by Lana Sky
“It’s too late,” I whispered. “It’s already done.”
“No…” His hands skimmed my shoulders, caressing my throat. Encircling it…
Tightening.
Clenching.
Suffocating.
Gasping, I strained on the tips of my toes. Terror goaded my pulse into a frantic hammering—but whatever I was feeling was nothing compared to what his expression revealed. His eyes glowed, radiating pain and agonized intent. With every ounce of air to escape my lungs, something vital drained from his soul, rendering him hollow.
Lifeless.
Merciless.
And, as if from lightyears away, I heard Raphael…growl.
“Enough.”
I broke away, sputtering, clutching my throat. Through watering, burning eyes, I watched Raphael’s flicker in my direction. A crumpled piece of paper slipped from his fingers to the floor at his feet.
“Release her,” he commanded, though Dublin had already let me go. “Such a foolish game,” he hissed.
“But I’ve won,” I declared hoarsely, still rubbing my throat. “Haven’t I?”
Raphael said nothing, turning on his heel to leave the room. But his poised frame was trembling. For the first time, he no longer resembled that frozen, emotionless angel. He raged, every bit as vengeful as the serpent hanging from his throat.
Near the threshold of the room, his voice slithered back to reach us, a furious hiss. “You are freed. But trust, Cael, that when you falter. When your pathetic attempts at protection fail. When you require my mercy…I will be waiting. And you will come.”
He left, and tension I didn’t even know I’d been carrying within me snapped. I fell to the floor on my hands and knees, eyeing my reflection in the polished surface. Who was that wide-eyed woman with the stubborn tilt to her chin? Emotion constricted my chest, more suffocating than the hands that threatened to choke me only seconds earlier.
I wanted to laugh.
I wanted to cry.
I wanted to scream.
“I’m sorry.” Dublin stood above me, staring down at his hands, his brow furrowed in agony. “Eleanor, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be.” I managed to stand on quivering legs, but rather than comfort him, I crossed to the center of the floor and stooped for the page Raphael had discarded. On it was my scribbled answer. I traced every word as tears escaped down my cheeks, impossible to contain any longer.
Facing Dublin, I held the page out to him.
“I’m just glad that you were honest with me,” I whispered. “My bet was that Raphael couldn’t guess your reaction, and I was right.”
He eyed the paper, scanning the words written on it. A simple phrase in retrospect.
What would Dublin do should I dare to throw my life away on a whim? If I dared to forsake everything he’d sacrificed? If I so much as dreamt of betraying my trust in him?
Nothing short of what I would deserve, I supposed.
He would kill me.
His eyes shot up to mine and I was in his arms within an instant. Our lips met and I tasted salt as my tears flavored the kiss. I was shaking, clinging to him with everything I had as the full weight of what I’d done crashed over me.
In the midst of the turmoil, I almost didn’t hear the footsteps approaching. But the slow, callous clapping drew our notice. I stiffened as Dublin’s grip shifted into a protective vise.
“Beautiful,” Saskia said, her teeth bared in a snarl. Her features seemed grim without the aid of makeup, beneath the harsh, silvery lighting. “So beautiful. So pathetic. So pointless.” She laughed, sweeping her gaze from me to Dublin. “I sensed her condition the second I touched her, and yet I didn’t tell Raphael. Do you want to know why? No revenge that he nor I could plan would ever match the cruelty of this.”
She gestured my way with a wave of her hand. “Your Mero is quite the sadistic bastard. She’s broken, unable to be turned, but still doomed to die. I could taste her fate like sugar on my tongue.” She licked her lips pointedly, her eyes glowing. “And yet you, dearest Cael... You will get to watch her grow old and haggard. You’ll get to watch her die, knowing you can’t ever slow the relentless march of time. And I will be there to witness every fucking second of it.”
She turned on her heel, her laugh echoing throughout the chamber in her absence.
Even as Dublin led me from the warehouse entirely, it echoed.
I couldn’t ignore it.
Life or Death?
My stunt with Dmitri cost me nearly a full week of freedom. In the chaotic aftermath, Dublin shadowed my every movement. To be fair, it wasn’t a particularly unbearable imprisonment.
I was allowed to leave the house at least, if only in the company of my new team of drivers. François had returned from wherever Dublin had held him all this time, looking none too worse for wear—but joining him in the garage was a figure I recognized the moment I spotted him across the foyer one morning.
He stood near the entryway, his hands folded before him, his eyes warily watching my approach. If I’d still felt any anger toward him for deceiving me, all of it faded the instant I saw his face.
“Harper!” I broke decorum—and Gray tradition—by crossing to him and throwing my arms around his shoulders. If I wasn’t mistaken he squeezed me in return, just once before withdrawing to a respectful distance and inclining his head.
“At your service, Ms. Gray.”
Dublin could be good for something apparently. In addition to Harper’s return, he had also ensured that Mr. Tinkles was returned to his private suite and that a majority of the staff was quietly reinstated.
But overall, he was a corrupting presence.
Poor Gray Manor. My childhood home, once the pinnacle of emotionless, joyless living. For so long, the dust-covered walls had witnessed sex in only the most passionless form, as God intended.
But my Devil was so much more creative. By the fourth day, we’d corrupted at least three bedrooms. And the downstairs drawing room. And the alcove where the phone was kept in what had begun as a serious attempt to stock the pantry.
After that, Dublin retreated to the kitchen, and I—in an effort to return to normalcy—retreated to my room, ran a brush through my hair, and slipped into a robe.
Down the hall, I peered into a room where Yulia was dutifully keeping vigilance over a figure lying in the bed. “She’s still sleeping,” she said as I eyed Georgie’s gently rising chest. “If she wakes up again, I’ll let you know.”
Whatever Mero had done to her had drained her body of all energy. Dublin claimed she would recover with time, but consciousness returned in ebbs and flows.
“I promise,” Yulia insisted with a nod. She eyed my ensemble and winked. “I’m sure you’re hungry, and I can smell something cooking.”
When I approached the kitchen, sure enough, the scent of spices and cooking meat had my mouth watering. Even before I drew even with the figure busily at work behind the counter and realized one of two very important things.
The lesser item was that he was doing something incredible with his hands, manipulating a knife through various vegetables at once. The other realization was that he was stark, unashamedly naked.
I should have been appalled, I supposed. Yulia or my sister could intrude at any time, but Dublin was well aware of the limits of my manor and its occupants’ positions.
As well as the fact that it was impossible to hear anything occurring in this section of the house from the wing containing my bedroom.
Pale daylight basted his skin, shimmering against the ivory so that he almost appeared silver. Muscle and limbs moved in tandem as he worked. So intent was he that he didn’t even look up until I pulled up a stool to the counter and sat.
The moment I did, two gray eyes drifted up to notice me there. Almost instantly, he returned to his task of slicing up raw onions. Then the knife slipped, the blade slicing through the pad of his finger. The wound healed in an instant, even before my cry of shock left my chest.
<
br /> “You make it hard to focus entirely on your welfare,” he told me, his voice a dangerous rasp on the cool air. His eyes found me again, this time leisurely raking over my hastily tied robe.
Yulia, bless her soul, was a goddess. A devious, vengeful one who seemed to relish making Dublin Helos squirm. If only she knew.
“You don’t like it?” I innocently fingered an exceptionally crafted collar formed entirely from lace. Ivory lace to be exact. The whole garment in general was composed of delicate lattice-like patterns that extended just above my ankles. Modest in theory, but certainly not in action.
Dublin observed the ensemble with a look that could only be considered aggravated. Carefully, he set the blade aside and wiped his hands on a nearby rag. Then…
His hand shot out, capturing the back of my skull and drawing me in. Cool lips met mine. Briefly. Softly.
Against them, I couldn’t help but murmur, “This feels strange…”
Him in my home felt strange. Us interacting in this way felt strange. Strange as in natural. I didn’t have to think. It took so much effort to hate him.
“It does,” Dublin agreed, drawing back. “You know what else would feel strange?” Suddenly, his mouth was near my ear while one of his hands brushed the collar of my robe, nudging the panels apart. “Me…taking you against the counter, making you clutch it for balance while I…”
Dark scenarios dripped against my earlobe, each one more scandalous than the last.
“I agree,” I forced myself to rasp as my cheeks caught fire. “If only I weren’t so hungry…” My eyes were on the fangs glinting beneath his upper lip. “Then I might say no.”
Another presence in my room drew me awake.
Startled, I opened my eyes and fixated on a blurred figure nearby. “Georgie?”
No. Another woman was sitting on the edge of my bed, her skin the shade of caramel, her hair like spun gold coiling down her back. A plain black shirt and jeans disproved her potential as a maid or one of Dublin’s henchmen.
I started to sit upright. “Who are—”
“So maybe you aren’t entirely boring and worthless,” she told me with a sigh while kicking her feet over the floor. “And maybe…you were right. Why can’t you take your happiness? Why should they have all the fun?” She stood and languidly stretched her arms above her head. “And I must admit you were good to me, even if I loathed you at times.” Eyeing me from over her shoulder, she stroked something encircling her throat: a light blue strip of velvet with a charm dangling from the center. “It was nothing personal, honestly. Something about that form just makes me despise all affection. As for Dublin, well… I couldn’t resist rubbing it in his face, now could I?”
My breath caught. “Mr… Mr. T-Tinkles?”
“I did hate that name though,” she hissed, crossing her arms. “Alas, I loved taunting Dublin right beneath his nose more. I can reward you for that. Or perhaps I merely want to pat myself on the back for guessing which sister he’d fall for?” She smirked. “Everyone was sure it would be the other one… But I grow bored of watching him agonize and brood. Besides, it’s just not fair if he stays young forever while you age and wither. Eww.” She shuddered, twirling to face me.
At a glance, she looked painfully young—younger than I was, even. Though who knew what her true form was, given her affinity for switching sexes as well as species on a whim?
“I’ve lived far too long for the words of a mortal to have any effect on me, but yours did for whatever reason. You said you deserved your happiness. So fine.” She waved toward the hand I had clutching my pillow. “I’ve enchanted your ring. As long as you wear it, you will never age. Only you have the power to remove it, should you decide that immortality is not to your tastes. And your daughter may have one as well when she comes of age, should you wish. The only caveat is that you cannot tell Dublin—especially about my feline form.” She fingered her collar-like necklace, still smirking. “Should I need to utilize it again, I would hate for the fun to be ruined so soon. Besides, it will be so much more fun to watch him guess throughout the years. Just imagine ten years from now!” She giggled and skipped to the door. “But enjoy your happiness for however long it may last. And perhaps it’s time, I find my own? Goodbye, Eleanor Gray.”
I blinked and she had already vanished.
Epilogue
At the top of the grand staircase, I directed the movement of various pieces of furniture. It was a parade of everything from couches, to bed frames, to even a brand-new ivory piano imported from somewhere very expensive.
The frivolity would make my poor mother’s head spin.
As would the breathtaking beauty of my sole, one-man “army” of movers.
“That goes in the drawing room,” I declared, pointing to a pure-white chaise accompanied by matching armchairs. “Do be careful with it, slave. It’s worth more than your yearly wages, I’m sure.”
“And this?” the rather bold mover inquired, his gray eyes sparkling with mischief. In his arms was an ivory headboard, contrasting sharply with the ebony hue of his tailored suit. “Wherever does this go, mistress?”
My cheeks flamed. “Upstairs,” I said with the air of a queen.
He approached me, mounting the first step. Then he paused, his gaze drifting to someone behind me.
I turned as well, spying a pale figure lurking near the end of the hall.
All thoughts of furniture forgotten, I rushed toward her. “Georgie?”
“I’m okay,” she insisted, shrugging off the hand I’d placed on her shoulder. “I’ll never get my strength back if you keep coddling me.” Her mouth was flattened in determination, but the softness in her eyes robbed any resentment from her tone.
Forcing my arms down by my side, I followed her back into her room.
It’d been over a week since being rescued from under Mero’s influence and she still slept for most of the day. Our interactions since had been few and far between. In fact, now might have been the first time she’d had enough energy to speak let alone leave the room on her own.
“It looks like things have changed,” she whispered, eyeing me from head to toe. “It feels like I was out for years, not days—”
“I’m so sorry.”
She dismissed me with a wave of her hand and sat on the edge of her bed, facing me. “I should be the one who is sorry.” She bit her bottom lip, turning her gaze to the floor. “Everything is still fuzzy, but…” She looked up, meeting my gaze with a sigh. “I remember leaving. I remember walking away, convinced that there was no way to save us. I know we were never close but… I shouldn’t have lied to you.”
“I wasn’t exactly the easiest person to talk to,” I admitted, inching closer to her. “I don’t think I would have been able to understand, not then.”
Her lips parted in a faint smile. “Well, apparently there is still much that I don’t understand.” Her gaze settled on my stomach, and I sensed that Yulia had attempted to catch her up on some events that had transpired in her absence. “I have been in contact with the Grayne though.”
I stiffened. As far as Dublin would say, the faction was in chaos. There had been no further sign of Mero. No attacks. Perhaps he truly was lying in wait for my inevitable death.
Though, for now, my ring still sparkled on my finger, its promise elusive. Would I wear it for eternity, accepting Adara’s gift?
“As far as I know, the entire cell has gone into hiding,” Georgie explained. “I’m not sure why. But even if I decide not to run Dublin through with a stake”—she lifted her hand, scowling at the trembling fingers—“there is still evil being committed. Far beyond anything you realize. I can’t sit back and let our family’s legacy just…crumble.”
“I know,” I whispered, taking yet another step toward her. When I was close enough, I brushed my hand against her shoulder. She didn’t flinch beyond my reach. “But we could always start our own legacy?”
She took my hand. “So…how are you planning to redecorate exactl
y?”
I laughed. “Well, I’m starting with a basic color scheme of white.”
I left her room hours later and reentered the hall to find my “mover” carrying a piece of furniture down the hall. One I did not remember approving during my impulsive redecorating shopping spree.
My throat tightened as I observed the delicate contours making up the relatively simple square-shaped object. Once Dublin spotted my expression, he paused. His jaw clenched, his gaze wary.
“If you’re not ready, I can—”
“No.” I swallowed hard and approached him, my shoulders back. As I approached, I hesitantly trailed my fingers along the rim of the item, impressed by the quality of the wood. “It’s beautiful,” I croaked.
He had gone a step further. On top of the wooden frame was a small mattress draped in white.
“I’ve been thinking of names,” I admitted without looking up. “What about Agatha?”
The silence that fell was deafening. My cheeks heated as the seconds passed until I finally mustered the strength to meet his gaze. His eyes were a stormy silver, a blond eyebrow raised.
“Agatha?” he echoed. “Absolutely not. No child of mine would ever be saddled with such a horrid name.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Oh really? Then tell me, what name would please the big, bad Dublin Helos?”
He stroked his chin in genuine contemplation. “Something worthy. Like Drucilla. Or Mildred. Or Cornelia—”
“Cornelia?” I sputtered, my hands on my hips. “You think that is prettier than Agatha?”
“Immeasurably.” He circled the cradle to stand before me.
Within a heartbeat, I was in his arms, his mouth near mine.
“Though, I suppose I am willing to negotiate,” he told me. With every word, his lips brushed my cheek, sowing a million thrilling sensations I would never be able to fully decipher. “For a price…”
A Word from the Author