The Damned (The Unearthly Book 5)

by Laura Thalassa

  A news station popped on the screen. In the background I could see Castle Rushen and a number of vehicles with flashing lights.

  The caption that ran along the bottom of the screen read, Cult and Corruption within the Politia.

  I sucked in a breath and glanced at Oliver. He wore a smug grin, and when he caught my eyes, he wiggled his eyebrows. Behind me, Andre leaned forward, splaying his hands on the conference table.

  On the screen, Byron Jennings was carted away into one of the police cruisers. Human police cruisers.

  The revelation that paranormals really existed was met with mixed reactions. But here on the Isle of Man, where supernaturals had been an open secret for centuries—if not millennia—the police force was happy to aid us.

  Byron’s eyes briefly met the screen, and I shuddered. Darkness dwelled there. I hadn’t noticed it before, but having once felt its touch, I recognized it in others now.

  I was surprised to see that Byron hadn’t shifted and escaped his captors. Whatever cuffs held him bound, they must’ve been spelled to contain a shifter.

  “He already confessed to three attempted murders,” Oliver said, staring at the screen.

  I glanced over at my friend, my eyebrows nudging up. Something cold and hard entered the fairy’s features, and I realized that I’d only ever seen a happy Oliver. Well, okay, sometimes I’d seen him miffed, but never like this.

  “Three attempted murders?” I repeated, confused.

  Oliver sighed. “That moment when you realize your friend is such a badass she doesn’t remember those times someone tried to kill her. One was outside of Jericho’s Emporium a couple weeks ago, and the other was at the beginning of the school year, at Andre’s club Mystique.”

  I touched my throat, remembering the knife biting into my flesh. The other instance did require me to paused and think back. I flipped through my memories and—yes, I remembered. I was in Andre’s VIP suite when a man attacked me. He tried to stab me in the heart. He’d been captured but he’d later disappeared without a trace …

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah, and the individuals responsible for capturing Leanne’s doppelganger on the night of Samhain?” Oliver’s chin jutted to the screen. “Officer Maggie Comfry and Byron Jennings—again. Bastard. That was murder attempt numero tres.”

  I swallowed down a lump as my eyes met Leanne’s. I’d worked alongside both inspectors.

  Andre spoke. “You did this?” he asked, his attention focused on Oliver.

  My friend buffed his nails. “Mhm. I cleaned the Politia out. House of Keys knows everything, thanks to my sleuthing.”

  My eyes widened.

  Oliver nudged me. “This is why it’s always a good idea to be friends with a fairy. We are in the business of vendettas.”

  Note to self: never get on Oliver’s bad side.

  He hadn’t so much as let on that he held any interest in the attempts on my life and Leanne’s. But he had. It reminded me of all those other times he’d noticed things. He’d figured out the Samhain murders before I had, he’d been the one to point out the killer in Romania had been a cambion. Oliver noticed things and, despite his reputation for having loose lips, I was beginning to understand that he calculated a great many things.

  “Byron and Maggie aren’t the only officers involved, either,” he said now.

  “There are more?”

  “Oh, honey, lots more. So you know how I’d been sleeping with the chief constable?”

  I suppressed my shudder. Oliver, however, didn’t bother suppressing his. “By the way, remind me never to date old men. They’re all wrinkly, and saggy, and—”

  Ew.

  “Don’t date old men,” I rushed out.

  He clucked his tongue. “You’re not supposed to give me that advice right now, Corpsie. Anyway, I’ll have you know I screwed that man for you.”

  I scrunched my face. “Please be lying.”

  “’S all in the line of duty. He made terrible grunts though. You know, when he—”

  “Oli-ver!” Eeeeeewwww!

  “Relax. Wouldn’t have pegged you for a prude.” He opened his mouth to continue, eyed Andre, who watched the fairy with flinty eyes, and clicked his teeth shut. He cleared his throat. “As I was saying, men talk when they feel good, and Chief Constable Morgan had quite a lot to say about the Eleusinian Order. Do you remember them?”

  I nodded. They were the cult that wanted to reunite me with the devil. They’d believed he was Hades and I was his Persephone.

  “The wrinkly old constable admitted everything in a few moments of weakness. Apparently there are a number of Politia officers working with the order, and several more who are in it. Seems being a part of it is a pretty high honor. It’s the kind of exclusive club that draws in fat men with little arms and big egos … and hotshot Politia members. Byron’s a part of it. So is Maggie, and—” Oliver paused and looked at me regretfully, “Caleb was being groomed to join.”

  That news didn’t hurt nearly as much as it once would’ve. “How long was he aware of them?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know that, sweets. But I don’t think he ever officially joined.”

  On the T.V. Chief Constable Morgan was led through the crowd.

  “How did you accomplish all this?” I asked.

  Oliver cocked a hip, an irreverent grin pulling at his lips. “You mean besides boning an old man?”

  I scrunched my face. “Besides that.”

  “Camera phone, recorder, a few favors—” he lifted a shoulder, “the usual.”

  I nodded, breathing deeply as some weepy emotion welled up in me. “Why did you do all this?”

  Oliver took my hand. “No one fucks with my friends.” He gave it a squeeze. “No one.”

  Damnit, I was going to cry.

  “Also, I enjoyed the shit out of being sneaky.”

  I sniffled and laughed, then I yanked on his hand and reeled my friend in for an epic hug.

  “Whoa,” he said, as I squished him to me. “Hey there—don’t mess up the hair,” he wheezed. “And maybe let up a bit. You’re still strong.”

  “You’re seriously the best.” He’d gone out of his way to bring me and Leanne justice.

  Andre stepped around me and clasped the fairy on the shoulder. “Oliver, I owe you for meting out my mate’s revenge.”

  The fairy in question preened under Andre’s words. “I like being owed. And I believe that’s two favors I’ll have to cash in at some point in the future.”

  I noticed Andre tense slightly under the reminder, and I bit back a snicker.

  I was looking forward to this normality. Worrying about your boyfriend meeting your mom and your friends all getting along together. My life would never be typical, but finally it would be free of darkness.

  I pulled Leanne aside a little while later. Andre had wandered off to catch up on his many business ventures, which he’d neglected while we were on the run. Oliver, meanwhile, was in the kitchen, dictating to the in-house chef what he wanted to eat.

  Leanne and I reclined on one of the couches in Bishopcourt’s sitting room.

  “Should I be worried about the future?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “It’s all finally over, Gabrielle.”

  I released my breath. “Logically, I know it is, but sometimes I can’t help but worry it’s not.” Over the last two weeks I’d suffered from nightmares. In them, I was still in hell, still bound to the devil, and Andre was down there with me. He’d rouse me from them and kiss my terror away, but the memory of them still lingered.

  I stared down at my hands. “I’m not used to good things happening to me—I always expect something”—or someone, more precisely—“to take them away.”

  Leanne looked thoughtful. “The future is ever-changing. Nothing about it is certain. I can’t promise you anything more than a possibility of what’s to come, but what I do see is a life filled with lots of happiness and very little pain. And if that ever changes, I can te
ll you that I’ll be there for you, through thick and thin. As will Oliver. And, most especially, as will Andre.”

  She scooched over on the couch and gave me a hug. “And like anything else, when it comes to the future, all I can really tell you is this: safe travels.”

  I squeezed her back. “Safe travels.”

  Epilogue

  Gabrielle

  5 years later

  “I still can’t believe you didn’t let me wear white.” I stood in the bedroom of Andre’s house in Cluj Napoca, trying not to let nerves get the better of me. Being someone’s soulmate was one thing. Marrying him amongst an audience of hundreds of people was another.

  Oliver fussed around me, arranging my wedding dress.

  “Sweets, you’re the queen of darkness, and the queen of darkness doesn’t wear white to her wedding.”

  “The queen of darkness probably doesn’t wear pink, either.”

  “Ombre,” Oliver sniffed. “And I did give you a little white.”

  Technically he had, right around the bodice. It just wasn’t much. At least the shear back didn’t drop so low, like his original mockups. I had to fight him on that one.

  “You can see my back dimples,” I’d said, when he unveiled the first iteration.

  “Yes, and they’re adorable.”

  “I don’t want people to see my back dimples,” I’d protested.

  “Listen, ho, this is already a prude wedding dress for a fairy.”

  “And I’m not a fairy.”

  “You’re an honorary one in my book.” There he went sweetening me up. “And way too bloodthirsty to be considered otherwise.”

  Back in the present, I let my “mate” of honor make last minute adjustments to the dress he’d designed.

  “Leanne,” he asked over my shoulder, “got any evening forecasts?”

  “For the fifth time, Oliver, I’m not telling you whether or not you’re going to get laid tonight.”

  He huffed. “What is the point of having a seer friend if she’s not going to even tell you these things?”

  Before Leanne had a chance to reply, my mother entered the room, holding my bouquet.

  The first time she met Andre, like any reasonable mother, she might’ve freaked a little. The guy had bad news written all over him. But Andre had won her over fairly quickly, like he tended to do when it came to women. It helped that he was my soulmate … and that the other man I’d been fated to had been the devil. That kind of put things into perspective.

  “Sweet daughter of mine,” she said, her eyes tearing up as she took me in, “you look radiant.”

  “Thank you, Mom.” I had to breathe through my nose. Gah, I was going to cry too.

  Pull it together, Gabrielle.

  She handed me my bouquet, then leaned in and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “The car’s here. Are you ready, honey?”

  I blew out a breath and nodded as a nervous smile pulled at the corners of my mouth. “Yeah, I am.”

  In the holy stillness of St. Michael’s church in Cluj-Napoca, beneath the stained-glass eyes of angels and saints, I married Andre de Leon, my soulmate and the former king of vampires.

  The moment I’d caught sight of Andre standing at the altar, his hair brushed back from his tanned face, I’d lost myself in those dark eyes of his.

  Jericho read the marriage rites, wrapping our hands with a silken cord. The symbolism wasn’t lost on me. The fates had woven our threads together. But we hadn’t simply been given this love. We’d fought and earned it.

  Andre’s jaw worked as he stared down at our joined hands, fighting back some strong emotion. He smiled at me when he realized I’d noticed. Even if I hadn’t, the electric connection between us would’ve given him away.

  “You have declared your consent before the Church,” Jericho said. “May the Lord in Her goodness strengthen your consent and fill you both with Her blessings. What God has joined, men must not divide. Amen.”

  Andre’s lips pressed to mine. The kiss was gentle, reverent. A promise to cherish our mortal life together as well as our immortal afterlife—one free of damnation, devils and eternal pain. Our stained souls had been cleansed.

  Back at Andre’s home in Cluj, the wedding reception was in full swing. After greeting a barrage of people and taking way too many wedding photos, I’d gotten a brief respite with him and Leanne.

  My smile felt like it was about to fall off.

  “So,” Oliver said, swirling his glass of wine and giving an eligible bachelor a predatory look. The man stumbled into an older woman, spilling her wine all over them.

  Oliver tore his gaze away. “Are you going to go all Twilight on us and push out a vampire baby within the next year?”

  I rolled my eyes, bringing my own glass to my lips. “Andre and I are no longer vampires.”

  “Hmph.” Oliver pursed his lips. “Well, if Andre knocks you up and the baby pops out of you Alien-style, I’m shooting it.”

  “Oliver, shut the hell up,” Leanne said, snatching an hors-d’oeuvre from a passing waiter.

  “I’m just saying.”

  “Why is anyone talking about babies?” I asked. Geez, I got married mere hours ago.

  “Seriously, sweets?” Oliver lifted his fingers and began ticking off reasons. “One, this is a wedding. It’s everyone’s excuse to rush your life the hell up and make you feel as uncomfortable as possible. And two,” Oliver gave my groom, who was chatting with some of my relatives across the room, a once-over, “that man is a stallion. He can just look at you, and boom, you’re pregnant. If it weren’t for your birth control, the dude would probably have to wear two condoms when you did the nasty, just to be safe.”

  “I’m so not comfortable with this discussion,” Leanne said, making a face as she ate her appetizer.

  Andre glanced over then. Even from across the room his heated gaze burned into me.

  Oliver leaned in. “Boom. Pregnant.”

  I gave him the side-eye. “Say that again and I’ll make you my unborn child’s future nanny.”

  “Ew, a nanny to a little monster? That would be … acceptable. He’d be the cutest little shit ever, and I could be his fairy godmother … oh, I dig.”

  “‘He’?”

  “Sorry to inform you Gabrielle, but that man,” he nodded to Andre, “shoots straight Y’s.” The man in question had returned to his conversation. I noticed his lips twitch, however. The punk was totally listening in.

  My mother came over then, wrapping her arms around Leanne and me, and gave us a squeeze. She rubbed my arm affectionately. “What are the Three Stooges up to now?”

  “The Three Musketeers,” I clarified.

  She snorted. “That will be the day.”

  Did I ever mention that my mother was snarkier than me?

  Oliver jumped in. “I was just telling Queen of the Damned here to lie back and think of England tonight.”

  “Ugh,” I said, wincing, “that is so not appropriate.”

  My mother, however, didn’t seem to mind nearly as much as I did. She peered over at Andre, then turned back into our huddle. “England?” She shook her head. “That would be a waste of some perfectly dirty thoughts.”

  Oliver squealed. “You did not just!”

  She gave him a wink and pulled away. “I’m parched and the wine here is good.” From the nice pink tinge to my mother’s cheeks, I was thinking that she’d already had plenty to drink. “Try not to get up to too much trouble—I’m looking at you, Oliver.”

  Oliver placed a hand to his chest. “Moi?”

  “Mhm.”

  “Never,” he said.

  Leanne and I exchanged a look, and then broke out into laughter. Oliver swiveled back to us and raised his glass. “To best bitches, forever and ever.”

  We joined our glasses with his and clinked them together. “To best bitches, forever and ever.”

  The reception was winding down when Andre took my hand and led me back to our room, flashing me a secretive smile that had my heart
racing.

  Early on in our relationship I’d assumed that even soulmates’ passions cooled as the newness of their bond wore off. But, if anything, time had deepened the sweet ache I felt for Andre.

  He glanced back as he led me through the halls of his—our—house, and his nostrils flared at the scent of my desire. Once we were out of sight of any prying eyes, he scooped me up in his arms.

  When I wove my arms behind his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek, he raised an eyebrow. “No objections to being carried?”

  I shrugged a shoulder. “I’m willing to go with tradition just this once.”

  His lips quirked. “I’ll make sure to savor it then.”

  He placed me down only once we were inside our bedroom. I took in the hundreds of flickering candles that lit the room up. The sight of them had my skin brightening.

  The door to our bedroom clicked shut, and I swiveled around. Andre leaned against it for a moment as he drank me in. His look was all predator. He’d kept himself away from me for over half the day entertaining guests, and before that, preparing himself for the wedding.

  He was done waiting.

  In two swift strides, he caught me. An arm snaked around my waist, the other cradled the side of my face as our lips met. The current between us amplified at our closeness.

  Andre pulled away. “Gabrielle de Leon,” he rolled the name on his tongue, “my wife.”

  A smile split across my face. “Andre de Leon, my husband.”

  He flashed me a blinding smile of his own. “We did it, soulmate,” he said. “We survived the devil, a near-apocalypse, and—most insidious of all—a wedding.”

  A surprised laugh slipped out at that.

  Andre’s eyes fixated on my mouth, and then he leaned in, capturing my laughter between his lips. With a moan, I fell into the kiss, pulling his head closer to me. By the time our mouths parted, we were both breathing heavy.

  “Soulmate, I am the most blessed man to walk the earth,” he said, his voice husky with desire.