Corin & Angelique (After the Fall of Night)

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Corin & Angelique (After the Fall of Night) Page 18

by Sherri Claytor


  “Strange looking tattoo you have there.”

  “Just something I got when I was younger…and wilder.” He casually repositioned his arm to cover the mark he generally kept hidden, along with a second seal—the circle of the Morpar Kingdom—a much larger design centered on his chest.

  “What does it mean?” she asked curiously. “Or is it just something you picked out because it was cool?”

  “It depicts the eternal struggle between day and night, and how, despite their continual battle to overtake each another, they are forever bound together. There is no day without night, and no night without day.”

  “Very deep…and true. You could be a poet. Maybe you should consider taking up the pen.”

  “I don’t think so,” he laughed. “I have trouble writing my own name.”

  “Well, it’s something to think about. Now, is there anything else I can get for you?”

  “No. Everything looks fine.”

  “I’ll let you get to your meal, before it gets cold.” She rushed away in the busy manner of all the waitresses in the diner. The establishment was small, but the booths were always full.

  Jordon reached for his fork and the symbol showed again. He placed his left hand on the mark, allowing his thoughts to carry him to another time and place—to another world—his world. Not from Earth, or even human, Jordon, an Indith immortal from the Eleventh Dimension, was a diurnal immortal—a daywalker. He differed from nightwalkers in several ways, one being he did not require blood to survive. However, there were many similarities between the two species, both were shape-shifters, and each possessed the ability to sense the presence of other immortals.

  Indith immortals were a cross between humans and nightwalkers, only unlike humans, they didn’t grow ill or old. From birth until their fifteenth year, they aged as mortals, and then the aging process slowed to a crawl—one year to forty human years—until they reached adulthood, when it stopped altogether. Fully matured around four hundred and fifteen human years, Jordon was still considered a youth by his kind’s standards at just a little over two hundred years old.

  He recalled an Indith warlord named Gaun who had almost led the Indithians to their ruin. Endowed with the Clyth—a charm forged by a dark angel from solid black diamond and granted to the warlord as a gift of his favor—Gaun had embarked on a quest to banish all but his own species from the face of their world.

  Jordon’s own father, Denlor Day Morrain, and his half-brother, Lake, had served Gaun. They stood behind their commander, savagely attacking unsuspecting human villages in the night and slaughtering every living thing in their path. But in the end, in their devout loyalty to him, they had fallen to their deaths, beheaded in the final battle at Kenijor.

  Along with humans, nightwalkers had also been plagued by these savage attacks, caught unaware during the daylight hours with entire covens infiltrated and destroyed. Gaun’s Indithian forces left nothing but death and despair in their treacherous wake.

  With every species in danger of extinction, the need for survival became the tie binding human and nightwalker. Side by side, they’d been able to thwart the Indith attacks. The nightwalkers protected humans from incursions at night, and humans guarded against raids on the nightwalkers during the day. United, and with the aid of a powerful wizard, they’d finally managed to take the warlord’s head.

  Jordon slid his sleeve back down covering the design that represented this epic battle of survival—the joining of night and day. Now a sentry, he wore the symbol with pride and honor, but it was imperative he kept it hidden, should he meet up with any fugitives from his world.

  Thinking of his family, Jordon tried not to dwell on his dishonorable heritage. But the memories were there, forever lodged in his mind. He knew he wasn’t responsible for the barbaric actions of his father and Lake, but left to bear their disgrace, he couldn’t help feeling the need to make amends for all their past evils. This personal shame was what had led him to become a sentry—dedicating his life to hunting down criminals—and the driving force behind his many successful captures.

  “Is everything all right? You look a million miles away. You haven’t touched a thing on your plate.” The waitress’s voice brought Jordon back to the present.

  “I’ve just been struck with a headache. If you wouldn’t mind bringing a box, I’ll take this with me. I don’t have much of an appetite at the moment.”

  “I can sympathize. I’ll get one for you.” She hustled off, returning a moment later with a box and check in hand.

  Jordon transferred his meal, paid the bill, and headed out of the diner. Thinking of his past had depressed him, but he had to shake it off and stay focused on his present mission. He had a rotter to catch, a nightwalker who didn’t have an inkling of the ultimate power the charm he’d stolen truly possessed.

  Jackson County was the closest he’d come to capturing the miscreant since they’d started their cat and mouse chase two years earlier. The nightwalker had broken his pattern. Something in this tiresome little county had allured him, and Jordon knew the key to catching him lay in finding out just what the attraction was.

  * * * *

  Corin fed before he and Tomes headed to the ranch on Hillman Road. Arriving close to ten thirty, they found Boldor’s dusty-blue Camaro hidden behind the house.

  “This is it.” Corin recognized the car.

  Tomes broke a glass pane on a French door at the rear of the house. “Shall we?”

  “You didn’t have to do that.” Corin led the way.

  Although pitch-dark inside, Corin had no trouble finding his way with his phenomenal night vision. A well-armed Tomes followed closely, carrying a flashlight in one hand and the staker in the other. A strap ran from his right shoulder diagonally across his chest, keeping his supply of blackthorn nails within easy reach. Additionally, his machete hung at his mid-back by a second strap and sheath, with the handle accessible by reaching back and over his shoulder.

  Corin stopped. “This is the basement door.”

  “There’s a slide bolt. Aren’t they usually installed on the inside of rooms…for safety?” Tomes’s flashlight beam settled on the lock.

  “Yes, they are,” Corin replied in a hushed voice, sniffing the air.

  “Strange. If they wanted to keep people out, wouldn’t they have used a padlock instead?”

  “Shhh.” Corin reached for the bolt, slid it back, and eased the door open. Listening with his acute hearing, he looked down into the dark recess.

  “I don’t hear anything,” Tomes whispered. “Do you think he’s down there?”

  “He’s not here. The door wouldn’t have been locked from the outside if he were. He’s most likely out feeding.”

  “That makes sense. So I guess we won’t find Louisa here either. If she’s a nightwalker, she’d have to feed too.”

  “She will have to feed.” Corin exercised caution as he descended the stairs into the unknown territory below.

  Tomes followed, his flashlight beam bouncing chaotically as he went. Stopping on the bottom step next to Corin, he shivered with gooseflesh. “It’s cold, damp, and stale. It feels like a tomb. And what is that horrific smell? It reeks down here.” Tomes pressed the top of his hand beneath his nose. “The smell in your basement isn’t nearly this offensive.” He sniffed Corin.

  “Knock it off! It’s not me, it’s his scent.” Corin kept his voice low, knowing they weren’t alone. “Although,” he paused to smell the air again, noticing the odor of death in the mix, “there’s decay—rotting flesh.”

  “Oh man, you mean he’s left corpses down here?” Tomes scanned the room.

  “I’d say it’s the decomposing remains of animals—rodents. But I do detect human blood, only, not the smell of their decaying bodies…strange.”

  “I think I can solve that mystery for you,” Tomes’s flashlight beam revealed an empty blood bag.

  “Of course.” Corin recognized the hospital bags.

  Tomes ran the beam over the
room, holding his aim when the light fell on a pile of rodent carcasses in the far corner. “Man. This just keeps getting better and better.”

  “With this nightwalker, I think your term of reference ‘filth’ is more than befitting. I can’t stand the stench down here.”

  “Well, at least we won’t have to worry about running into any rats. I’m pretty sure he’s finished them all off.”

  Tomes started past Corin.

  “Wait!” Corin blocked his move. “We’re not alone.”

  “What do you mean? Who else could—”

  A figure sprang out at them from behind a stack of crates, releasing a piercing shrill.

  Tomes stumbled back, but quickly regained his footing. Managing to catch the individual in the light’s direct beam, he gasped. “Louisa!”

  “Stay behind me, Tomes,” Corin told him, seeing her demented state.

  Stepping into the room, testing her mental stability, Corin extended a hand, but she hurled herself at him in a frenzied attack with fangs and claws elongated in pursuit of blood. He managed to shove her away, but in the process, she lacerated him with her long, curved talons, leaving four gashes across his left jaw.

  “Louisa!” Tomes yelled out and she spun back, her brow furrowed and eyes narrowed, as if recognizing something in his voice.

  Tomes pushed past Corin and eased toward her.

  “Careful, Tomes, she’s insane,” Corin warned. “The transformation was too much for her mind to handle.”

  “I’m her husband. I can get through to her. She won’t attack me.”

  “I know you want to believe that, but don’t be foolish. All she knows is her insatiable hunger.”

  “Louisa, it’s me, Tomes. Let me help you.” He focused on his wife, speaking calmly while inching closer.

  A low, guttural growl resonated in her throat. Holding a defensive stance, she watched, eyes locked on his every move. Then, grabbing her head and pressing it in her hands, she suddenly cried out.

  “Tomes stop! Don’t move any closer. I know you want to save her, but she’s already lost. She’s not the woman you remember.”

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Her mind is burning…torment.”

  “I can’t just walk away…leave her like this. She’s my wife.”

  “There’s nothing you can do to save her now. She’s little more than a wild, starved animal. Death would be a blessing.” Corin knew his words sounded cruel, but he had to make Tomes see the truth. “Look at her, I mean, really look at her! This is not Louisa!”

  “You’re saying we should kill her, aren’t you?” Tomes responded, his voice low, all the while keeping his gaze on Louisa. “I can’t do it. I won’t’ kill her. And I’m not leaving her in this reeking pit of death either!”

  Corin knew there would be no reasoning with Tomes. He was a man looking upon a woman he’d thought was lost to death, who now magically stood before him living and breathing, like a miracle from God. The wonderment had blinded him to the fact that her reanimation was far from a blessing, but rather a curse from hell.

  Louisa settled down, gaping at Tomes. He stood silent, locked in her gaze, entranced by her peering green eyes. Tomes’s love for her made him easy prey, enabling her to use her newfound witchery in an attempt to lure him to her.

  Regardless of her madness, she possessed a natural survival instinct, an innate ability to utilize her nightwalker powers for the purpose of feeding.

  “Tomes!” Corin yelled just as Louisa attacked.

  Viciously catching Tomes’s shoulder with her fangs, she latched down, drinking in his fresh blood. Tomes struggled to push her off, but she had the superior strength and overpowered him. She pinned him to the ground, her talons cutting into his flesh—scissors to paper.

  “Louisa, no! Stop!” Tomes tried to fight her off.

  Corin rushed to his aid and seized Louisa at the back of her neck. He punctured her flesh with his talons, causing her to cry out. Yanking her up, he dragged her away from Tomes before relinquishing his hold. She retreated to a back corner of the room, releasing a high-pitched shrill like a hawk, calling her keeper—Boldor.

  Hurrying to Tomes, Corin bent down and examined his injuries. It looked bad, but he didn’t have time to attend him. Boldor would be responding to Louisa’s call, if he wasn’t already en route, having sensed her distress.

  “We have to go.” He lifted Tomes to a sitting position, all the while keeping a watchful eye out for Louisa whose sharp, piercing cries still echoed.

  “Can you walk?”

  “I think so,” Tomes winced. “I can’t see anything.” He reached for his flashlight on the floor at his feet, the beam of light slicing the darkness, striking a bare area of wall. “The staker, I dropped it. Do you see it?”

  Corin spotted the weapon and quickly retrieved it for him.

  “What is she doing?”

  “She’s calling Boldor to her rescue, and we need to go before he arrives.”

  “This is our chance.”

  “No. Not now. You need attention. Our fight will have to wait.”

  Corin pulled Tomes to his feet and guided him to the stairs, but before starting up, the room grew quiet and Louisa spoke out, drawing Tomes’s attention back with one single word.

  “Hus-band,” her voice was hypnotic.

  “She knows me.” Tomes’s light found her in the darkness. “She remembers.”

  “She doesn’t remember you. “It’s a trick, Tomes, only a trick. She wouldn’t have attacked you if she’d had any past remembrance of your life together. She’ll use any means at her disposal to pull you back. She sees you as nothing more than food.”

  “H-husband.” She stared into Tomes’s eyes, attempting to entrance him again, and succeeding.

  “Let me go.” Tomes fought against Corin’s hold, trying to go to her, but Corin restrained him.

  “I won’t let you do this. All she wants is food.” Corin knew what he had to do to end the madness and slipped the staker from Tomes’s hand. “Forgive me,” he whispered.

  Surrendering his hold on Tomes, he held a steady aim on Louisa, and when she lunged in attack, he pulled the trigger, striking her mid-chest. She dropped to the floor, gnarling and hissing, the blackthorn nail embedded in her body. And while she was down, Corin charged into action. He pulled the machete from the sheath hanging at Tomes’s back and proceeded her way. Raising the weapon high, he came down with one powerful blow, severing her head from her body with a single strike. Her life ended, she instantly disintegrated, her remains crumbling to ashes.

  “No!” Tomes wailed, coming out of his trance during the final moments of the slaying, but not soon enough to stop it.

  “It is done.” For Tomes’s sake, this was how it had to be.

  “You killed her. That was my—”

  “It wasn’t Louisa. And I had to make a choice—you or the monster.” Corin had no regrets.

  Tomes started to fall.

  Corin rushed to his side and took on the brunt of his weight. Needing a free hand, he wiped the machete blade on his pants leg and slipped the weapon back in the sheath. Holding onto the staker, he half-carried Tomes toward the stairs, and ushered him to the top.

  Tomes looked back from the door, into the darkness below. A tear traced his cheek.

  “I wish it could have been different.” Corin could see Tomes’s physical and emotional pain.

  “I hate it, but I know she was already lost. I blame Boldor. He’s the one who put her through this torture. One day, I’ll have his head, even if it takes the rest of my life.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Deceived

  Corin put Tomes in the passenger seat and headed for the estate. Settling him in a second floor room, he tried to mend his injuries with his healing power, but could only partially repair the damage.

  “This is the best I can do for you, the cuts are too deep. But it should help speed up the healing process. It’s going to take time for you to regain you
r strength after losing so much blood.”

  “I’ll live,” Tomes groaned. “You should tend to yourself.” He pointed to Corin’s jaw where Louisa caught him with her talons.

  Corin ran his fingers over the gashes and his flesh regenerated itself, making him good as new.

  “Tomes, about Louisa, taking her life, I—”

  “I know you had to do it. I wanted to believe she’d come back to me, but the monster down in that basement wasn’t the woman I knew. The human part of her was gone. She nearabout killed me. If it hadn’t been for you, I’m sure she would have succeeded.”

  “I’m sorry you’ve lost her twice.”

  “It’s worse this time, worrying that she’ll never be at peace. Monsters without souls don’t go to heaven.” Tomes sighed. “My only hope of ever seeing her again in the afterlife would be to live a wretched life and hope to join her in hell one day.”

  “You don’t know for sure that she’s in hell. There could be something more.”

  “I was raised in a Christian family, taught that after death we either go to heaven or hell. Being the undead, I would think you’d know what comes next.”

  “I’ve never felt driven to journey in search of those answers. I’d rather not know if all that awaits me beyond this life is a pit of fire and brimstone.”

  “But you believe in heaven and hell.”

  “Yes. I know they exist.”

  “Might God show mercy on her, Corin? Does He ever show mercy on your kind?”

  “I try not to dwell on things that torment my mind, and more importantly, are beyond my control, but in my opinion, cursed is cursed.” Corin moved about the room, worked up by the subject of conversation. “If it were so easy for a nightwalker to find favor in the eyes of God, I’d be the first in line repenting, making my personal request for salvation. Whether or not that means we’re all marked for hell, I can’t say for certain. Since we have no soul to offer, hell may not even want us…maybe just the monster we harbor.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. What becomes of your soul when you’re changed?”

 

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