by Michele Hauf
“And someone was listening.”
1592, One day after Marianne’s death
The ground shook. Steam rose from the soil that surrounded the pit where the ashes twisted up. Giles tried to embrace the sooty swirl. He wanted to scoop it all up and bury Marianne’s remains properly.
“Giles Martin Rochfeaux,” came a voice so dark and empty that the chills tracing Giles’s spine felt like ice, and he thought he felt something cold and hard crackle and fall away from his skin.
Spinning around, he cried out at the sight of the figure that towered over him. Cast in shadows, because the dawn had not yet arrived, its horns jutted into the sky, an arm span from tip to wicked tip. Shoulders of thick, rugged, black muscle flinched and twisted as it stepped forward on cloven hooves that dredged the dirt and ash up in dusty clouds.
“What are you?” Giles dared to ask.
“I am the one you summoned to bring back your wife.”
“Oh, yes?”
Giles stood and reached out, but would not touch; he felt sure his fingers would singe upon touching the monster’s black flesh. Monster? This thing was the devil, surely.
Himself, whispered inside Giles. Asatrú feared this one. The Old Lad Himself. Do not do it, Giles!
Ignoring the intrusive demon, Giles called, “She made a deal with you?”
“Upon which she reneged.”
“You sent the vampires after her. How—”
“Dare I?” The devil inclined its head, and its eyes glowed red. “She agreed to the bargain to hand over her firstborn should I give her the magic she desired. Born of two witches, she had been sorely lacking in magical skill, an outcast.”
Much as it pained Giles to learn that truth only after his wife’s death, and to know it was something she had never dared tell him, he couldn’t argue that now. “Marianne could not help that our child was born dead.”
“As I could not prevent my fixers from seeking recompense for the broken bargain.”
Giles rubbed his hands over his hair, wanting to shout at this demon, the most vile and lowest demon of them all, yet all he could do was shake his head. And fall to the aching needs of his heart.
“I want her back!” he shouted. “Can you do that?”
“I can do whatever pleases me. And it would please me to give you this boon in exchange for your soul.”
“Take it!” Giles slapped his chest with a fist.
No! Asatrú shouted.
“Take all of me, if only to give her back the life she deserves. You want to take my life? It is yours.”
“Only your soul, boy, only your soul.”
“Then I give it freely. If you will return life to Marianne.”
“Done.” The devil stomped the ground with a hoof and stretched wide his grotesquely muscled arms. Inhaling, he sucked out the air from Giles’s lungs. “Stand tall, soldier.”
Unsure what was going to happen but only wanting to have Marianne back in his arms, Giles did as he was told.
You will regret this, the demon within whispered.
He was supposed to trust a demon? They were all mad, unreal, a bunch of faery tales. With Marianne back in his arms, Giles would take her to a new country, stop her from practicing witchcraft, of even speaking of bizarre breeds, and they would begin anew. A new life far from the atrocities he’d been shown only too recently.
The devil clapped his hands together and then curled the fingers of one hand into a fist. Pointing a finger at Giles, the demon lord crooked it toward him as if to invite his soul to flee his mortal bones.
Asatrú yowled as something was pulled out through Giles’s flesh. A bold white ball of light coalesced and spun, much like the ashes that now spun in a tornado-like tunnel nearby. The soul light blinked and soared toward the monster. Himself caught it as if a ball. Tossing it up and down, Himself winked, then slammed it toward the ground that edged the forest, burying the soul deep and snuffing out its light.
Giles fell to his knees. Asatrú moaned and shivered within Giles’s bones.
And Marianne’s ashes soared skyward, forming into wings that flapped and moved over the cottage. With a clap of the devil’s hands, the surrounding trees in the forest shook, the ground quavered and the ashes dropped through the air, dissolving as they landed on the cottage roof.
“It is done,” the dark prince announced. “And do not beg for my return to fix this foul bargain. I have given you what you asked. You have paid for that gift with your soul. I buried it deep so you will never touch it again. Yet it will live on, knowing it was betrayed by you. With your soul absent, the truth demon is now trapped inside you. You should have listened to Asatrú, Giles Martin Rochfeaux.”
Lifting his arms high above his head, the devil’s eyes lighted bold and red and then he ashed into nothing, leaving the air colder than a winter’s night.
Giles shivered, his breaths huffing out in foggy clouds. The wind creaked the old wooden door. He turned toward the cottage.
There in the doorway stood Marianne, alive, her clothing in tatters and her hair melted from the fire. Her skin hung loose on her bones. Her fingers were red, and he could see the white skull bone.
As she took a step forward, Giles realized the terrible mistake he had made.
Chapter 16
Giles had been over the moon to see his wife alive and standing there, arms held out, beckoning him—for about five seconds.
Now Rook inhaled and tried to push away the vision of Marianne, bedraggled and risen from the dead.
“Rook?” The voice of another precious soul whispering to him.
Thankful for her presence, which yanked him up from the past to the now, he pulled Verity to his chest and buried his face against her lush hair. Wrapping his arms around her, he finally surrendered to the pain and guilt and the ever-long agony he had carried with him through the centuries. His shoulders shook, and he squeezed her tighter. She was real, alive, and he would never harm her as he had Marianne. He must not.
“One should never bring back to life what was once dead,” he managed and then released a sorrowful moan against her head.
He held her forever. When he’d started to cry he didn’t know, but the tears came freely, and he couldn’t stop them. Verity turned in his embrace and straddled his legs to hug him close, and now she cooed soft reassurance as she stroked his hair.
He wanted to climb into her and stay there. To fit himself against her soul as only a demon could and not have to answer to the world—and his mistakes. Because his truth was that he could never atone for what he had done to Marianne. And never again would he be deserving of his soul. A soul that Himself had buried and Verity had found.
Had Marianne been seeking him for the century Verity had worn the little wooden heart against her skin? Truly, had his dead wife led Verity to him?
“I’m so sorry for you,” she said.
Finish the tale. Tell her!
“Oz is right. I have to tell it all.”
“I’m listening,” she whispered. “And I’m here for you.”
With a nod, he resumed. “Standing in the cottage doorway…she knew what she was,” he said against Verity’s shoulder. “A revenant formed of lifeless sinew. A zombie. She pleaded with me to end her. She didn’t blame me for bringing her back—or so she said—but she didn’t want to exist. Her skin literally…”
He couldn’t speak it. His stomach roiled at the memory of it. “It frightened her. And it destroyed her. So I had to end her life. Again.”
He swallowed.
“All I had was an ax.”
Verity pressed her chest against his. Rook pulled her in tightly. Oz seemed to stretch out his arms through Rook’s and pull the witch in, too. They needed the anchor to this moment that only she could give them.
“You cou
ld not have known,” she said softly. “What a tragedy to have to carry that with you for so long. If there was something I could do to make it better…”
“Is she really inside you?” he asked, sniffing back tears. “Do you think Marianne’s soul…?”
She placed a palm over her heart. “Maybe. I don’t know what reincarnation really means. Is it another person’s soul that finds a new body, or do their thoughts, hopes and dreams enter and become their actions? I think I’m myself. I don’t feel another person’s thoughts like you do with Oz.”
“But her soul was reborn in you?”
Verity could only shrug. “As I’ve told you, I was compelled toward your soul. It’s been with me a few times in my life, the compulsion to do something. So maybe that was Marianne urging me forward.”
Marianne has been protecting you. Perhaps she has kept you from reading this witch’s truths until the right moment. A moment when you two trust one another enough to share the horrible burden of memory. Feel it, friend. Remember her. And own it.
“I do own it!” Rook pushed away from Verity and stood. He paced across the room, not to distance himself from his lover but—hell, he could never put himself away from Oz. “I’ve owned it all my life!”
That is a lie you tell yourself. You have never faced the pain like you have today.
Rook squatted in the middle of the room, catching the back of his head with his palms. “And now she’s returned to haunt me in the form of this beautiful witch.”
“I don’t want to haunt you.” Verity remained by the wall, a fragile, beautiful soul that had dallied with the darkness that was him. “I want you to know I can understand. And accept. All of it. Whatever part of your wife that resides within me is here right now because she needs to be. Do you believe she brought us together?”
Rook shook his head, unsure. “Sounds coincidental.”
“There are no coincidences in life, only fate and destiny. And we must choose to believe and not dismiss it as mere coincidence. It was no coincidence that you touched me in the alley and felt your soul. And it’s no coincidence now that I carry a part of your wife within me.”
Rook stood and turned to her. He held out his arms and silently entreated her. Verity rushed to his embrace. Just as Marianne once had. And for a moment, he held not his new lover, but his long-lost wife whom he had selfishly tortured.
He buried his nose in the violet hair and breathed in…sweetness and light. Not smoke and death. He held Verity.
“Fate?” he whispered. “Or Marianne, knowingly leading you to me. But for what reason? You are not her.”
“Maybe she needed you to confess your darkest secret to me so that you could finally rise above it and move on. Oz is right—you blame yourself.”
“It was my fault. My confession to you changes nothing.” He pushed her away and strode toward the window. Raking his fingers through his hair, he then fisted them and punched the air. “Why did you come here?”
“I, uh…” She scratched her head. They’d spent the entire afternoon entwined on the floor of his bedroom. “I had wanted to confess about the vampire bite and the spell not working.”
“Right. I have to go out.” Rook shucked off the emotion that threatened to bring him down if he did not cease right now and focus on work. “But three or four days until the full moon. I will not let you become vampire.”
“Because if I do, then you’ll have to stake me.”
He swung about to stare into her tearstained eyes. Another of her truths revealed so innocently and with complete trust. But it was a truth that he had to face.
Rook nodded. “I won’t let that happen.”
He couldn’t tell her he would not slay her if it came to that—because he would. It was what he did. And after hearing his tale about vampires burning Marianne, she had to now know to expect nothing less of him but fierce hatred for all bloodsuckers.
All but the one.
Rook ignored Oz. He could think only of the two women.
Marianne. Had she brought Verity to him so he could help her? He shook his head. No, she’d led Verity to his soul more than a hundred years ago. She could have no idea Verity would someday be bitten. Why had she led Verity to his soul? Was it simply because she had trusted the witch would care for the soul and someday find him?
He couldn’t understand any of it, and he didn’t have the time or the emotional energy to sort through it right now. He needed to get out on the street, to action. To rip out some vampire hearts. To prevent the woman he loved from suffering needlessly.
“Use me,” Verity suddenly said. “As bait. It’s the only way you’re going to lure Clas and Slater to you.”
Use her.
Both Oz and Verity pleaded. It was dangerous. He never wanted to endanger a woman again. But he could not conceive of loving Verity were she half vampire, one of the very creatures who had tortured and stolen his wife’s life.
Rook nodded. “Come on then. Let’s do this.”
* * *
The man who waited for them on the back steps behind the ancient cathedral nodded in acknowledgment to Rook as they approached. He held Verity’s hand tightly. Hadn’t let go of her since they’d left his loft.
She never wanted to be more than a handhold away from him. But she sensed he had hardened during their drive here. He hadn’t spoken. And she’d noticed his pulsing jaw more than a few times. The hunter was determined to rescue her, and she was cool with that. Even if he was doing it to atone for a past mistake, she could still stand beside him and allow him to use her in any way possible to accomplish it.
But that he’d so quickly fled after his tale of Marianne worried her. He was still running away from that pain. She wanted to help him with that. Perhaps getting his soul back would finally enable him to release the pain and stop blaming himself.
She didn’t want him to stop loving his wife. She just wanted him to feel that her soul had moved on and was in a better place now. If Marianne’s soul was now Verity’s soul, what or where, exactly, was Marianne?
Did it matter? She wanted peace for the woman. That was all.
“This must be Verity Von Velde,” the man standing in wait said in greeting. He held out his hand to shake.
Verity took it. The clasp was firm yet unthreatening, and his smile was warm. “I am.”
“This is King,” Rook said. “Verity is going along with us tonight. As bait.”
She thought King’s eyes twinkled at that revelation and decided that perhaps the twosome had already discussed this ploy. Didn’t bother her. She needed to be in one hundred percent if she was going to survive to the full moon without developing a thirst for blood.
“She’s been bitten,” Rook said. “She attempted a spell to stop the transformation, but it didn’t take.”
King whistled. “You haven’t much time, witch.”
“That’s why I’ve agreed to be bait. The Order gets Slater, and I get the vampire who attacked me.”
“Both dead,” Rook confirmed. “Come on. Let’s head to the lair where I last saw Clas.”
* * *
Nervous, Verity wandered in front of the nightclub that blasted out nerve-vibrating trance music. There was no line to get in; all patrons entered through the red metal door with the big W slashed in black paint. She tried to act as though she were waiting for someone. She noticed Rook, who stood down the street beside a black Audi. He slashed two fingers in front of his face, directing her toward the alley. A vampire must be nearby.
She strolled away from the lingering crowd and down the alleyway. Three vampires blocked her path. Turning, she saw two more stood behind her. Visions of the awful night she had been attacked threatened to stir up a scream, but she swallowed it.
One vampire dusted in a cloud shaped like a man. His cohorts hadn’t seen the attack c
oming, nor had Verity. She held back a scream as King wrapped his arm around another vamp and plunged the stake through his chest.
Rook dodged a vamp, got to Verity’s side and shoved her to safety. As she remained in the shadows, clinging to the brick wall, the knights quickly took out the vampires. She did not recognize her attacker among them. No Clas or Slater.
When all the vampire ash had settled, the knights had detained one survivor. Even with the nightclub just around the corner, they had worked efficiently, quietly. No human had been aware of the slaughter taking place so nearby.
They led the vampire toward the Audi, which was parked down the street in the darkness beneath a broken streetlamp. Verity assumed they had plans to torture the truth from him. Surely the Order must have a dungeon for such dirty deeds.
As they shoved the vampire toward the open back car door, the vampire suddenly flung out his arms and yelled in pain. Verity noted the wooden crossbow arrow stuck through his chest and then…ash.
King took off in the direction from which the arrow had come, yelling that he was going in pursuit.
“You okay?” Rook looked her over, touched her hand and clasped it. She could feel his anxiety, the tension bouncing him on his feet.
“You can go after the shooter. I’ll be okay.”
“No, you won’t. The last time I left you alone with vampires in the vicinity, you were bitten. King will get him. Get in the back of the car. Others could be around.”
Verity was reluctant to slide in where they’d had intention to place a vampire, but she finally did. Rook slid in behind her. He kissed her brow and pressed a palm to her cheek, holding her there, their noses touching, eyes closed. His ability to find their intimacy with just a touch calmed her.
“Sorry. This was too dangerous to involve you.”
“I’m a survivor,” she offered. “And I’m fine.”
“The arrow could have pierced your heart as easily. This is the last time I’m taking a civilian out on the hunt.”