Forevermore

by Kristen Callihan

  “Yes; Victoria. She was a rare error in my Judgment. I did not realize the depth of her insanity until you’d already dispatched her.” Augustus gestured to the seats drawn near him. “Take a seat.”

  When they had, he looked them over with a keen eye. They both possessed an honest core and a fierce will. Ones that shouted they wanted to live. They had a curiosity about life. And Archer was a healer. More than enough reason for Augustus.

  “Do you remember,” he asked Archer, “what it felt like when you were altered?”

  Archer’s tight expression smoothed over. “Yes. I remember the strength, the heightened senses.”

  “You miss it,” Augustus said.

  Archer blinked, his mouth curling down at one corner. “Yes.” A grudging admission. But honest.

  “It is nothing to feel shame over, lad.”

  A wry smile flitted over Archer’s mouth. “And yet I do.”

  “So then, if I offered to restore your strength, to make you wholly and fully Judgment,” Augustus countered, “would you say no?”

  Miranda uttered a small gasp as Archer went stock still, his face leaching of color.

  “You are dying,” Augustus said baldly. “Every Other can see that plainly. If I had to guess, I would say you will be gone any day now.”

  “Hold your tongue,” snapped Miranda, her face flushing in pain and rage. “How dare you speak so blithely?”

  “I state the truth, however painful it might be.” His gaze went back to Archer, who had yet to move, let alone speak. “Well?”

  No one stirred, all eyes riveted to Archer. The man cleared his throat. “You speak true. But no, I would not.”

  “Even if it meant you would never die?”

  “Especially then.”

  “Ben!” Miranda lurched forward, her fingers digging into her husband’s coat sleeve. “You cannot refuse. This is your chance—”

  “To what?” he snapped with surprising vigor. “Watch you grow old and die? While I remain the same?”

  “You’d rather I watch you die now?” she said hotly.

  Archer’s jaw clenched.

  Augustus spoke before they could argue again. “You answer under the assumption that what I offer you I would not offer to your wife.” At that, they both looked at him with twin expressions of shock. Augustus allowed a small smile. “I am not one to break apart soul mates. And the fact remains that this world is now more open to Others. Judgment angels will be needed now more than ever. Yet only St. John and Layla remain. They need help.”

  “You . . .” Miranda swallowed hard. “You would turn us both?”

  “You are both worthy, strong, brave. The real question is, are you willing to fight for what is true and right? It is not an easy life.”

  Miranda let out a hard breath. “It is not in my or Ben’s nature to run from a fight.”

  At her side, Archer was still quiet and pale. “You ask me to willingly become the very thing I fought to escape for a century. I lived behind a mask because the world could not look upon my face. I find it hard to accept going back there.”

  “St. John will teach you how to hide your true form and pass as human.”

  “It is quite easy when you are full turned,” Sin added.

  Archer glanced at Miranda, and he leaned into her embrace. “Miri, the decision is yours.”

  “Why mine?” she asked, searching his face.

  “For wherever you go, I shall follow.”

  Her lashes fluttered closed, and she leaned her forehead against Archer’s. “When you thought yourself cursed, I found you beautiful. To know that we shall be together all time? To know that we can help Sin protect those we love? How can we say no?”

  Archer’s kiss was brief but clearly tender, then his gray gaze met Augustus’s. “We accept. With gratitude.”

  “Very good.” He turned to Lena. “If you drain them, it will go faster.”

  She nodded. “If they allow it.”

  “When Judgment is properly turned,” Augustus explained to Archer, “the person is first drained of nearly all their blood. This helps the transformation, for there is less resistance in the body. Usually by lance. But if you agree, Lena can . . . well, there’s no better way to put it, drink your blood with much better efficiency and less pain. She is also better able to monitor how much blood loss is enough.”

  A moue of distaste twisted Miranda’s features. “I do not relish the idea of becoming a meal. However, I will defer to your wisdom.”

  Archer laughed shortly. “As my wife agrees, so shall I.”

  “Sin?” Augustus held his arm out. “Would you?”

  St. John stood and collected the implements he had put aside. A lance connected to a rubber tube and two vials. While St. John readied the equipment, Augustus addressed his rapt audience. “The procedure is simple, really. Once you have been drained of your human blood, you shall drink down a vial of mine.”

  Archer leaned in, his expression curious. “The elixir was your blood?”

  “Yes.”

  “And we only need a small vial? I cannot see how that is possible when we will have lost so much.”

  “Yes, but mine is stronger. Once it hits your system, the change will occur. Do you remember it?”

  Archer’s laugh was dry. “Oh, quite well. And it was not pleasant.”

  Sin laughed as well. “An understatement, if ever I’ve heard one.”

  Yes, Augustus thought as he watched them, he would miss his brood. But that they were all together once more filled him with satisfaction. He would leave this place knowing he’d done the best he could.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lena

  Lena pulled her fangs from the man called Archer’s neck. His blood had the foul taint of deadly sickness, unlike the sweet richness of his wife. It left Lena’s stomach full and faintly rocking. She ignored it and wiped a drop of his weak blood from her lip.

  Archer lay white as a sheet, his wife senseless at his side. Miranda had already been given a vial of Augustus’s silver blood. She twitched and whimpered as her dry veins grew dark, mapping her flawless face like gray rivers just beneath the skin.

  Archer’s breath, however, slowed dangerously.

  “Give him the vial,” Lena said to her wide-eyed daughter.

  Layla quickly tilted the glass to Archer’s pasty lips, and as a newborn babe to his mother’s teat, he sucked the silver blood down. They needn’t worry about putting it in his vein; the blood would seep into his system as soon as it entered his mouth.

  As expected, Archer grunted, his big body going taut on the bed.

  “What happens now?” Layla asked, staring at the couple in fascination. They had been strapped down with thick leather bindings—one of the marvels of Evernight House being the endless supply of chains and straps in Holly Evernight’s dungeon lab. Lena supposed the girl used them to hoist engines and the like, but one could never be too sure of another’s hidden proclivities. After all, Evernight was mated to a sanguis demon with a reputation for randiness.

  Smiling slightly at the thought, Lena stood. “Watch them for a while.” She leaned down and pealed back Archer’s eyelid. His eye was unfocused, but the once-human gray pupil was already turning clear. A look at Miranda’s showed the same: lines of clear seeping into the jade green. “They will make it through.”

  Her tender-hearted daughter’s shoulders sagged. “Good.”

  “You care for these people you’ve just met?” Lena glanced down at the handsome couple. Beauty was always appreciated but she had little use for it anymore.

  “Of course,” Layla said, watching them as well. “They are Sin’s family. It would hurt him if they did not pull through. And they are good people. I can see it in their eyes.”

  Lena nodded. “That is your father’s talent. I am glad you have it.”

  Layla shook her head, her short laugh bemused. “I still cannot believe he is my father.” Firelight caressed her skin, turning the color to warm iv
ory. “Well, that is not precisely correct. He always felt more of a father to me than a simple guardian.”

  “He loved you from the start.” Lena fisted her skirts behind her back where Layla could not see her shameful need to touch, to hug. “I would not have left you with him if he didn’t.”

  Layla’s brown eyes met hers. “Did you miss me?” Her gaze slid away. “Never mind, do not answer.”

  “With every breath.” Lena reached out to touch her but hesitated. “I built a wall of coldness around my heart to keep Augustus out. By the time you came along it was so thick, I found it better to retreat behind it than feel the agony of leaving you behind.”

  Layla closed her eyes, and Lena could not resist the temptation any longer. Her daughter’s skin was smooth as satin, warm and flush with health. She stroked her cheek. “So many things I did wrong, so many regrets. But having you was never one of them. You are the best and brightest part of me. And of him.”

  A small sob broke from Layla, and Lena’s resolve crumpled. She pulled Layla close, holding her daughter as tightly as she dared. Her own heart was breaking, those walls crumpling like dust. “I should have liked to have known you better.”

  Layla shuddered. “You’re fading with him.” It was not a question.

  “He is my heart. And I have withheld mine from him for too long.”

  Layla pulled back, her cheeks wet but her eyes fierce. “Good. If you . . .” Her breath hitched. “If you both are to leave, that you go together and you bring him peace is a comfort to me.”

  Lena wanted to hold her daughter again, perhaps do some sort of motherly thing—brush out her hair and plait it while they spoke of fashions or some other frivolous topic. But she felt Augustus waning, their connection already strong enough for her to know the time had come.

  She could not say good-bye. She was still too much of a coward. Sorrow made her insides quake. She held herself together with force of will. It made her movements clumsy as she grabbed hold of Layla, cupping her cheeks and pressing a hard kiss to her forehead.

  Lena drew in Layla’s scent, stored it in her memory. “Know this. You are loved. So very much.”

  She could not stand another moment. Kissing her daughter one last time, she turned and strode from the room without looking back.

  Augustus

  Lena strode into his room, her ink black hair flowing free down her back like a banner, her lithe body clothed in a simple silk gown of crimson. She was the most stunning creature he’d ever beheld. And she was crying, silent tears tinged with red that rolled down her white cheeks.

  She did not halt until she was on the bed, in his arms. “Hold me.”

  He could barely move, the pull of the other side so strong. But he managed to bring his arms around her narrow waist. She felt like home.

  “It is done,” she said, her words encompassing the whole of their remaining tasks.

  Quite suddenly, he wanted to weep. He would not see his daughter again. But Lena was warm in his arms, where he’d wanted her to be for all these long, cold years.

  “Lena . . .” He tried to say more, but his mouth wouldn’t work. Fear took hold.

  As if she felt him slip further, she lifted her head. Her dark eyes were clear and focused. “Look at me,” she said. “I choose you, Ramiel.” His true name, the one he’d been given at birth.

  With the last of his strength, he spoke. “And I you, Melaina.” For he knew her birth name as well.

  Wings the color of the darkest night unfurled from her back and curled around him until they were cocooned. Her fangs extended, and she slashed her wrists. Fragrant blood bloomed. She pressed it to his dry lips, and it flowed honey-sweet over his tongue. His body began to glow with both heat and light as she said the words he’d been waiting to hear. “From flesh to bone to blood of heart, shall our souls be entwined, never to part.”

  When she lowered her wrist, her offering flowing through his veins and going straight to his tired heart, he had the strength to give the words back to her.

  As soon as they were uttered, the bed and London fell away from them. The world came into focus again, and they were lying in a field of white flowers, her black wings a sharp contrast. Lena blinked up at him, and then her gaze focused just above his head. Her dark eyes gleamed. “Your wings are restored.”

  He felt them, substantial, a welcome weight. Augustus stretched them wide simply to enjoy the sensation. “So they are.” He touched her cheek. “Regrets?”

  She glanced around. “I regret we appeared in a bed of flowers and not a nice silken nest of pillows.” Her smile was sly, almost shy. “However I am certain we can make do.”

  A chuckle bubbled up within his chest, and he ran the back of his hand along her cheek before undoing the button at the top of her collar. And the next one. “We have an eternity to get it right.”

  She scoffed as he slowly parted her gown. “We shall get it right from the first.” She arched her back, slipping free from the crimson silk. “Come here and let me set you straight.”

  He went willingly, an apt pupil, more than ready to take on whatever lessons she sought to give.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  A sob tore out of Layla as soon as the door to the room closed, leaving her alone. She knew without doubt that Lena had said good-bye. Just as when Lena had left to take care of Archer and Miranda, Augustus had pulled Layla close and hugged her tight. He’d kissed her brow and said he loved her. That he would always love her. And she’d known he too was letting her go.

  She could feel them fading. Her parents. One she’d never truly known, the other she’d never truly let play the role. Everything in her wanted to run from the room and track them down. To fling herself on them and beg for them to remain.

  But Augustus could not, and Lena would follow him. If she stayed, Augustus’s curse to remain alone and weak would be for eternity. Layla was not so selfish to deny her parents their chance at love. But her heart broke all the same. She felt abandoned, like a child once again.

  Biting her lip to keep it all in, she glanced at the couple lying in bed. She sent for Daisy or Poppy to watch over them. Miranda and Archer were unclothed, covered with eider-down quilts, but vulnerable. It seemed right that one of Miranda’s sisters should be here.

  And Layla needed Sin. More than she ever had before. Sin would make thing bearable. She moved to go to him when a great tremor rent through the house. Everything shook; vases toppled and paintings fell from their hooks.

  The room rocked and swayed. And it seemed the very earth roared, the sound so loud her ears rang. Sin, she thought frantically; something has happened to Sin.

  Sin felt the exact moment Augustus faded. It hit him like a bolt of lightning straight to his heart. His body bucked, and he was flung back from his spot by the window. Power such as he’d never experienced surged through him.

  He fell flat on his back, unable to move. Pain. Pressure. He was going to break apart. Voices in his head endlessly babbled, a cacophony of sound that rose to a single ringing pitch.

  Images flashed before his eyes, scenes of death, violence, love, birth, the mundane, the profane. His lids fluttered, those strange scenes flickering so swiftly that they blinded him.

  He understood now what Augustus had endured. Too much. Too much of everything. He hadn’t warned Sin.

  Anger roared within, but the pain was taking him.

  And then he realized he was not alone. Someone else was there. Dread pulled at his heart.

  Dimly, his focus settled on a face: Enoch. Laughing, leaning over him.

  You failed, and now she is mine.

  Layla burst into the room she shared with Sin, her body trembling with the need to be held by him, to see his face and know he was all right. She stopped short so quickly that her heels skidded on the rug.

  All the blood rushed from her face, shock and terror tingled on her skin. She could not breathe, could not speak. This had to be a lie, an illusion. But she blinked and nothing change
d.

  The room was singed black, as if a fire had flared bright then blown itself out. Blood dripped from the walls, splashed over the singed curtains.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  A steady shake rose up her back and down her legs. Layla’s focus narrowed and a strangled sound bubbled up. A headless body on the floor. Blood, so much blood—silver, streaked with scarlet. The body long, lean. Scuffed boots, black trousers.

  No, no, no.

  “Yes, yes, yes.”

  Her gaze snapped up, and there he stood, the bastard St. Claire. Enoch, she supposed. She did not care. He smiled at her—a lazy, evil smile with a hint of fang. His skin was earthen red, his wings a dull black.

  “You are not dreaming, Layla dearest.”

  He moved, and she saw what he held.

  Her entire world froze solid. She would not look. She could not.

  He raised his hand. Sin.

  The shaking within her started to break free, a pitiful wail of utter loss rising.

  Sin’s head in Enoch’s hand. That beautiful face slack with death. Those glorious eyes dull and unstaring. And silver-streaked blood dripping down onto the carpet.

  She screamed then, so hard the window blew out, shattering and falling like crystal rain. A surge went through her and her back jerked. Wings, glossy black and batlike, spread behind her. She felt them twitch, but still she screamed, her rage blasting towards Enoch, whose smile only grew.

  He tossed the head at her feet. “Catch me if you can, girl.” And then he flew out the window.

  With a snarl, she took off running. She had never flown, did not know how. But she did not slow. Layla leapt from the second-story window, hurtling herself after Enoch. Her body hovered for an instant, weightless and buoyant, and then began to plummet.

  No. Fly. Fly.

  The command tore through her, and the muscles along her back tightened. A jerk and a flap and she lifted, awkward and too slow. But she flew.