos was the first to stir. The great horned one turned his ruined face to Johnathan, an air of resignation in the sluggish movements. Steam streamed from his nostrils in a sigh. The battle won, but not the war.
It was a good fight.
The silent voice crackled against Johnathan’s awareness. The bulging strain of the rift suddenly convulsed, the protuberance sucked inward. The barrier rippled with the faint screams of the denied demons as the Nether began to reclaim its ilk. The grisly throne rattled, bones new and old flaking to dust.
The first kiss of sunlight lined Cernunnos’ prone figure, who turned to ash. The Hellhounds curled against one another in their human bodies. They held hands and shut their eyes against the glare of the morning sun, an odd sense of relief in their expressions while their bodies slowly crumbled away. Vic stared at the fading Hellhounds in stunned horror.
Johnathan braced himself. He didn’t feel it yet, that coming apart. Maybe because he was the one to cast the coin. Maybe because he was the newest one. Too many variables to say for sure.
Lydia Fairchild’s struggles stilled. He finally let himself look at her now that it was the end. The silver net marred her skin, but she was still beautiful. Her eyes glowed an unnatural orange, an internal flame trapped in her irises.
Johnathan brushed the corner of his eye. What did his eyes look like? Not that it mattered. He wouldn’t be around to study his reflection.
“Thank you,” said Lydia. She closed her eyes, a smile on her lips as she turned to ash with the rising sun.
Why would she thank him? He’d damned them all to the Nether. Or perhaps, only Cernunnos would be dragged back into the hell realm, and his creations were simply released from their wretched state. Johnathan could reconcile himself to death. It was a short life, so many opportunities wasted, so much heartache. Maybe it was time to rest.
He stiffened at the loss of feeling in his fingers, waiting for them to char and disintegrate.
“No,” said Vic. “Oh no, no, no. Dammit, John!”
Vic snatched him up, rushing him beneath the shade of the nearest tree. The strategy appeared to work, the fade slowing, though Johnathan’s skin continued to turn gray, the hue like a spreading stain.
Vic gripped his wrists tight, as if he could keep Johnathan from disappearing through sheer stubborn will. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I had to stop it,” said Johnathan.
The rift bulged out one last time, a final rage against the light, before it collapsed in on itself and sealed with a faint clap of thunder. The flames in their braziers shrank and sputtered, guttered as they burned through the final influence of the Nether realm.
It wouldn’t be long now. Not even the shadows could keep him here, only delay the inevitable. At least he could enjoy Vic’s company for a few more seconds, minutes, however long he had. Johnathan was grateful for that.
He brushed his lips over the back of Vic’s hand. The vampire was having none of that, pulling Johnathan into a desperate embrace, cool lips eating at his own fever-hot mouth. If this was how he was to die, Johnathan decided it was a good end.
“No!” Vic broke away, pressing his forehead against Johnathan’s. “I promised you we would figure this out.” Tears streamed down his pale cheeks. “This isn’t fair.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Johnathan.
It was far from fair.
“Of course it matters,” said Vic, his voice fierce. “This isn’t right. The Society still wins.”
“Least Evans won’t be around to see it,” said Johnathan.
Vic shook his head. His thumbs smoothed down the side of Johnathan’s face. The ashen hue crept higher. The surface of his skin began to stir, fine gray powder swirling as Johnathan began to disperse. The pressure of Vic’s grip increased, but it was harder for Johnathan to feel it now.
“There has to be another way. There has to!” Vic gasped. “You don’t deserve this end.”
“Don’t I?” He’d helped kill Sir Harry, someone he loved. He allowed himself to be manipulated for years by the Society. And now, he was a monster.
Vic smacked his forehead hard against Johnathan’s. “Idiot.”
“Ow,” said Johnathan.
“Then don’t talk about yourself like that.”
Vic still hadn’t let go of Johnathan’s face. It didn’t stop the process, but he wondered if the contact slowed it somehow. He was grateful for every moment he clung to with Vic.
“The Morrigan knew this would happen,” said Vic.
A small smile played on Johnathan’s lips. He didn’t regret coming to Cress Haven. He was fortunate enough to meet Alyse and Vic, and he got to see something as fantastical as the Morrigan. For all their games and strangeness, the fairies gave him a grand gift.
A new bond to cherish.
“Forge a bond stronger than the call of his realm,” whispered Vic. He shook Johnathan’s arms. “Johnathan, help me save you. Help me keep you here! Tell me what to do!”
He stared at Vic, Evans’ taunting words coming back to him. Deep down, in the wildest part of him, he knew the answer.
“A Hellhound is a servant,” he whispered. “Be they bound to a demon master or a man.”
Vic winced. “Are you certain?”
Johnathan looked away from him. The braziers were still lit, the fire no larger than a candle flame. “I don’t know. I don’t know the methods or the rules. He wanted to use me like a dog, to hunt his enemies. And Cernunnos’ will superseded mine. I couldn’t fight his influence. Hellhounds appear to be ready-made servants.”
“I wouldn’t know how to bind you like that,” said Vic. “I couldn’t bind you like that.”
Johnathan snorted. “Can you think of any other way?”
Vic swallowed. “There is something we could try.”
“What—” Johnathan gasped as the spread of ash accelerated.
“We don’t have a lot of time,” said Vic, his voice tight, but he maintained the facade of calm. “I won’t force you John and I don’t know if it will work. Do you want to try?”
He couldn’t look at Vic, transfixed by t
he sight of his legs crumbling to ash beneath him. Could he even come back from this point? “I—I have to kill to become human again. Every time I shift. I can’t live like that.”
“Then we find another way,” said Vic. “I have. It can be done.”
Johnathan met Vic’s gaze. There were deep shadows under his eyes, evidence of his blood loss and the strain of his healing abilities. Vic’s skin was parchment pale, yet somehow he looked more human than Sir Harry ever had. Johnathan wished he’d found Vic first. He could imagine a very different life with a creature—with a person—like Vic.
Johnathan didn’t want to die.
“Yes,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
Vic didn’t hesitate. He kept a hand on Johnathan, as if afraid to let him go for a second and tore open his wrist with his teeth. “The Morrigan asked me what I was willing to risk to save you. How I could anchor you here.” He sucked in a breath, offering his bleeding wrist to Johnathan. “Vampires don’t follow rules as the fairies, but there is power in blood, power in the offering. It might be enough.”
Johnathan’s gaze searched Vic’s, trying to stifle the surging urgency of his crumbling body. Doubts plagued his mind. The risk, the unknown, Vic’s theory was a wild stab in the dark, and neither of them knew what could happen if it did work.
The vampire held his breath. A smile tugged at Johnathan’s lips. The decision was well and truly his to take.
He bent his head and latched onto Vic’s wrist. The vampire’s blood was a jolt to the system, like lightning mixed with the sweet wine taste on Johnathan’s tongue. The blood slid down his throat and dropped, a physical anchor in his stomach. Life flooded back into him, and he gasped at the painful tingling in his limbs.
“Ha!” shouted Vic. “It’s working.”
Johnathan’s intestines boiled. He braced himself as his arms and legs began to reform.
He hadn’t felt a blessed thing when his limbs began to crumble. Now, his veins humming with Vic’s blood, he felt every second of it. He rode the sensation. He wanted to live, didn’t he? What was life without a little pain?
A lot of pain.
The process finally rolled through him and left him a puddle of sweat and flesh curled up on the blood-saturated ground. There was a horrid sour aftertaste coating the inside of his mouth. He was fairly certain he was lying in the remains of a former Society agent.
“I feel like something crawled in my mouth and died three days ago,” said Johnathan.
“You definitely need a bath,” said Vic. He grinned at Johnathan, naked relief in his face.
“You say the sweetest things to me,” said Johnathan.
The two of them looked at each other, surrounded by death and ashes. The realization simultaneously hit them both; they survived.
Vic hauled Johnathan up, clutching him close as he claimed his mouth, a frantic kiss Johnathan returned with equal enthusiasm. His hands roamed the vampire’s body, worshipping the smooth skin of his back, the chiseled angles of his abdomen. Mindless of the filth that clung to them and the violence that surrounded them, they committed themselves to the moment, two beings who found one another despite the incredible obstacles in their way. Finally, they broke apart, leaning into each other for support. Vic’s cool breath panted against Johnathan’s neck, a glorious contrast to the warm sun that now kissed his naked back.
“What now?” Johnathan glanced at the surrounding carnage. “The Society will come to clean this mess up. I can’t stay here.”
Vic gripped his face, Johnathan’s fear and hope reflected in his gaze. “We can’t stay here,” said Vic.
Johnathan breathed out a rush of relief, nipping at the vampire’s neck in a way that made Vic shudder and groan. They were a team now.
Vic cleared his throat and gave a polite sniff. “First, we get you some clothes. And a bath. Then, we run.”
“But Cress Haven is your home.” said Johnathan. “What about Alyse?”
Vic’s smile was bittersweet. “Home isn’t a place, John. And don’t you worry about Alyse. She is strong enough to survive without me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to write a goodbye letter.”
Guilt tore into Johnathan at the weary slump of Vic’s shoulders. “I could run on my own, Vic. Everyone who knows about you is dead. You’re safer without me.”
Vic waved him off. “Don’t be an idiot. Do you even know how to purchase a train ticket on your own?”
“Of course I do,” snapped Johnathan.
“With what money?”
He flinched at that. He didn’t even have clothes on his back.
“But—why? Why stay with me?” He didn’t understand how Vic could simply drop everything to run with him. Bond or no bond, being with Johnathan was a risk.
Vic gave him an odd look. “Do you really not know? After everything?”
Oblivious, Johnathan gaped at him, but as Vic neared, that cloudy gaze turning darker and darker, he finally understood.
Vic’s kiss was almost punishing in its ferocity, bruising Johnathan’s lips, marking him with a promise of other, deeper things.
Johnathan couldn’t respond, too stunned to speak.
“I’m staying with you because I want to,” said Vic. “Because I can’t imagine my future without you in it.” With that, the vampire turned and walked toward the tree line. He flashed a half-smile over his shoulder, one brow raised. “You coming?”
Johnathan smiled in return, the feeling so strange after so much carnage and misery. But he couldn’t look back. Something good—something right—awaited him.
He broke into a jog, reaching Vic’s side. The sun shone down through the trees, bathing them in warm, pure light.
“Us against the world?” said Vic.
Johnathan slid his hand into Vic’s grasp. “I’d have it no other way.”
Chapter Thirty
The late afternoon sun had begun to dip under the horizon when Alyse reached the clearing. The path was gone, swallowed up by the wood, even the tracks of the cage Evans used to bring them to the rift seemed to have vanished in the light of day.
She didn’t dare tell anyone what happened. What would she say? They’d call her hysterical and lock her up, and that simply wouldn’t do. Vic told her he’d be back by sunrise. He promised. Alyse was going to throttle the idiot when she found him. And Johnathan! Dammit, she hated how they made her worry.
Alyse bit her lip. Was Johnathan still alive? She couldn’t avoid thinking of the worst outcome. That last sight of him…
She finally found the clearing by the smell. The stink of rot was so ripe it made her eyes water, but the stench and the buzz of flies led her to the site sure as Ariadne’s string.
Saliva pooled in her mouth at the scene. Her mouth puckered against the reflex to vomit, but Alyse swallowed it down. She crossed the battlefield with short, shallow breaths, searching through the bodies. The society men were torn to pieces. Not a single one of them was intact. Was that bastard Evans among them? She hoped Johnathan ripped him to pieces.
She paused at a smear of bloodied grass, near the center of the clearing. The blood and viscera were all human. All evidence of the Nether, from the horrid throne to the Hellhounds, were gone. There were piles of ash in a circle close to the crude stone braziers, now cold and streaked with soot. Was Johnathan one of those piles? Her heart hurt at the thought.
Where were they?
Alyse stomped her foot in frustration and cringed when the movement sent little puffs of ash into the air. “Sorry,” she whispered to the dead.
Confused, she searched the area. There wasn’t a hint of Vic, or Johnathan, to be found.
Alyse held her grief close to her chest for the long trek home. The scavengers would come soon to pick at the remains of the Society men, and she would let them, let the forest claim them. Her thoughts wound themselves in circles, but an answer waited for her on the desk in her room, sealed with Vic’s familiar wax crest.
“This had better be good,” she muttered
, breaking the seal on the note.
My heart,
We are safe. I’m afraid I must break my promise. Johnathan and I need to run before the Society regroups. I pray you find this note before you visit that dreadful scene, but I know you are too stubborn to stay away. It’s what I love about you. I wanted to protect you from the more violent aspects of my existence, but now, in the hour of choice, I find I am desperate to keep you close. Selfish of me, I know. We are bound for the station in Hampshire. I will take Johnathan to New York. I would be honored if you would join us. You will always be the family of my heart. I would never have survived here without your guidance and generosity. No matter what you decide, remember to follow your heart, dear one, and never bury your true self.
Forever yours,
Victor
Alyse read the letter twice over before she carefully shredded it into strips. She would burn the paper in a moment. Her relief swamped her. Johnathan was alive. The day was won, and Vic wanted her at his side.
Her thoughts turned over. The Society would never leave them alone. Evans spent three decades searching for a Hellhound. That sort of time investment wasn’t the work of one man.
She paced, a plan formulating in her mind when her toe connected with something solid. Alyse glanced down at the mysterious gun Evans used to shoot the Nether creature. Vic must have left it for her, finally acknowledging her capability. Curious, she picked it up, surprised at how light it was for its size.
A weapon felt right in her hands. Her fingers closed around the metal, her mouth set in a grim determined line. She had a train to catch.
Epilogue
Johnathan kept vigil beside Vic at the back of the train. Both of them watched the station while the conductor called for final boarding.
“She’ll be here,” murmured Vic.
He hoped so, if only for Vic’s sake.
“Why New York?” he asked as a distraction, though he was curious.
The proximity to Boston was near enough to make him nervous. He wished the solution was to put an ocean between him and his old home, but Johnathan knew there were chapters of the Society in other cities, across the known world. It was only a matter of time before word of Evans’ death and failure spread. Would they accept the idea that Johnathan turned to ash like the other Hellhounds? Unlikely. The Society’s methods were too thorough. They encompassed all realms of investigation, mystic and material, a combination of magic and science. They would know. Then they would hunt Johnathan. To kill or to capture, neither fate was a pleasant one. How long could he and Vic possibly outrun them?
A Bargain of Blood and Gold Page 27