Rapture (Hades Castle Trilogy Book 2)

by C. N. Crawford

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she could be working for the Free Men.”

  I snorted. “She’s not working for the Free Men. She could hardly get out of bed. She’d be a fucking liability.”

  “Your sister works for the Free Men. And what if your mother is no longer a drunk?”

  “She’s not political.”

  “My answer is no.”

  I clenched my jaw, irritation simmering. I hated being controlled. “Arsehole.”

  Whether Samael approved or not, I would get to her.

  I just needed to find my way out.

  18

  Lila

  In my dark room once more, I stared out the window at the murky moat below. I was trying to forget the earth-shattering kiss with Samael. I was pretty sure he had forgotten it, which irritated me beyond belief.

  It was the ripped dress and my primal state.

  Tosser.

  At least it seemed cozy in here, no ghosts on the horizon. From now on, in this room, I’d be keeping the lantern on at all times. Ghosts didn’t come when the lights were on. Everyone knew that. On another positive note, my belly was full from the late dinner after we returned—roasted chicken, potatoes, parsnips, and wine. Another delicious dinner eaten alone.

  I still wore the ripped black dress, I realized as I looked down at my bare legs. Sorry, my wares. I supposed I’d avoided changing so far because the last time I’d taken my clothes off, the ghost thought it was a perfect time to attack. Wrestling naked on the bathroom floor felt deeply undignified.

  I looked out at the thorny garden and the ruined gate. I wanted to find Mum in the priory, but I’d need to figure out how to make that happen.

  As I stared out the window, Jenny Squawks swept past, and for a moment I thought she was going to land on the windowsill. Instead, she turned sharply for the river, then started squawking again, frantically flapping her wings.

  I frowned. I watched her do it again, frantically circling toward the river, then squawking manically, her flight erratic.

  Something was wrong with her.

  In fact, it almost looked as if she couldn’t make it past the moat. That was exactly where the pain had gripped me when I’d tried to leave.

  Was this magic curse working on Jenny also? But I’d seen others come and go from the castle—Oswald, Emma, some of the cooks.

  What did Jenny and I have in common?

  I turned, looking back at the remains of my dinner, and my gaze sharpened on the fruit, a beautiful garnet red and full of seeds. I’d been feeding her that fruit …

  I’d never actually seen her fly over the moat since I’d fed it to her.

  Perhaps it was enchanted. It was odd, after all, that they gave it to me every night. The rest of the food changed—but not the fruit.

  Pulling open the window, I called to Jenny. She swooped inside, her feathers ruffled, looking upset.

  I pet her head. “I’m sorry, little bird. We have been poisoned by an evil angel.”

  I leaned out the window, peering down at the moat and the bridge that spanned it. Under the moonlight, the water had a dark, ominous sheen. This place was supposed to be protected by angelic charms, and yet I had the strangest premonition that something terrible would happen in that moat. Maybe it was the way the ghost had tormented me—the water and leaves. I shivered and closed the window again.

  The wind whistled through a tiny crack in the window, unsettling me. Still, I was so exhausted my eyes were drifting closed. But I didn’t want to sleep. If I let my guard down, the ghost would return.

  I took a deep breath, glancing out the window again. Maybe it wasn’t that something terrible would happen here in the future. Maybe it already had.

  After all, Samael kept that room locked for a reason. Maybe he’d been the one to lock up the Iron Queen.

  I pressed my palms against the cool glass. As I did, a voice whispered, You know what you are, Lila.

  I breathed slowly, in and out, gritting my teeth. “No, I have no idea, actually. Do you want to fill me in?” My voice came out sharp and angry.

  You are evil, the voice replied.

  Dread slithered over my skin, and I looked down at my wrist. There, the silver tattoo gleamed again—the crescent moon wrapped in thorny vines. Symbols of life, of night. Was the person who had lived in that room connected to me, or was I simply drawing from her power here?

  Then, a cold draft rippled over the room, and the lantern snuffed out, cloaking the room in darkness.

  Oh, bollocks. Frantic, I turned the lantern on again, bringing the flame up high.

  From nowhere, an icy wind rushed past, smothering the flame again.

  She was coming for me.

  I reached for the acorn at my neck—the thing that would keep me safe—but it wasn’t there. The little bit of string must have snapped during the battle with the demons, or perhaps somewhere in this room.

  I whirled, trying to see in the dark. Where had the acorn gone?

  Maybe I should get out of here. I could find Emma or Oswald. The ghost wouldn't appear around others; she wanted me to seem like a bloody lunatic. That was all part of the fun for her, wasn’t it?

  I turned, passing the mirror. But as I did, something stopped me dead in my tracks. Entranced, I could no longer move forward. I wanted to look in the mirror. It called to me like a siren.

  Slowly, I turned my head, and my breath caught in my throat. In the reflection, my hair wafted around my head, undulating above me like I was underwater. My eyes had darkened to a pure, void black, and my arms lifted, wrists raising in the air before me. In the center of my forehead, the silver symbol blazed—a moon with vines.

  I’ll leave you alone when you admit what you are. Evil. Corrupted.

  Her words took root in my mind, like an invasive species crawling over the inside of my skull. Ivy would make its home in my thoughts, taking over.

  You were meant to be alone. To die alone. There is power in isolation.

  A brutal ache gnawed at my chest.

  He won’t love you. And when he learns what you are, he will kill you. Might as well get there first.

  At last, I managed to break free. Panic clawed at my chest as I ran for the door. But before I could get to it, an invisible force slammed into me, knocking me to the ground. I tried to scramble to my knees, but my throat was filling with water again. Foul, filthy liquid slid down my gullet, and I couldn't get any air.

  This was how it would all end, choking to death alone.

  I couldn't scream. My body thrashed, spasming, limbs knocking into the furniture. The weight of silty water pressed down on me. It was the moat, wasn’t it? I was drowning in the moat.

  This had happened before …

  My vision started to go dark. Then, it filled with a terrifying image—Samael’s true face, his eyes blazing with primordial fire. This wasn’t Samael anymore. This was the reaper, and his gaze held no mercy, no love.

  He reached for me, his fist plunging into my ribcage, snapping bones. Then I was falling, plummeting through the icy air. Thrown from the window. I slammed into the surface of the moat. The murky depths filled my lungs, and I felt my life leaving me as my arms floated up above my head …

  Desperate, I reached out, scrambling for anything around me. My fingers grasped something round and hard. It was salvation somehow, and I pulled it to my chest, gasping for air. The illusion of the moat disappeared again. The reaper was gone.

  I was lying on the floor of the bedroom, my breath labored, rasping. The lantern was lit once again, warm light dancing over the room. I brought the little acorn before my eyes, relieved to have found it.

  When I looked down at myself, I found red marks on my arms and legs where I’d been slamming them into the furniture. Soon, they’d form into purple bruises. I touched my cheekbone, feeling a welt forming there already.

  But not everything had disappeared. Dirty water still filled my mouth, and I rolled over onto my hands a
nd knees, coughing up some of the moat onto the floor.

  That theory about how ghosts couldn’t actually hurt you? That was wrong.

  I had the strange sense that she was jealous of me. She wanted me to know Samael didn’t love me. Was she a past lover of his? I knew only that he’d never had sex with a mortal woman. But a demon? Maybe he had.

  Still on the floor, I hugged myself. Shivering, I leaned against the bed, clutching the acorn hard in my fist. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when my breathing started to slow.

  A knock sounded at my door, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  I clutched the acorn in my sweaty palm. “Who’s there?” My voice came out sounding furious.

  I pulled open the door to find him standing with his cowl raised over his head, face enshrouded.

  “Yes?” My voice shook.

  “What happened to you?”

  I looked down at my body, where the bruises were already starting to turn purple. The thing was, he’d never believe me if I told him it was the ghost. He’d already said as much.

  “Nothing,” I said sharply. I held the acorn out to him. “But can you ask Oswald to send up more of these?”

  Every now and then, you see yourself from a distance, how you must look to others. And at that moment, I realized how completely and utterly mad I must look—my hair wild, holding out an acorn and asking for more of them.

  “Why do you want an acorn, and what happened to you?”

  I closed my fingers around the acorn. “It’s just good luck. What do you want?”

  Samael raised one of his arms, leaning against the door frame. “I sensed something was wrong. And now I can see that it is.”

  My mind ignited with a picture of how he’d looked in the vision—merciless. Ruthless. “Well, I’m locked in this castle by a death angel, so I guess something is kind of wrong. How close are you to becoming the reaper?”

  “What are the bruises from?”

  “The ghost.” He wouldn’t believe me.

  “Right.” He arched an eyebrow. “Why are you asking about the reaper?”

  “I’m just thinking about your warning, that’s all. About how you’re dangerous. Maybe I’d like to know more about this reaper side of you.”

  He pulled his gaze away from me, staring into the hall. “Sourial would probably be delighted to give you the history. I slaughtered people up and down Albia, Clovia, the islands. I don’t remember most of it. Just little flashes. Blood mixing with the dirt to become red mud. Sometimes I hear the screams.” When he looked at me again, his eyes glinted with confusion. “You seem different, suddenly. And you still aren’t telling me the truth.”

  My jaw tightened. “You won’t hear the truth. And the truth is, I want to see my Mum. I don’t know where my magic comes from, and I’d like to find out. She might know more than she has let on. But I don’t want you listening in.”

  He frowned. “As my prisoner, you’re not in a position to make demands.”

  Actually, I was, considering I now knew how to escape. But I’d keep that part to myself. I cocked my hip. “You need me to participate in this wedding, don’t you? And you want it to look real.”

  His expression darkened. “Are you threatening me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Fine.”

  The air seemed too thin, growing colder as the silence stretched out.

  Looks like I hit my mark.

  I smiled. “Great! I knew we could work something out.”

  His brow furrowed as he took in the blooming bruises on my arms and legs. Then, he traced a fingertip very gently over the bruise on my cheek. “What happened to you?” he asked again.

  “Can you confirm about tomorrow?” I pressed. “We have a deal, right?”

  He pulled his hand away. “I’ll take you to her tomorrow. Now tell me what happened.”

  I gripped the acorn like a lifeline, nodding. “I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I said it was a ghost.”

  Torchlight and shadows danced back and forth over the hall where Samael stood, and he went very still. A cool draft whipped past me, toying with my hair. Instead of answering, he simply walked away, and the door closed behind him, leaving me alone.

  Still gripping my acorn, I crossed to the lantern and turned it up. I wanted to know more about demons, more about the reaper. More about ghosts.

  Knowledge was power, and I had an arsenal of books at my fingertips. I’d arm myself to the teeth, so when my little phantom friend returned, I’d at least have a better idea of how to fight her.

  Just as I was crossing to the shelves, another knock sounded on my door.

  This time, I opened the door to see Emma, a candle and taper in her hands. She frowned at my arms. “Are you all right? Samael said there was something wrong with you.”

  “A ghost attacked me.” I opened the door wider. “Do you have any interest in helping me read about ghosts?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I can read the books a little bit, but with your help, it will go faster. I want to find out about the types of ghosts that can beat the ever-loving shit out of you, because that is what happened to me this evening. I even coughed up moat water—” I pointed at the floor, where I’d vomited up a bit of the moat, but by now, the stones were completely dry.

  Bloody hell.

  “I just want to learn more about ghosts,” I said a little more uncertainly.

  She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head. “Okay.”

  Desperation pierced me. “I didn’t do this to myself, Emma.”

  Her forehead crinkled. “Fine. Well, at least this will be amusing. I’ll see if I can find any ghost books.”

  “Good. Because there’s something evil in this castle.”

  Besides Samael.

  19

  Lila

  By the time Emma left, I had no new information. I had, however, managed to find an account of the reaper from five centuries ago, complete with pictures of villages full of dead people and blood running through the streets. The accounts left me feeling cold and slightly terrified.

  But even with Emma’s help, I found nothing about ghosts.

  I supposed the chances of finding a book called Why a Manifestation of Evil is Attacking you with Leaves were not particularly high.

  It must have been three o’clock by the time I was lying in bed with the lights out. I closed my eyes, willing sleep to come. With the acorn clenched tightly in my fist, I wasn’t as worried about the ghost.

  But something else kept creeping into my mind. It was the memory of that kiss earlier. The possessive feeling of his hand on my body. The way he’d pinned me to the wall. The dark, molten heat of his mouth, his tongue sweeping against mine. I should have been remembering what he kept saying—that I was about as interesting as any other half-naked woman. But his kiss told a different story.

  As I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the kiss replayed in my mind, again and again. I wanted to feel his mouth on me, exploring.

  Sighing, I rolled over. My body was growing hot, and I threw off the sheets. Every time I closed my eyes again, it was like I could feel his magic skimming over my skin, making me ache for him.

  Why was it so bloody hot in here? I pulled my nightgown up higher.

  A crack of light illuminated the room as the door opened, and I gasped.

  I sat upright, staring at Samael. With my cheeks heating, I tugged down my nightgown again. “What are you doing in here?”

  He crossed to the edge of my bed and sat. I watched his searing gaze moving up and down my bare legs. One of his hands was pressed to the mattress close to my thigh, the point of contact making my skin flush. Moonlight poured through the window, lighting the room enough for me to make out that he wasn’t wearing a cloak but a black shirt that sculpted his muscles. Hard not to stare.

  “I want to know who taught you magic,” he said quietly. “You killed that demon, but I don’t know how. I can see that you’re
mortal. I can feel it and smell it.”

  I held his gaze. “I’m an ordinary mortal. Just a run of the mill, workaday human with ordinary wares.”

  “But you’re keeping secrets from me.” His dominating tone made my pulse race faster. His seductive magic simmered up my legs in a way that made my knees tremble.

  I shrugged. “All I know, Samael, is that if you’re here in my room in the middle of the night, I must be occupying your thoughts an awful lot.”

  He leaned forward, planting his hands on either side of my hips. The feel of his wrists through the silk of the nightgown was setting me on fire. His eyes smoldered.

  Then, he whispered in my ear, “Don’t play games with me, mortal. You will not win.”

  I shuddered at the threat, a forbidden pleasure rippling over me. Something dark and dangerous was coursing through me now, and I found I very much wanted to play games with him.

  With every deep breath I took, the silky material of my nightgown was brushing gently up and down over my nipples. I wanted his mouth to replace the material. I felt my body straining against the nightgown, and I thought of ripping it off. Liquid heat pooled at the apex of my thighs.

  For a moment, I tried to remind myself how arrogant he was, and that we were locked in a battle of wills. But the thought evaporated like water on hot stone.

  I licked my lips. “Are you sure I wouldn’t win?”

  “You know what I think? I think you need some lessons in honesty.”

  My heart fluttered as he rose from the bed and ripped the thin, silky banner off the wall. Gripping it at the top, he tore it in two. I wasn’t sure exactly what he was doing, but anticipation was making my pulse race anyway.

  He climbed on the bed, then dragged my pillows into the center of the mattress.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, giving him a defiant look.

  He turned to me, planting his hands firmly on either side of my hips again. The look he was giving me was dark, molten. The heat of his magic kissed my skin, making my breath come faster. He was winning this battle of wills; any moment now, I’d be doing whatever he wanted.