by Anne Malcom
“And the last time I saw you, I made a promise,” I rasped. “Seems you didn’t manage to make good on yours, which was killing me and the man I love, so I get to make good on mine.” I smiled through the gray creeping into my vision and the way my limbs were turning to lead.
It was through sheer force of will that I was standing, and the power of the memory of tasting Thorne’s death that I kept my grip on Rick.
Thorne’s heat was at my back. “Isla,” he warned. “You’re gonna have to hold that thought,” he instructed softly.
My knees shook.
I ignored it and kept my gaze locked on Rick. “I don’t do well with delayed gratification, Thorne. And if you don’t recall, this vampire almost killed us both. We’ll get back to the details of your speedy recovery after I’ve finished off the king.”
Thorne’s hands settled on my hips. “You’ll need him for an explanation, considering he’s the reason we’re both standing here.” He may have been talking me down from murder, but there was no disguising the homicide in his tone. The barely concealed fury that whipped around him like a cape.
I wanted to disagree, but I wasn’t standing any longer. The ground surged up to meet me in a swift movement and would have embraced me had Thorne’s arms not caught me.
Rick had moved to do the same but Thorne beat him, despite his vampiric speed.
I was gathered in his arms, tasting his concern and fear as he strode to the sofa, resting me on it. He pushed the hair from my face gently, his features marble. His thumb brushed over my lips. “Isla,” he rasped.
I’d been ignoring it, but the utter devastation in his voice brought it up so I couldn’t ignore it any longer.
“I’m dying,” I surmised.
He flinched. “No. You won’t dare leave me,” he growled.
I smiled weakly at him. “Not a choice, I’m afraid.” I’d known for a while, since well before Sophie’s little announcement. One wasn’t ignorant to their own demise, when death was no longer outside and foreign but inside and familiar. I’d figured that any fight I’d gotten into might be my last, but I hadn’t planned on anyone getting the best of me.
But I hadn’t planned on falling in love with a slayer, or being willing to die for him either.
Yet I wouldn’t change a thing. Thorne was right in front of me, breathing, heart beating. Existing. That was worth dying for.
His eyes stayed on mine before he ripped them from me. “Emrick,” he barked.
I didn’t expect the king to come running at his command, but he was beside him in an instant, cold eyes betraying something.
“Your blood. Now,” Thorne growled.
I frowned at him. “How do you know about that?” I snapped.
“It won’t work,” Sophie said softly, stepping forward and looking anywhere but me.
I got it. I’d brought death into the room; no one wanted eye contact with that.
“She’s had it once before, correct?” she addressed Rick.
If he was surprised by her knowledge of that, he didn’t show it, merely nodded once.
Thorne, on the other hand, was fuming. “She has?” he gritted.
“She is right here, and not dead yet,” I cut in, trying to push up from the sofa.
A firm hand at my chest stopped me, not that he needed to; my arms didn’t seem to want to obey.
It worried me, the quickening of my demise. Though I guessed demise did come quick. It rarely offered a chance to find a way to beat it. That wasn’t how death worked. I should know—I’d dealt it for long enough.
Thorne glared at me. “You didn’t tell me,” he accused.
I rolled my eyes. “Well telling you about all of the times I almost died would give no time for sex. And I rather like sex.”
Sophie was the only one who grinned.
Deathbed humor was not a big seller. Note to self.
“She’s had it once. It saved her, and is likely the reason why the spell has taken this long to take hold,” Sophie continued, grin gone. “It won’t help now. Nothing will. Except your blood.” She gazed at Thorne.
Everyone in the room knew about that little gem, apart from Rick.
“But that will kill her,” he observed. His voice somehow had the power of a roar, yet he didn’t raise it higher than his normal tone. It held notes of helplessness and anger while maintaining his cool and impersonal tenor.
“We’re aware,” Thorne gritted out.
“Witch-22,” I offered. “Nasty creatures.” I glanced at Sophie. “Present company excluded, of course. Though I don’t exclude your bedroom activities. They’re nasty. Even Christian Grey would blush.”
“Isla,” Thorne snapped. He gave me a reproachful glare which I didn’t reciprocate only because it was masking raw fear and my upcoming demise. His hand was clutched tightly to my neck as he turned to address Sophie. Though his eyes didn’t stray from mine, like he was afraid that if he broke the contact I might just drift away.
To be fair, I was fairly certain of that too.
“Track the witches,” he commanded her. “We’ll kill them all. That kills the spell.”
Sophie shook her head. “I’ve tried that, but they’re cloaked. And even if I could, their deaths likely wouldn’t reverse the spell. Not when it’s this far gone.”
“So in other words, I’m fucked,” I deduced.
Three glares.
“You can’t glare at the dying girl. It’s just mean,” I snapped.
Thorne’s volcano of fury was about to pop but Sophie beat him to it.
“Stop,” she yelled, her voice raw. “You just stop joking and acting normal. Like you aren’t being the biggest bitch of them all by leaving me alone on this godforsaken planet. You can’t joke about it, Isla,” she hissed.
Tears rolled down her face, mascara coming with it. Such a display confronted me with what the grayness at the sides of my vision told me was inescapable.
“I’m sorry I’m dying,” I whispered with a slight grin.
She blinked through the tears, her eyes meeting mine for a split second before she wrenched them away. Then she surged forward, her hands glowing as raw power echoed through the room. Thorne was thrust aside as she laid those glowing hands on my chest.
The effect was similar to what I thought a human might feel when those pad things tried to shock their heart back into rhythm. Uncomfortable, to say the least, but the sheer volume of power radiating from Sophie was more than that. It made me think of the sun and its unending energy.
She had been holding back.
Then it was gone and she stumbled slightly before Silver rushed to catch her. She sagged in his arms, wiping the blood from her nose distractedly as she came back beside me, placing her hands on my chest.
I didn’t need to see the gray pallor to her face to know it hadn’t worked. The pull of the grave had only paused with her touch. It was back now.
I smiled weakly at her. “You’re just going to have to use that power for something that would make me proud. A good tribute to me would be blowing up a Croc factory or beheading the witch council,” I requested.
Her eyes glistened. “This is too cruel. You only just found it,” she choked out. I didn’t need to look to Thorne to know he was my it.
In fact, I couldn’t look at him; tasting his sorrow was pain enough.
I gave her hand a gentle squeeze, jerking with the residual power of her magic. “It’s a cruel world, and we all just die in it, Hermione,” I said softly. “Do me a favor and cause a lot of trouble before you do.”
She nodded once and then wrenched her hand from my grip so she could dart out of the room.
I didn’t blame her. I was uncomfortable with all of this too, would escape it if I could. Though if you inspected it, death was an escape. Just not the one I wanted.
Silver came to kiss my head firmly before chasing after Sophie.
I was left with the two men in the room who formed somewhat of a fatal harmony.
Fire and ice.
I blinked up as Thorne strode to kneel beside me once more. “If I had more time, I would really like to know how you two know each other,” I told him. “And also watch you wrestle naked.”
Rick’s mouth turned up slightly.
Thorne stayed stoic. “You need to leave,” he gritted.
Rick’s body turned to stone. “I won’t—”
“Leave,” Thorne repeated, that one word shaking with the fury it encompassed. And the pain.
Rick’s eyes turned liquid as I glimpsed the humanity in them. “I regret this, Isla. More than you know.”
Then he was gone.
Just the two of us remained.
Silence reigned.
Thorne’s eyes never left mine as he traced my face with his finger. “This can’t be real,” he whispered. I hid my flinch at the way all of his strength was just… gone. He sagged with the weight of everything on his shoulders. “You can’t be leaving. Not when I’ve gone through hell to find you.”
I smiled weakly. “Well you can go through hell to find me again, if you ever meet the same fate.” I tasted bile at the thought. “Which you won’t. But if you’re ever on holiday in hell, I’ll be there. Catching a tan.”
He cupped my face. “You’re not leavin’ me,” he choked out. “Not for another world.”
His sorrow cut into every part of me. “I don’t want to,” I whispered. “But death isn’t something we escape. In order to be immortal, one must live with death, become its comrade, its lover, its sibling and its enemy.” I sucked in every detail of his face, his scent, as if I could take it with me. “Immortality only works if you don’t form attachments. That’s not a life. It’s not. It’s a death. I’ve been dead for four hundred years already, Thorne. I’ll not regret a moment of life I’ve had with you.”
His hands gripped my neck as if he could hold onto my life force. “We haven’t had enough time,” he rasped, pleading.
“I doubt a thousand years would have been enough,” I told him. I stroked his neck and the pull of his blood sang to me. “I don’t want this coldness inside me to be what takes me,” I whispered. Even as I spoke, it spread like a cancer. “I want it to be tasting you, so I can leave with you inside me.” I paused. “That sounds grosser than I meant,” I added with a weak grin.
Thorne didn’t smile because he knew what I meant. “No,” he growled. “I’ll not be the one to kill you.”
“You’re not going to do that. Didn’t you hear? I was dead when you met me. You resurrected me. There was only so long the grave would wait.” I met his eyes.
His own quicksilver irises gazed back, bursting with pain so raw it chased at the poison magic in my veins for what would finally kill me.
He moved his mouth so it plastered against mine in a kiss so furious it imprinted part of his soul onto my lips. I would have lived forever like that if I could.
I found myself cursing all the wasted moments I’d spent with him, not doing this, not treating every second of his presence like the heaven it was.
And it was hell.
Thorne lifted his lips from mine as if he could sense the cold creeping up my throat.
“I love you, Isla,” he rasped, eyes wet. “I’ll find you,” he promised. “Wherever you are.”
I blinked away the redness in my vision. “I love you,” I whispered back. Then I leaned forward as he exposed his neck to me.
I sank my fangs into his skin and welcomed the grave.
The End
DEATH IS NEVER FATAL WHEN YOU’RE IMMORTAL…
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Outside the Lines
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Echoes of Silence
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Writing is a solitary job but there is no way that I could do any of this alone. I’m so lucky to have so many special people in my life that put up with my crazy and talk me down when I’ve had one too many coffees. Or wines.
Mum. You’ve always been my biggest cheerleader, my best friend and my sometimes therapist. You’re the person responsible for all of this. You shared your love of books with me and that’s where this all started. I’d never be who I am today if it wasn’t for you.
My Dad. You’re not here with us but you’re the reason why I can shoot a gun, ride a motorbike, shop like a champ, and believe in myself. I miss you every day.
Amo Jones. What can I say about you? I can safely say I’d not have whatever is left of my sanity without you. I’m so very glad I met you. You’re stuck with me now.
Andrea and Caro. You two ladies are so very special and your generosity and support is amazing. You’re stuck with me too.
This book wouldn’t be what it is without my wonderful team of betas. These special ladies helped to make this book what it is. Ginny, Amy, Sarah, and Judy… you are wonderful.
Polly and Emma. My best girls. I love you. I don’t what’s tighter, our jeans or our friendship.
And to you, the reader. Thank you. Thank you for reading my books. Thanks for every e-mail, comment, and review you give me. I treasure each and every one.
ANNE MALCOM has been an avid reader since before she can remember, her mother responsible for her love of reading. It started with magical journeys into the world of Hogwarts and Middle Earth, then as she grew up her reading tastes grew with her. Her love of reading doesn’t discriminate, she reads across many genres, although classics like Little Women and Gone with the Wind will hold special places in her heart. She also can’t get enough romance, especially when some possessive alpha males throw their weight around.
One day, in a reading slump, Cade and Gwen’s story came to her and started taking up space in her head until she put their story into words. Now that she has started, it doesn’t look like she’s going to stop anytime soon, with many more characters demanding their story be told as well.
Raised in small town New Zealand, Anne had a truly special childhood, growing up in one of the most beautiful countries in the world. She has backpacked across Europe, ridden camels in the Sahara and eaten her way through Italy, loving every moment. For now, she’s back at home in New Zealand and quite happy. But who knows when the travel bug will bite her again.