Ripper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 2)

by Ingrid Seymour

  Oh, it was clear. There was no mistaking the intensity in his green eyes and the set of his jaw. Brooke’s stomach filled with butterflies the size of overfed bats.

  “I have to do what Ashby says,” he continued. “I swore an oath to serve him, to be his adviser. He thinks I will . . .” Perry paused and looked down at his feet, “. . . break your heart, and he doesn’t want to have to explain that to Sam once we find her.” He met her gaze again, but only for a second.

  “And will you? Break my heart, I mean?” she asked, although from his attitude the answer was already clear.

  He sighed. “If past experience is any indication, yes, I will.”

  So, no sugar coating it, huh?

  This was the God’s honest truth. Well, she’d asked for it.

  “What do you say now?” Perry asked.

  A big, sensible part of her was screaming for her to turn and run away as fast as possible from this green-eyed heartbreaker. But when had she ever done the sensible thing when it came to boys? And who was she kidding, anyway? This was no ordinary boy. There was no way she would deny herself a taste of him.

  Perry must have seen something in her expression, because he smiled and strolled to her side. He pried one of her hands away from her crossed-arm position and planted a smooth kiss on her trembling fingers. From his lips, he moved her hand to his chest and planted it right over his heart. He flexed his pectoral muscle as it landed there and smiled wickedly. Brooke’s cheeks went hot in a flash.

  His directness and self-confidence were alluring. All the boys she’d ever dated or tried to date had been shy, clumsy, incoherent or all of the above. Perry’s approach took away all the second guessing and uncertainty, and she liked that. Besides, who was ever guaranteed an intact heart after any type of relationship?

  “What do I say?” Brooke asked in a suggestive tone. She placed her other hand on Perry’s chest and marveled at his solidity. He felt nearly inhuman.

  She chuckled to herself.

  He frowned at her.

  Of course he is inhuman, you fool.

  Brooke licked her lips. “Well, I say that . . . I’m up for it, but you’re the one who’d better watch out.”

  He cocked his head to one side in puzzlement.

  “Unless you heart is made of stone.” Brooke peeled her hands away from Perry and walked around him.

  She’d only gotten a couple of paces away when he grabbed her wrist and spun her around. She smacked against his chest, and it was like running into a steel door. Perry pressed a hand to her lower back and another to the base of her neck.

  “I think my heart is made of stone,” he said, his lips a few millimeters from hers. His hot breath smelled of cinnamon and honey.

  Brooke blinked, intoxicated by the sweetness spilling from his lips. “Oh, I see. This is how you do it. You use your sorcery. Cheater!”

  He chuckled deep in his throat, then moved his large hands to either side of her face. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since the time you slapped me.”

  She blinked. “Wait! What?! I slapped you?”

  “Uh-hum,” his gaze didn’t move away from her mouth. “The first time I met you. When Ashby asked me to make you forget about Sam for a bit.”

  “Well, then, I guess you deserved it.”

  “I was so tempted to kiss you and make you forget. But, in the end, what would be the point of that? I want you to remember.”

  Oh, and I want to remember. Kiss me already.

  He leaned forward. She closed her eyes, ready to taste his sweet lips.

  “Brooke!”

  Three strong knocks at the door.

  Really?

  Ashby needed to die, and at the moment, she was more than willing to do the killing herself. Not without a little torture first, though. Something like plucking his long, blond eyelashes out. One at a time.

  Perry exhaled, squeezed her eyes shut, and pressed his forehead to Brooke’s. “We’ll finish this. I promise.” He walked away and opened the door.

  Ashby barged in, his black eyes glaring disapprovingly at Perry.

  “I invited him, in case you’re wondering.” Brooke wasn’t about to play this game anymore. She didn’t need Ashby or anyone to babysit her. She and Perry could make their own decisions.

  Ashby opened his mouth, then shut it again. After a moment, he said, “That’s not why I’m here.”

  He glanced at Perry for a beat, then turned away toward the door, hiding his expression of . . . of what?

  Disapproval? Anger? Disappointment?

  “Joao has news,” Ashby said, then left the room.

  Chapter 46 - Ashby

  Ashby’s watch read 10:45 P.M. It wasn’t an optimal time for this, but he couldn’t wait. Bypassing the building’s main entrance to knock directly on M. Espina’s front door, whoever he was, wasn’t optimal either. Yet, here he was.

  He looked back over his shoulder. Everyone was watching impatiently off to the side, except Brooke, of course. She had insisted her presence would keep Sam’s freak out to a minimum.

  “Are you certain this is the right place?” he murmured.

  “Yes!” Perry and Joao stage-whispered at the same time.

  Joao had gotten the address from one of his owls—as absurd as that sounded—and Perry had transported them straight into the building.

  Brooke lifted a hand to knock, but he held her back.

  “I’ll do it,” he said.

  “No. I’ll do it.”

  They slapped at each other’s hands like preschoolers fighting over a toy.

  “Guys!” Calisto chided, shaking her head.

  Ashby straightened his jacket and inclined his head, inviting Brooke to knock. She gave a satisfied raised eyebrow, making him regret acting like a gentleman. She knocked twice.

  He stared at the door as if he were at the threshold between two different dimensions.

  One without Sam and one with her.

  No response.

  Brooke knocked again, harder this time.

  After a moment, sounds came from inside: rustling, stomping, a thwack followed by a curse, and finally, silence.

  Ashby lifted his chin to ensure whoever was on the other side of the peephole could see his face clearly. They waited for several beats until he was convinced they weren’t going to get into the apartment by conventional means. Just as he was about to ask Perry to force the entrance, there was a click and the door opened.

  He pushed Brooke aside and stepped forward.

  “Hey,” she protested, but had the decency to stay back. This moment was his.

  A middle-aged Morphid stood on the other side. He had thinning blond hair and eyes as dark as night that gazed at Ashby in a very strange manner.

  Ashby cleared his throat. “Good evening. I apologize for my presence here at this hour, but my business couldn’t wait.”

  The man’s mouth parted, yet he said nothing. The unrelenting strangeness in his expression made Ashby fidget self-consciously. He was staring at Ashby as if he were some kind of ghost.

  He must recognize me, Ashby thought. He was supposed to be the next Regent, after all. People sometimes recognized him, even if his mother had tried to keep him from the public eye. Morphids also had paparazzi who made money by providing information to any who would purchase it.

  Now that he thought about it, the man looked vaguely familiar. Maybe someone he’d met at a function of some kind? It seemed unlikely. For an instant, he thought of asking, “have we met?” But that would have been too weird. No, introducing himself was the best option.

  “My name is Ashby Rothblade. I am looking for Samantha Gibson. Is she here?”

  Behind the man, something stirred under a blanket on the sofa. Another person? A pet? Sam, even? His heart took a tumble at the thought of her huddled in this stranger’s living room.

  “They . . . they said you were dead,” the man spoke in a slight Spanish accent.

  At the words, Ashby’s eyes snapped back to the man, and a slew o
f questions rushed through his head.

  Who had said he was dead? Who was this man? And why did he look so relieved to find Ashby very much alive?

  “Why would I be dead? Who told you that?” Ashby asked, feeling vaguely threatened by this fabrication of his death.

  “Greg and Sam said your mother . . . but why would they lie?” His gaze danced from side to side, growing darker by the second. After a moment pondering, his expression hardened and he took a step back. “Yes, she’s here,” he said, then turned his head to one side and yelled in an angry voice.

  “Sam, you have a visitor!”

  Chapter 47 - Greg

  Greg sat up with a jolt. Sam, who had been sleeping on the bed next to the recliner he occupied, was looking around disoriented and panicked.

  He jumped to his feet and headed for the bedroom door.

  “What’s going on?” Sam asked.

  “I don’t know, but that was Mateo calling your name.”

  She rushed out of bed and stuffed her feet into her sneakers. She was fully dressed, too. Would they have to run again?

  “Stay back.” Greg opened the door a crack and peeked outside of Mateo’s bedroom and into the living room. “What the . . . ?” He felt his face drain of blood, his heart falter with stolen possibilities and fresh fear.

  “What is it?” Sam asked, her voice trembling.

  Greg backed away from the door, his head shaking from side to side. “No.” He turned and faced her.

  He didn’t want to look into her eyes, didn’t want her to see the dread blossoming on his features like some sort of joy-murdering creature.

  Ashby was alive.

  The rightful owner of Sam’s heart was back from the dead.

  “What’s going on, Greg? Please.”

  Overwhelmed, he wrapped her in his arms and pressed a desperate kiss to her forehead. A sob escaped his lips. The shame of his cowardice and lack of faith washed over him.

  “You’re scaring me,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion.

  “I love you,” he said. “Don’t forget that, please.”

  He pulled away, turned his back on her. His next intake of air was shaky and did nothing to provide the strength he needed to face what might come.

  Doing his best not to fall apart, he planted his feet firmly, took a deep breath, and spoke the words he would rather bury in the depths of the ocean.

  “Ashby’s here.”

  Chapter 48 - Sam

  Sam stared at Greg’s mouth, waiting for more words to follow.

  “It’s just a silly joke . . . Ashby isn’t here,” was what she was expecting, but his lips didn’t move, except to tremble as his agitated breaths pushed past his mouth.

  Besides, he wouldn’t joke about this. Even if he did, he wouldn’t look so scared and hopeless.

  Ashby, alive?

  No, it can’t be.

  She would have felt something, wouldn’t she? But in the two months since that day at Rothblade Castle, she’d sensed nothing. Not a thing.

  Suddenly, her blood froze at a vague memory, that small change in her vinculum, the night at Brooke’s party.

  Trembling all over, Sam walked to the door. She passed in front of Greg as if hypnotized by her need to know. Her fingers wrapped around the knob. One turn and then . . . then what?

  She twisted. The door eased open one inch at a time, painting an eerie, impossible scene in that separate world that was Mateo’s living room. The lights were on and standing next to their host was Ashby.

  Ashby.

  Ashby.

  Ashby.

  His presence pulsed like a giant heart.

  There were others around him, but she hardly register them.

  “Sam,” Ashby’s lips mimed.

  Emotions stormed inside her, a surge so violent and sudden that she felt dizzy. She put a hand to the wall to steady herself. The tugging from her vinculum that up to this point had been but a slight, bothersome impulse grew in strength. Her body swayed forward in his direction. It was nothing like the forceful pull she’d felt when she first morphed, but it was undeniably there.

  Ashby took a few, tentative steps in her direction. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said, his voice a gentle sound that seemed to reach into the depths of her being.

  She pressed a hand to her mouth. “You’re alive.”

  He stopped a few paces in front of her, his black eyes wavering with unshed tears. A frown creased his forehead. “You thought I was dead?”

  “You were dead, Ashby. Your mother, she . . .” A tear spilled down her cheek and she couldn’t finish.

  “I know. She tore us apart. She’s a monster. But now I’m here.”

  “We thought . . . Portos checked and he said you were dead.”

  But he’s not. He’s not. He’s alive and . . . sane.

  “How come you . . . ?” But she couldn’t bring herself to ask.

  Sam had kept her mental faculties because of her link with Greg, but how was Ashby still himself?

  She took an involuntary step back.

  Was this even him? It couldn’t be.

  She remembered Veridan using magic to make himself look different. This was a trick.

  “Greg!” she called without thinking. He was at her side in a heartbeat.

  Ashby’s mouth twisted and his eyes filled with pain. And just like that, she understood the depth of her error. This was Ashby. The tug in her heart was real and Greg’s Keeper instincts hadn’t warned them of any danger. Of course this was her Companion.

  Of course.

  “So you really thought he was dead?” Mateo asked from behind Ashby. “I wondered if you had lied.” There was wariness in his voice.

  “We didn’t lie. Why would we?” Greg answered in a subdued tone so unlike him. “When we fled Rothblade Castle, we thought he was dead. Everyone did, even Danata. Maybe Ashby can explain how he recovered.” He paused and lowered his voice. “Maybe Veridan had something to do with it.” There was no bite in his tone, only curiosity and puzzlement.

  “I can think of a very good reason why you would lie,” Ashby said to Greg without taking his eyes off Sam.

  Sam braced herself for Greg’s temper to flare. When it didn’t, she was relieved and worried at the same time. It was not in him to hold back. She didn’t like it or what he said next.

  “Yes, I’ve done much for her, but it has always been to protect her. Most of all, it has always been what she wanted.” And with that, he took a step away from her, laying whatever responsibility of what would happen next entirely in her hands.

  “So is she in there or what?!” Someone asked from outside.

  “Brooke?” Sam felt her world spin as if she’d landed in some sort of Bizarro world.

  That’s it! I’m freakin’ dreaming.

  “Maybe you should wait,” a second, familiar voice said.

  “I’ve waited long enough,” Brooke said and appeared around the open door. “There you are!” She made her way to Sam, skirting Ashby, and wrapped her in a tight hug.

  Sam barely returned the hug. She was weak with confusion and her arms didn’t want to obey. Over her friend’s shoulder, she watched three new people enter the room: Perry and a couple of strangers. Bruce and Elizabeth stood to the side, looking as confused as she was, while Jacob sat on the arm of the sofa, groggily rubbing his eyes.

  “Girl, you’re a hard one to find.” Brooke held her at arm’s length. “Are you all right?”

  Sam nodded.

  “Sam, I’d like to talk to you. In private,” Ashby said in an imperative tone.

  Brooke turned on her heels very slowly and looked at Ashby. “Excuse me, but I’ve got as much claim on this girl as you do. No, even more. We’ve been friends for a long time. Plus, there’s a lot she needs to know.”

  Sam placed a hand on Brooke’s wrist. “It’s okay. Ashby and I should talk.”

  Greg walked away, unblocking the entrance to the only bedroom in the small apartment, and joined Bruce and El
izabeth. Sam tried to catch his eye, but he dejectedly stared at the ground.

  She hadn’t meant to exclude him, but it had sounded that way. Greg was as much part of this conversation as Ashby. Her life, her future, were linked to him in more ways than one. She loved him and had no intention of losing him—no matter how much Ashby managed to tug at her this time.

  “Don’t mind if you talk in my bedroom,” Mateo sounded a bit sarcastic. He had practically relinquished his place to a bunch of strangers, so she couldn’t blame him.

  “Thank you.” Ashby inclined his head and took a step toward the bedroom.

  “I want Greg to come,” she said.

  Both Greg and Ashby’s heads snapped to attention at her request.

  “I thought . . .” Ashby began, but didn’t add anything else.

  Greg held her gaze as if asking, “are you sure?” She nodded, then whirled and entered the bedroom without waiting for either of them.

  Ashby came in first, followed by Greg. She clicked a lamp on and nearly choked at the sight of both of them, standing side by side. Past memories flooded her, mostly of their fights as the two raged against each other over her. Would they go back to that? No. She couldn’t allow that. Maybe there was a way to do this in a civilized manner.

  “We truly thought your mother had killed you,” Sam said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Are you?” Ashby asked, his gaze flicking toward Greg.

  “Of course, I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Because, once more, you are with him.”

  Greg’s shoulders visibly tensed.

  “It’s like nothing has changed,” Ashby added with bitterness.

  “What happened wasn’t my fault,” she said. “I went with you, but your mother put an end to what could have been. I almost died, too. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Greg.”

  “It wasn’t my fault either.” Ashby’s black eyes were nothing but narrow slits of intensity. He looked so much like his father. It was so evident now, and Ashby had no idea.

  Sam nodded. “That’s true. Your mother has hurt a lot of people. I guess we were just another set of victims in her long list.”

  Ashby inhaled and gave her a charged glance. Sam’s skin crawled with the knowledge of what his next question would be. She didn’t want to answer it, but she would, if he decided to ask.