She smirked as she drew her swords. At least that part of the plan was working. Although, a bit too easily. Unease skittered up her spine. Galen wouldn’t really have brought her here to regain Elsbithy’s good graces. Would he? As the second sword pulled free of the scabbard, something clinked by her foot, bounced off the bones, and clinked again. Glancing down, she realized it fell from her clothes.
Her amulet. The one she’d lost. Her eyes darted around the room, quick flashes of memory assaulting her. It was the same chamber she ran out of right before Galen pulled her into another and rammed his sword through her gut.
It wasn’t a copy of the chamber Elsbithy used for his ritual. This was the ritual chamber, and Galen had pushed her right into it.
From a niche in the corner, a small antique clock happily chimed once. A half-hour until midnight. Penelope pushed her feet into the bones, cracking a few of them, but it was no use. She was now in this to someone’s death. She really hoped it wasn’t hers.
Chapter Eight
Turning her head, she shot Galen a death glare he couldn’t see anyway, and tried to snatch her amulet from the floor. Scalding cold constricted her veins, pinching the fibers of her muscles until a cry ripped straight from her gut. A wall of evil pressed against her, allowing Elsbithy enough room to daintily pluck her amulet from the eye socket of a skull.
“What? Don’t want to get your hands dirty touching me yourself?” she spat.
His face twisted into what would pass for a smile, but Penelope saw through it to the demonic truth below. Elsbithy had been corrupted by his lust for power, forsaking his humanity. Tick-tocking her amulet in front of her, he began to recite in the ancient language of the Council. As he chanted, her body solidified, unable to dissipate even a skin cell.
With a long bony finger, Elsbithy drew back the flap on her jacket, exposing the skin below her collarbone. Turning the amulet to the light, he spoke to Galen over his shoulder. “They are beautiful, aren’t they? Such craftsmanship. And yet so functional. All the grave shifter’s secrets encoded in a few little symbols. Their strengths. And their weaknesses.” At that, he met her eyes, leaning close so she could see a rim of fiery red around the pupil. “Most importantly, how to kill them.”
The amulet seared into her skin, tendrils of fire licking at her bones. Elsbithy stepped back, clasping his hands behind his back, watching. Penelope held still, refusing to give him the satisfaction of watching her writhe in the agony. From the corner of her eye, she saw Galen swallow, adjust his weight from one foot to the other.
Right then, she had zero compunction about carrying out his assassination. Her body gave one hard lurch, and suddenly, she could move again. With all the speed she possessed, she swung her sword, the slight waft of air as it sliced through a welcome relief to her overheated skin. Elsbithy made no move to avoid it, but a scant centimeter from his neck, he disappeared, and Penelope lost her balance under the force of her own movement.
Only she didn’t fall. A large hand grasped her throat from behind, hauling her upright, to the very tips of her toes. She swung her short sword, but he caught her wrist, breaking it. The sound of the bones snapping was louder than the clang of her sword as it hit the floor.
Humans must be very fragile, she thought, as she lost all strength in her broken hand, the nerves throbbing, blood pooling around her wrist.
Elsbithy broke her other wrist as he took that sword as well.
His hand loosened slightly, but only enough to adjust his grip, pushing his thumb and fingers into the soft spots between her ears and jaw. She raised her arms to claw at his hand, but her hands were useless. Throwing an elbow hit nothing. He only shook her, hard, before the blow landed.
In the ancient language, he repeated a phrase three times, and her body solidified to the point of immobility. Trying to move only caused the cold constriction of her muscles again.
She saw the glint a long second before she felt the sharp point press against her skin. It took a few more seconds for the slice he made across her neck to start hurting. Blood poured from the wound, warm and sticky. Instead of soaking into her clothes, Elsbithy held her at just enough of an angle from her toes to his grip that the blood fell into the container in the trough. Guess she now knew what that was for.
Unable to do anything else, she glared at Galen out of the corners of her eyes. He merely stood there, still leaning nonchalantly on her long sword, the end of the scabbard smashed against the floor. She’d make him get her a new one, except she doubted she’d be alive to receive it. If this was part of his plan to kill Elsbithy, his plan sucked.
She wanted to tear her eyes away, fighting to raise her foot to kick at Elsbithy, to at least inflict a bruise or two on her way out, but a sliver of light appeared over Galen’s shoulder. It grew wider, exposing another passageway, and a woman glided into the room, stopping beside Galen and running her bejeweled hand down his arm.
The woman would be considered beautiful. Perfect porcelain skin, lustrous dark hair coiffed in curls on top of her head, bright blue eyes, and lush curves shown off to advantage in an expensive deep burgundy gown. Penelope wanted to throw a bucket of fish heads on her.
Her beauty was marred though. Something in her eyes gave her away.
Elsbithy’s breath was hot against her ear, and she shivered, bile churning in her stomach. “That would be Lady Elsbithy, my lovely bride. Your blood gathering in the trough will soon sustain her beauty until the next midnight full moon.”
As if sensing her introduction, Lady Elsbithy ended her assessment of Galen and strutted like a queen across the room. Careful not to get blood splashed onto her hem, she posed on the other side of the trough. Penelope cocked her eyebrow at the woman, not surprised to see the same red ring around her pupil. It made her eyes look hideous, as if the woman had been on a two week bender.
She sneered at Penelope, jabbing a fake fingernail at her face. “Did you really think he wanted you?” she taunted, shrillness in her voice Penelope bet she hated. “Some uncouth grave dweller? He’s been my lover for a millennium, did he tell you that?”
Unable to speak, she could only purse her lips in the universal “don’t give a shit” expression.
Lady Elsbithy’s face hardened, small lines showing around her eyes and mouth. “You were never more than a distraction. A means to gift me with more shifter blood. Pity for him that you managed to escape.”
She lowered her voice, leaning closer, as if sharing a secret, even though her words were still clear in the small room. “I ordered his eyes burned, after all. So that the only face he would remember the sight of was mine.”
The skin around Penelope’s eyes tightened with the rage burning in her chest, but she decided the best course of action, or at least the most fun under the circumstances, was to only roll her eyes and look bored.
Lady Elsbithy looked even less attractive with her eyes bulging out of her head. She sputtered something, tried again, but in the end, merely huffed before turning away. She must have remembered Galen was there, because she suddenly smoothed a shaking hand over her hair, then sashayed her way back to him. She drew the same finger she’d just jabbed at Penelope down his nose, then over his chin, pulling at his bottom lip as she went. Her nail dragging over the brocade of his vest sounded loud against the hard surfaces of the room.
Penelope looked elsewhere before she got to his zipper.
“I’ll be waiting in my bath for you to bring me that…thing’s blood,” she purred, pressing her oversized breasts into Galen’s arm.
He nodded, then raised her hand to his lips, giving her a slight bow as he did.
If Penelope could have thrown up on his shoes, she would have. He’d confessed to being her plaything. She didn’t doubt that had started before they met, but something in her gut refused to believe their whole relationship had only been about getting her blood to sustain that woman.
And she was prettier than her any day. She didn’t have one damn wrinkle, nor did she need to ca
ke make-up on to feel attractive. Hell, she wasn’t wearing even one little bit of the stuff at the villa, and Galen had been very attracted.
She wanted to kill him. Especially when Elsbithy laughed, the sinister sound sliding into her ear like slime. Finally kicking back with her foot, she made contact this time. It was gratifying, even when he gave her another hard shake.
“Little bitch,” he hissed. “I’m going to enjoy crushing your bones as much as my bride will enjoy having her plaything back.”
“It’s almost midnight, my lord.”
Her eyes snapped to Galen. He finally speaks, and it’s to announce the time? She wished he could see, just so he could flinch at the way her nostrils flared. He sounded bored, as if he had better things to do, but the cultured tone had a bit of grit to it, like he had to work for it.
“Yes, so it is. Only a few more moments and all your restorative powers will meld with mine.”
Weakened by blood loss, Penelope gave one more try to hit him, but it was no use. Elsbithy’s grip tightened, and she could hear more than feel the bones in her neck begin to crush. Her sight grew dim just as the power in the room began to shift, a vortex like those when she reassembled above a grave forming around them.
The clock began to chime the arrival of midnight, and from somewhere above them, a thin sliver of moonlight shone through as the moon reached fullness in its path above them.
The grip on her neck slackened, minutely. Elsbithy had to become vulnerable to absorb her powers. She felt energy being pulled from her, but she struggled against his hold anyway.
“Hold still while I crush your bones,” he snarled behind her.
Underneath the threat, Penelope heard the familiar slide of her sword leaving its scabbard. She froze, eyes flying open, but Galen wasn’t standing where he’d been.
She heard a wet slurp and then felt the white hot blast of pain as her sword ripped through her. Looking down, she saw several inches of her sword sticking out of her chest, and on the blood-drenched point, her amulet. Removed and damaged, she was free of its magic to hold her solid, and her body began to dissipate the smallest fraction.
The spell broken, she lurched out of Elsbithy’s grasp as her blood rose out of the trough, drenching her as it sought to rejoin her body. Penelope pulled in one deep breath before the bones pulled her down. Her body flew apart as she hit the ground.
Chapter Nine
Sensing the bright light beyond her eyelids and the smell of beeswax, she pulled together what of herself she could, but the effort was too much. The vague images continued to pull at her though, sometimes strongly, often just faint impressions.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d slept.
Sometime, much later, the smell of dandelions brought her back enough to feel the soft fabric beneath her, and beneath that, a hard bumpy bed of bones. She struggled to amass enough of herself to open her eyes.
“Shh, more rest, my love. No need to awake just yet.” Was the voice real? The hand brushing against her forehead?
Dissipating once more, she sank back into the bones, content.
Loud clanging rang in her ears. “Oh, bloody hell,” snarled a voice, slapping shut a book. The musty smell of mildewed pages reached her.
Stretching, she arched her back, surprised to feel her hips and shoulder blades press into something soft. Hmmm…waking up in a posh casket wasn’t so bad.
But the light. There shouldn’t be light.
Her eyes snapped open, her body instantly solidifying, hands searching the empty spaces beside her for her sword. Bolting upright at its absence, she banged her head off the edge of something hard. She blinked against the onslaught of light and spots, pressing her hand to the sharp throb in her skull.
She was still in the catacombs. Gasping, the air burned her lungs as she scanned the room for danger. It was…strangely peaceful. Large electric sconces hung from the walls now, the cords tucked against the bottom of the walls, a neat desk facing the alcove she was in, and a very long, comfortable couch filled with pillows and blankets against the adjacent wall.
Her shoulders eased down as her gaze tracked the rest of the way, but there, at the end of the alcove, a mere yard from her feet, stood Galen, shoulder propped against the wall, legs casually crossed, hands in his pockets. Just looking at her. Her body heated as he made a slow assessment of her, top of her head to her toes and back, much the same as she’d just inspected the room.
It wasn’t until she felt her nipples harden under his gaze, saw the wicked tilt come to his mouth, that she realized what she wore. Barely wore, a camisole of soft cotton, long enough to reach mid-thigh, but so thin as to hide nothing.
She snatched the blanket from the end of the bed and clutched it around herself, eyes narrowing on him.
The bastard had the nerve to chuckle. “Apologies for the attire, love, but leather could not be comfortable for sleep.”
Anger burned the back of her throat, flicking into the soft tissue around her eyes. She opened her mouth to tell him, in minute, gory detail, exactly how she was going to torture him for the next century, but he raised a hand.
Unfair how gracefully he moved to sit on the stone by her hip. “Mayhap I deserve whatever you’re thinking up, but do give me a moment to explain.”
“The Council sanctioned your assassination.” Her lip curled. “Dear.”
With the barest whisper of his fingertips, he moved her hair from her face. The same touch she’d felt as she slept. She inched back from the zap of electricity between them.
He was beautiful when he smiled, but she was going to kill him anyway.
“And your swords are right there if you’d like to carry that out,” he said, gesturing to the wall beside her. There, carefully arranged by long hooks, were all three of her swords, from the shortest on top to the longest. Cleaned and gleaming in the flicker of candles, they looked more like a museum piece than instruments of death.
“I should inform you, however, that they have rescinded that sanction.”
“What?” She turned on him, nails digging into her palms inside her fists. “Just why would they do something like that?”
He shrugged. His voice, when he answered, betrayed matter-of-fact boredom. “Because I delivered the head of the late Lord Elsbithy to them on a platter.”
The room seemed to pulse around them, as if the air itself could not stand mention of the name. A tingle of ancient power pulsed through her as well, standing each hair of her body on end. A shiver went up her spine, just a brief slip of cold before the room grew warm again, safe and secure.
“And what of his lovely bride, Lady Elsbithy?” She was impressed she managed to keep the jealousy from her voice. Well, mostly. Contempt dripped from every word.
He chuckled, dipping his head and rubbing at his bottom lip with his thumb. “Needn’t worry over her, love. She was found in her bath, drained of every last drop of blood.”
“You killed her?”
“Did you really believe I would not?” He canted his head to the side as he readjusted, putting one hand on the bed, his arm across her hip. He seemed too at ease leaning across her, but she saw the worry in his eyes. “I never felt anything for her. Other than disgust. Surely you know that?”
Penelope shrugged, feigning interest in something across the way.
He took her hand, running his fingers back and forth over her knuckles until she looked at him. When she did, he leaned forward quickly and pressed his lips to hers. She gasped, in surprise at his actions and at the feeling of home that washed over her. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss.
Pulling back only a breath, she could just meet his eyes. The blue of his irises was clearer now and her eyebrows shot up.
“Yes, my sight is better. Restored by all the blood of grave shifters in her veins. Taking it back was the only pleasure I’ve ever gotten from her.”
“Yeah, the sex must have been terrible,” she mumbled.
“It was. For me. Fortunately, the next Lady
of the Estate will be much more satisfying.”
She shoved him back, his laugh making her want to kill him even more. She kicked at him, making enough room to stand up and stalk to the other side of the chamber. When she rounded back on him, he was still in the alcove, resting against the wall, smiling as he watched her.
“Oh, come now, love, what’s gotten you so upset?”
She picked up a book from his table and hurled it at him. He caught it easily. “You just live to infuriate me, don’t you? I should rip your innards out and feed them to the hounds.”
“Such lovely words from such a beautiful woman.”
“Shove it. That whole ‘you’re beautiful when you’re angry’ shit isn’t going to work.”
In less than a heartbeat, she was in his arms, his hand cradling the back of her skull. “You are always beautiful. The loveliest creature I’ve ever encountered. But when you’re spitting mad and ready to kill? Then you’re amazing. So earthy and sexual it makes me ache to have you. To feel all your heat, the pound of your blood”—he nuzzled her hair—“the scent of dandelions.”
That he noticed did something low in her belly. She gripped his shoulders, nails sinking into the soft linen of his shirt. He hissed.
“And that, too. You can’t hurt me, love, but oh, the pleasure of the way you try.” He took her mouth then, his tongue snaking inside as if he owned her. With a groan she was helpless to deny, she grasped his hair and kissed him back, scraping her bottom lip on his fang as she did.
“Easy, love,” he murmured into the fray of the kiss. “I’ve wanted your blood for a very long time. Want to know if it tastes as sweet as the rest of you.”
Lust swamped her, and she wanted more. Wanted him. No use denying something that was as obvious as daylight. She pushed him toward the couch, straddling his lap as his hands moved to grip her hips. The nightgown she wore rode high on her thighs, the cool air brushing against the wetness between her legs.
“Then why haven’t you bitten me yet?” she asked, forcing his gaze to hers with her hold on his hair. His eyes were truly beautiful, and although not fully healed, the slight haze left in parts of them didn’t detract from the blazing hunger.
Grave Shifter: Shades of Black (Shades of Black: Grave Distinction Series) Page 6