Dark of Night
Page 142
Conor interrupted, “No, no. Romeo. Don’t go there. This isn’t what she’d want. Libby definitely isn’t into suicide pacts.”
“What if I don’t endanger myself, Conor? What then?”
Conor looked at Caleb blankly. “Bro, seriously, are you ok?”
“Yes, finally, Con, I’m ok.”
“That might actually work, Caleb,” Moiren said, smiling.
“What are you talking about? I don’t follow either of you.”
Caleb laughed. He actually laughed. It sounded and felt awkward, but he finally had some joy again, some hope. “Come with me. I’ll explain as we go.”
Chapter 38: THE ART OF LOVE AND WAR
“How did you find me? Damn you! Answer me!”
Caleb grinned, intending to intimidate Torin with bravado. “Would you believe that I had no idea you were here … that I was simply inspecting the old outposts?”
Torin raised a fist and lowered it quickly. Clearly, he still had some wayward allegiance to the habits of their people, and he would not, despite his anger, harm his king.
“You are going to tell me what I want to know.”
Caleb laughed. “Why? Because you’ll keep me chained to this wall until I do? I assure you. Time out is not the most sensible way to convince a vampire. Let’s just say that I am an ideal king, one who concerns himself with his entire kingdom. We can’t let these old building fall to ruin, can we?”
Torin sneered, “No matter how you found me, you’ve arrive after we’ve tossed your little pet into the ground.”
“She’s alive. I know that she is.”
“Oh, really?” Torin laughed giddily. “Tell me. How can you know what is contrary to fact? You hope she’s alive, my king, and that is quite a different thing.” Whistling, he walked to the door and closed it behind him.
• • •
“While I love to entertain guests,” Torin murmured, as he opened the door, “you can imagine that I don’t fancy entertaining too many at this most critical time.” He paused to sip blood delicately out of a traditional goblet. “I need to know how you found our little party.”
Caleb smiled, “And why should I answer the questions of a buffoon? Apart from the fact that doing so might alleviate some of my boredom.”
“Because if you don’t, you’re going to starve.”
“You know rather little about me, it seems. You hope to control me with blood.” Caleb smirked. “I don’t need it.”
“You will talk, sire,” Torin muttered angrily. “You will tell me what I want to know. Perhaps you don’t need blood, but your brother does.” Leaning over Conor’s body, crumpled on the floor in front of Caleb, he whispered sadly, “A little soldier boy wanders too far from home. Tragic.” As he kneeled above Conor, his brother’s body seemed to move unconsciously to the scent of blood.
Torin threw his glass to the ground. It shattered near Conor, who writhed on the floor, his eyes still closed, surrounded by the scent of blood. Several nights had passed since their arrival, and they had not fed.
As Torin closed the door shut behind him, Caleb whispered, “Conor, are you all right? Conor, wake up. Are you all right?”
Conor grunted. “I will be ok. Worry about yourself. I’m hungry, but not as much as I am making it seem. The more bothered I am, the less his plan seems to affect you. Like you said, if we get him riled enough, if we get him scared of you, he might make a mistake that will help us.”
“Are you still thinking it was a good idea to follow me here?”
“Sure.” Conor laughed. “A little death never stopped anybody, right?”
• • •
“I’ve been waiting days for you to be hungry enough to talk, but I gather I will be waiting quite a while yet. But your brother seems so bothered. Are you sure you won’t answer a few simple questions for me? If you help me, I will help your brother — as I see that you, my king, need little from me, at least for the time being.”
Instead of answering, Caleb asked a question of his own. “Are you attempting flattery now as a means of interrogation? I misjudged you. You are a greater fool than I expected. How is it then that you evinced such impeccable timing, having Libby disappear after such a disastrous night? How could you have gathered so many around you? The simple answer is that you did not. There’s no way you managed this on your own. Not the planning. Not the recruiting. We’ve met before. I know you, Torin. You couldn’t have managed this, not in a thousand years.”
“Are you really trying to solve the puzzle? For what purpose? You’ve come here … bent on saving a wolf. You’ve come alone, foolishly. And you know the ways of our people. They won’t save a traitor. They already distrust you. And for good reason. What can you gain by knowing more? You’re not long for this world. You’ll be joining your pet soon enough.”
“I didn’t come looking for her, Torin.” Caleb laughed. “No, I didn’t come here for that. I came to assess this outpost. I’ve betrayed no one. Who knew I’d find you here?” Caleb shrugged, innocently, smiling.
“What? Well, it seems my king has greater use of his faculties than I imagined. I may have to move things forward a little faster. I suppose I’ll thank you for making this a greater challenge.” He spoke calmly, but Caleb saw a telltale tremor in his hands, the tension around his mouth as he forced a grin.
“You’ve shown me your hand,” Torin continued. “Perhaps now I’ll show you a little of mine. Elder Cummins and I have decided that you are not the king of prophecy. Tied to the wolf as you are, you cannot lead our people. Elder Cummins knows the details of your creation. He has read the tale of your mother, studied its finer points. He has shared them with me. No reaction to that news? I take it, then, you already knew the answer to your own question.
“Well, here’s something that might touch you. Did you know the blood of a soul-donor must be taken while the donor is conscious? It’s a slow process, drinking, trying to drain the donor. It must be done it in stages so the body acclimates to holding less and less blood. This way, one can gather all those things that make the donor unique: memories, sensations, abilities. It’s exhausting and tiring work, for all involved. But Libby has been especially difficult. No matter how great the strain I put her under, pain, for her, has not been key, but I’ve been wondering, watching you, if hope might be.
“You were right. I admit it. She still lives, and I imagine, if she sees you, she might find the will to fight, just enough, mind you, that I can finish this before your absence from the Capital generates undue curiosity. Well, what do you say, are you eager for a lover’s reunion?
With her — ”
Caleb’s voice rose, cutting Torin off, his calm facade slipping in his turmoil of fear and anger. “How much blood have you taken? You are the biggest fool I have ever seen. You know nothing of her. This will never work! Inside you, knowing who you are and what you’ve done, she would drive you utterly mad. Have you not heard of her success in the trials? Her strength of will, of mind … If who she is remained at all, you would be more lost than I ever was.”
“We shall see, my king.”
• • •
Her vision blurred and cleared with the drumming in her head. As her pulse slowed, the drumming quieted and seemed to almost stop.
Libby.
She saw light through her lids when she inhaled, but the light fled as she breathed out. She needed air. Her body felt starved for it. Heavy, dense. All the life removed. All the blood and all the oxygen with it. She wasn’t alive, not really. She wasn’t a person anymore. She was only a heavy, solid, immovable thing. She knew from experience, if she continued to breathe in this shallow quick way, she would regain some of the loss of blood, of air, of self, but not all, not nearly all, and then it would start again, but next time she would wake up weaker, less alive, less a person, until, finally, there would
be nothing left but her body, her bloodless, soulless body.
Libby, please. Please, wake up. Conor, dammit, help me with the chains! Libby!
She wasn’t alone. She felt it. The presence of someone else in the room. Was it all starting now? Had Torin come again so soon?
The ever-present cold of the cement floor was gone. She wanted to open her anchored eyes or lift her heavy head, but both were beyond her. Cool breath fanned her face. She was being held.
“Are you sure that was a good idea?”
“She needed blood, Conor. I had no choice.”
“But what will it mean? Does this make her your mate?”
“Frankly, I don’t give a damn. She needed my blood. Her breathing has been more or less normal for the last few minutes. It’s working. That’s all I care about.” The voice paused on a sharp intake of air. Then he laughed. A warm sound.
“That’s right, sleeping beauty. Wake up. Your prince has arrived.”
“Caleb?” she asked, her voice breaking.
“Yup. It’s Caleb. Don’t you worry. Any minute now, this will all be memory, more nightmare than fact. Just give it a little time.”
She opened her eyes wider, blinking, fighting to come to consciousness. He watched her as she observed him, as she noticed Conor and the broken chains on the wall.
“Caleb?”
“Yup.”
“Why? Why did you come here?”
“I guess you could say that I’ve come to rescue you.”
“But you’ve been captured. How could you have come here? Torin has so many men. There is no way to escape this place.”
“Who are you kidding? We’ve got great things coming. You’ll see.”
“There are two of you, and over thirty of them.” Her voice trembled and her eyes squeezed shut. “Please, don’t really be here. Please. Let my father be right. Just one more time.”
“Libby, you’re not dreaming. It’s going to be fine. I swear it will be. We’ve just gotta get through this little snag here.”
“Talk about a dreamer,” she muttered, and she might’ve cried if it didn’t promise to hurt so badly. As it was, she smiled weakly, happy, at least, to see Caleb.
“You didn’t think I would come here without a plan, did you? I’ve got a few tricks of my own, you know.”
“Plan? What are you talking about?”
“Yes, we’re about to leave. Are you ready?” He smiled wickedly, wagging his eyebrows at her.
“We’re in the middle of a huge compound, surrounded by vampires. I can’t even walk. If it were a matter of attack, I would have tried it, tried something.”
“Hey, where’d all that famous optimism of yours evaporate to?” he asked playfully, but inside he was worried.
“I’m pretty contented just now. I can think. I’m talking to you. This was more than I ever expected to have again. But this isn’t going to end well, Caleb.”
“You’re wrong. We’re about to stand up and just walk right out of this place.”
“There’s only one way out of here, Caleb.”
“The king’s in danger, Libby.”
“I know. I’m sorry, so sorry,” she said desperately, her eyes filling with tears.
“No, Libby. The king’s in danger.” He laughed. “What happens when the king is in danger, Libby? What happens is the army.” He smiled. “The Arm of the race saves the Blood of the race. Soldiers save the king, Libby, and today, they are going to save you, too.”
Noise erupted outside. Shouts came from nearly every direction. Caleb leaned over Libby, covering her as well as he could with his body, sounds of glass shattering, doors bursting open, screams of pain, the bitter sounds of struggle, all giving support to what he said, the sounds of war coming in almost as a macabre round of applause.
War had come again to the vampire city, this time in the service of the mutt king and his wolf. Caleb’s men, his soldiers and his guards, had come for him.
The door to Libby’s cell crashed open.
“Caleb,” Moiren called. “All’s well. It’s time to go home.”
Chapter 39: LIGHT AND BRIGHT AND SPARKLING
Caleb was continually drawn toward the tent where Libby rested. Knowing she required time to recuperate, he orbited the tent, his duties pulling him from her, but he returned always, lifting the fabric of the tent so that he might see her. Silently, he stood there, willing her to give some sign. He made no noise, but she turned toward him and whispered his name, putting her hand out, reaching for him. She looked uncertain, unsure that he was actually there. Her voice remained quiet, and she said his name again and again in a whisper, as though she believed that noise might make him disappear.
It was difficult for him, even now, to imagine that she might care enough to worry about his absence. Stranger still that she might fantasize about him, that she might imagine him to be a dream — a dream, rather than a nightmare. He moved toward her now, saying nothing, afraid to speak and break the spell that might be cast around them. But he was nodding his head in a silent affirmation, answering all the questions between them. Yes, he was real. Yes, he was here. Yes, he loved her. Yes, he couldn’t live without her, and yes, he had come for her.
Kneeling down in front of her, he continued to nod his head. He couldn’t seem to stop his head moving up and down. He hadn’t said yes to anything before. There had been nothing offered to him. There had been nothing to agree to — no one had wanted anything from him except violence. She touched his face with her fingertips. Then she smiled.
He had come for her. She still couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe it until she had touched him. But he was here, tired and so timid. Her fingers skimmed his face and his neck. She embraced him and pulled him to her. She flooded his body with happiness, the pulse as strong as she could make it. Everywhere they touched she focused herself. Pushing her feelings through his entire body, his neck, his arms and shoulders, his chest, his stomach.
They held each other and said nothing. For there was nothing to say.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
After earning an M.A. in English Literature, J.W. Ashley decided to pursue her true love: H.E.A.’s. J.W. Ashley now lives in Taiwan where she’s constantly clicking away on her keyboard, sipping green tea, and eating chocolate covered almonds. When she’s not writing, she teaches, scoots around the city, shops, and finds new ways to be pleased about life. For more information about J.W. visit http://jwashley.com.
A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance
The Nymph’s Labyrinth by Danica Winters
Daman’s Angel
Charmaine Ross
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
www.crimsonromance.com
Copyright © 2012 by Charmaine Ross
ISBN 10: 1-4405-6274-1
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6274-7
eISBN 10: 1-4405-6275-X
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6275-4
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover © iStockPhoto.com/Zhenikeyev
Dedication
Thank you to my husband, who regularly gives up the lounge for writers’ group, leaves me to my imagination and sometimes pours me a glass of red when I’m caught up in a scene. Thank you to my beautiful children who listen to me talk about writing everyday and take over my laptop to write their own stories. May imagination always be with you!
To my mum, dad, sis
ter and brother, thank you for putting up with my passion for romance and supporting me as I pursue my dreams — and for reading endless manuscripts in your spare time.
To my writers’ group, thank you ladies for sharing ideas, your feedback and encouragement. You are a wonderful bunch of writers! I listened, learned and you helped me achieve my dreams.
You have all encouraged and pushed me to achieve this milestone. I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you from the depth of my heart.
Contents
Dedication
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
About the Author
More from This Author
Chapter One
Death shouldn’t feel this bad.
Pre-conceived ideas of floating on clouds touched his mind. He was a bit vague on the whole process of what should happen when one died, but he was sure it didn’t include a world of pain. Maybe he hadn’t ended up in the place he’d thought when one mentioned death.
He couldn’t breathe, but his lungs felt as though they worked. Something else. A weight. A gossamer soft, silken-skinned, good-for-the-soul weight. He pried open heavy eyelids; blinked back vision. A thick strand of silver hair was wrapped across his cheek smelling of fresh earth and clean rain.