Sinner's Heart (Hellraisers)

by Archer, Zoe

  As she slept in his embrace, he remained awake, in vigil, refusing to grant himself slumber’s oblivion.

  He’d died today. And his single thought, as he lay dying on the floor of his father’s deserted house, had not been for the Hellraisers, nor the fight against the Devil. He’d only thought of Livia. This same thought came to him now.

  I’m lost without her.

  Livia started awake. She had heard something, the faintest noise, yet it had penetrated the depths of her sleep. Sitting up, she felt Bram’s arm warm and heavy across her waist. It surprised her that, with his keen senses, he continued to slumber. There it was again, that sound. As if someone walked back and forth, sandals rasping against the stone floor.

  The room in which she had awakened was not the warehouse. Glancing around, she saw elegant marble columns, frescoes of pastoral scenes, and mosaics inlaid upon the floor. Light from oil lamps painted the chamber in flickering gold. Platters of apricots, almonds, and spiced cake sat atop a low table. Someone in another chamber played upon a flute, the notes low and coaxing.

  A bronze silk tunic lay across the end of the couch, and Livia slipped it on as she rose to investigate. Bram did not stir.

  She walked from the chamber, down a corridor lined with burning torches. This was no warehouse, but a villa, precisely the sort she had known in Rome, and Londinium. Everything she passed sparked pained recognition, from the braziers perfuming the air to the pots of rosemary placed between supporting columns. Through the narrow windows, the night sky sparkled, free of coal smoke and choking fog. It had been an age since she had seen a truly clean sky.

  The villa stretched on, and she followed the sound of footsteps. Yet as she walked, she passed no one. No other inhabitants, no servants, no slaves. Wariness marked her steps, but she did not stop. She needed to know who was pacing back and forth, and what they wanted.

  Turning a corner, she found herself in an open courtyard. Here grew carefully trimmed Cyprus trees, and a fountain trickled in the center of the courtyard, a bronze sculpture of a nymph bearing an amphora standing atop the fountain. More torches burned here, and a feast had been set up, with roasted partridge, oranges, and goblets of wine.

  She stepped into the courtyard. The footsteps grew louder, and she bit down an oath when a man emerged from the shadows beneath the arcade. He wore a nobleman’s silk tunic and robe, a large ruby-studded pin fastening the robe at his shoulder, and more gold and rubies adorned his fingers. His snow-white hair was short but brushed forward in the popular fashion. The irises of his eyes were also the color of ice, and just as cold.

  The Dark One, appearing to her as he did when she first summoned him.

  Livia raised her hands, readying a Minoan spell.

  “That is a poor way to greet my hospitality.” He spoke the language she had not heard for a thousand years, her language. He smiled.

  She did not return the smile. “Your largesse is unwanted.”

  “Is it? Surely you’ll want to partake of some of the delicacies I have had prepared for you.” He strolled over to a bowl heaped with grapes, selected one, and popped it into his mouth. “Delicious. And straight from the vineyards surrounding your father’s villa. Surely you remember the flavor, the burst of sweet juice upon the tongue, the yield of soft flesh beneath the skin?”

  She did remember stealing grapes from the vineyards when she was very small, crouching down in the dirt and devouring the fruit by the handful, alert should any of the servants catch her and go telling tales to the master, her father.

  She had been so young then, free of the ambition and avarice that had driven her thousands of miles from home. Her greed then had not been for power or magic, but grapes. A child’s covetousness.

  “And surely whatever food Bram has been able to provide for you cannot match any of this.” The Dark One gestured to the arrayed feast. “Of a certain, you must be hungry and thirsty. A millennium without a proper meal.” He tsked. “That must be remedied.”

  Her mouth watered, yet she would not touch any of the food. She knew the dangers of the Dark One’s munificence. A single bite could enslave her for eternity.

  “You brought me to this place for a reason,” she snapped.

  “Your manners have always been appalling,” he answered, shaking his head. “It was always, I want this or Give me that. Never a please. Never any humility.”

  “Yet you came when I summoned you.”

  His smile was indulgent. “Such conceit from a mortal amused me. And I knew that the ambitious ones were the easiest to sway. Simply dangle the prospect of a little power, and they fell into my grasp like overripe fruit.” The moment the words left his mouth, an orange appeared in his hand. “You, my dear, were too delicious to forgo. Seldom in my ancient life had I encountered another mortal as hungry for power as you. Now look at the wonders you have brought to pass.”

  He waved his empty hand, and scenes appeared in the spray of the fountain. She saw herself as she stood in the underground temple, a room carved from rock. She watched herself summoning the Dark One. The bound Druid priestess and Indian slave lay upon the ground as she used a draining spell to rip magic from them. Alight with their power, Livia spilled ewe’s blood on an altar. She chanted as smoke billowed up from the altar, smoke dark as oblivion, and the temple shook. Her captives’ eyes were wide with horror as a door of black stone appeared, then, with an awful groan, swung open. The Dark One emerged, dressed as he was now, and laughing. Her triumphant laughter had joined his. She had done it—summoned the ultimate evil.

  The scene shifted, and now Livia beheld the terror that harried Londinium. Brawls, fires, chaos, human depravity. She felt sick to witness the destruction all over again.

  The images changed once more, revealing the Hellraisers in the temple ruins as they unwittingly opened the Devil’s prison. Images of horror followed—a demon attack on a band of Gypsies, a riot within a theater that spilled out into the street, Edmund lying dead in the street. Madness and death.

  Her cheeks burned. She knew full well her culpability, but to see it played out before her in these garish shadows felt like swallowing molten lead.

  “I will undo it all,” she said, tipping up her chin.

  The Dark One snapped his fingers, and the scenes vanished. “The fight against me is impossible.”

  “I defeated you once before.”

  He scowled, but he smoothed out his expression to elegant blandness. “It was a mere temporary holding. No one can truly best me. Certainly not some Roman sorceress and her pack of dissolute rakes.”

  “If you have brought me to this place simply to taunt me,” she answered, “then your efforts are wasted. I’ll not give up. Nothing you say or do will alter my resolve.” She moved to leave.

  “I could offer you more,” he said, smooth as a polished gem.

  She turned back, wary. “More?”

  He was all consideration, his smile convivial. “Power, of course.”

  “I already have power.” She lifted her hands, and shimmering magic surrounded her.

  The Dark One scoffed. “Parlor tricks and mountebanks’ artifice. That is not true power. A single snap of my fingers, and I could give you magic far beyond your reckoning. The means to reign over millions of mortals. You would have only to think of something you desire, anything at all, from wealth to the might of legions, and it would be yours.”

  “None of that entices me.”

  Yet he smirked. Neither of them believed her. “Is that not what you pursued for countless years? The acquisition of still greater magic, the means by which you could possess more and still more? Your hindrance had been yourself, the bounds of your own mortal capabilities. With my influence, all your aspirations will come to pass. The whole of the world’s magic would belong to you alone.”

  Her mouth dried and her heart pounded. Oh, when he spoke like that, offering precisely what she had coveted, her every dark hunger roared back to life. Strength and power could be hers. So many spells, so
much magic—hers.

  She forced herself to shake her head, though her neck felt made of rusted iron. “Spare me your persuasion. You cannot offer anything I want.”

  “Again you speak untruths.” He snapped his fingers, and suddenly they stood in the villa chamber where she had awakened.

  Bram continued to sleep on the couch. He had rolled onto his back, one arm flung above his head, so the lamplight gleamed along the contours of his muscles. The flame markings seemed to dance down his torso.

  “Threaten him,” she growled at the Devil, “and I vow your destruction.”

  “Threaten?” He pressed a slim white hand to his chest, the gems upon his fingers giving sly winks in the flickering light. “My dearest girl, I offer you not a threat but a promise of pleasure. You have tasted the joys of mortal life with your lover. But mortal life is a fragile thing, and brief. I could give you both eternity, together.”

  She stared at him, too stunned to speak. He could not possibly be offering . . . ?

  “So I do,” he answered, smiling. “Everlasting life for yourself and Bram. You shall not suffer the privations of age, but remain young and beautiful forever. Neither will watch the other wither and die. No sword will be able to pierce your flesh and spill your blood. You will have each other just as you are now. And with the power I will bestow upon you, there is nothing you both cannot have. You shall be as gods.”

  Livia squeezed her eyes shut, a futile protection against the Dark One’s beguiling words. How could she possibly resist his offer? When he proffered precisely what she wanted most? Power—and Bram—forever. Everything she had suffered these thousand years, all the loss, and the wisdom she had gained, it all fell away like ash.

  The pleasure she and Bram had shared was unlike any other she had experienced. Far more than two people creating sensation, more than simply taking him within her body, she had taken him within her heart. It made her feel godlike in her power, it made her feel vulnerable. Like a fortress surrounded by thick walls, yet a single, well-aimed mortar could turn everything to crumbling dust.

  She forced her eyes open. “If I refuse?”

  The Devil’s smile persisted, yet it had the bite of frost. “You shall be crushed.” He held up the orange still gripped in one hand, and, without any effort, squeezed it into pulp. Juice ran down his fingers to spatter on the floor.

  “Consider it, child,” he said mildly, wiping his hand on a cloth. “Life eternal with your lover, unlimited power. Everything your heart covets. Or assured death. Agony. Watching Bram suffer abominably before he is killed. And the certainty that, after your own death, you will never see one another again.”

  He dropped the cloth onto the floor. “Do not forget, I still possess this.” With another wave of his hand, the gleaming orb of Bram’s soul appeared, clutched in the Dark One’s thin fingers.

  Sickness clogged Livia’s throat to see him holding the precious object.

  “Should he die whilst I am the owner of his soul, which he assuredly shall, he spends eternity suffering the torments of the underworld. There are so many lovely punishments. Being flayed over and over, and the regrowing of the skin is just as painful as its removal. Or he may suffer constant, excruciating thirst, but his only means of relief to drink liquid fire. I have had a very long while to invent new means of suffering. Of a certain, I shall find something particularly novel for your lover.”

  She wrapped her arms around her stomach but could not stop the wave of nausea churning through her. The Dark One spoke literally. Any of these torments awaited Bram. Simply thinking of them filled her with fury and despair.

  The Devil stared at the radiant glow of Bram’s soul. “A clever woman like you—the choice should be obvious.”

  She swallowed hard, then barely whispered the word, “No.”

  The Dark One tapped his finger to his chin. “Shall I wake Bram? I think I ought. Give your lover an opportunity to hear you condemn him to eternal suffering.”

  Having only recently rediscovered what it felt like to breathe, she lost her breath. She stared with burning eyes at Bram, slumbering and unaware. Would he revile her? Hate her?

  She knew him, knew what he would want.

  “No,” she said again, and then louder, “No. I’ll not succumb to your temptation.”

  Rather than look angry, or storm and scream in rage, the Dark One continued to smile. “Take all the time you need to consider my proposition. Nothing needs to be hastily spoken.”

  “My answer will be the same.”

  “When you have decided to accept,” he went on, as if she hadn’t spoken, “summon me. Ordinarily, I do not look favorably upon those who do bid me to attend upon them. I shall make an exception for you, my dear.”

  “How gratifying,” she said flatly.

  He laughed, the sound as ice upon bare branches. “I always thought highly of you, Valeria Livia Corva. You hold such marvelous promise. I can make all of that come to pass. Merely a few words from you: Veni, Maleficus. Both you and Bram will have everything. Or you will die in anguish as the world burns around you. Followed by eternal separation and Bram’s everlasting suffering. The choice is yours.”

  A wave of his hand, and he and Bram’s soul vanished. At that same moment, flames erupted at the edges of the couch. Yet Bram continued to slumber, unaware that in moments the fire would cover the bed and he would be burned.

  Livia tried to run to him, but her feet were rooted to the ground. She could not move. Could not open her mouth to shout a warning or lift her hands to cast a spell that would smother the fire. All she could do was watch as the fire crept nearer to Bram.

  She had to do something, but she was helpless—and her helplessness fueled her rage.

  Suddenly, her arms were free. Her body was no longer immobile, and she leapt forward with a shout.

  “Livia?”

  She blinked, then glanced down to see Bram propped up on his elbow, frowning with concern. There was no fire. The villa had been replaced by the warehouse. She wore no tunic, but stood naked beside the couch, her hands upraised as though on the verge of casting a spell.

  “Livia?” Bram reached for her.

  Anger and tension continued to blaze through her. She stepped out of his reach, mistrustful of herself. Riled as she was, she might accidentally hit him with a killing curse. “He came to me. The Devil.”

  Bram was immediately out of bed, sword in hand, glaring into the darkness.

  “He wasn’t here,” Livia said.

  “You said he came to you.”

  “We were in my villa. In Londinium.”

  Lowering his sword, Bram said, “A dream. Nothing real.”

  She shook her head. “Dreams are real. They exist in the boundary realm of the Ambitus. Through a dream, I gave Leo’s wife her magic. Upon waking, the power was truly hers. The Dark One visited me, Bram. He . . . tempted me.”

  Bram sheathed his sword, yet kept it close. “Tempted you, how?”

  “Power without limitation. The world’s magic would belong to me. Anything I desired could be mine.” Anger blistered her—she hated the Dark One for tempting her, his threats, and reminding her of her own fallibility.

  “You wanted that once,” he said, “but no longer.”

  “I was enticed.” The confession burned, though she would not look away from Bram’s incisive gaze. “It seems I am not as reformed as I’d believed.”

  “Who of us is wholly good or wholly sinful?” He stared out as ashen dawn light sifted into the warehouse, transforming darkness into shades of gray. “Greed, rage—I feel them, still. And damn anyone who stands in my way.”

  In the smoke-colored light, he was hard angles and brutal purpose, the same man with whom she’d created fathomless pleasure, and yet starkly different.

  “Yet you won’t yield to that need,” she said, and she did not miss the caution in her words.

  “Every moment’s a fight. For you, it’s the same.” He turned his gaze to hers. “The struggle won’t st
op. So it will ever be. That bastard Devil offers you everything your wicked heart desires. Small surprise you’re tempted. It’s the way of villains like us.” He stepped close and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “We’ll keep each other on the path of virtue—dull as that might be. Us on our very best behavior is still more exciting than a pair of straying saints.”

  “He made threats, as well.” Her hands curled, as if she clutched the Dark One’s throat in her hands.

  Bram tensed. “Threatened you?”

  “Both of us.” Her heart pounded as she thought of all the torments Bram would suffer after death. “They weren’t baseless. He’s still in possession of your soul.” They each knew what this meant, the eternal agony that awaited Bram.

  He was silent for a long while. Finally, he said, “To hell with him.” His eyes were blue diamonds. “He must be pissing himself with fear if he’s cajoling and threatening you. It’s an old tactical maneuver. Undermine the enemy. Let them do the work for you. The battle is won before it’s ever fought. If we weren’t dangerous, he wouldn’t bother. But he is. Meaning, he’s frightened.”

  “He tried to frighten me, too.”

  “It didn’t work. Look at you.” His gaze moved over her, admiring. “Naked as the morning but ready to fight.”

  “He threatened you,” she said.

  Bram stared at her for a moment, then lowered his head and put his lips to hers with a kiss so sweet her heart shattered.

  He broke away, frowning, his head tilted as if to catch a faint sound. She heard it, too, a scrabbling—the sound of claws belonging to large animals. And the sound was growing closer.

  Without speaking, she and Bram threw on their clothing. As they did so, the scratching reverberated up the walls. Something climbed up the sides of the warehouse. The ceiling shook from the weight of heavy bodies, and the scratching of claws.

  “He found us,” Livia said, grim. “Through my dream, the Dark One found us.”

  Bram already held his sword. He grabbed her hand, and together they ran for the small side door.