Victoria cackled from behind as Mikayla swung the axe, chopping the marble into small pieces, pieces that could easily be moved. Victoria climbed the steps and stood on the opposite side of the tomb from where Mikayla worked, sweat glistening on her skin as she moved the marble aside and began to dig into the dirt and rock beneath the floor of the cathedral. She kept the gun level with Mikayla’s head, prepared to end the life of someone who was an innocent except for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She sang softly to herself the national anthem of Amor watching as Mikayla worked. The greed filling her until she believed she was invincible. Once she had the stone, the island would be hers. Then, she would move on to the next step in her plan, marrying the heir to the throne of another nation and creating a great empire.
“Tell me, Mikayla, how did you determine that the final resting place of Queen Elena was also the final resting place of the Eye of the Wolf?”
Mikayla continued to dig, her hair slipping from its pins, her dress smeared with dirt. She huffed out a breath and considered ignoring the princess with the gun, but one glance up at Victoria, who prowled along the edge of tomb like a caged animal had her changing her mind. “Elena was like a mother to Malachi. He never really knew his own mother so it would make sense that he would tell himself to look to his mother’s hand, the only mother he ever knew.” She leaned heavily on the handle of the shovel and pushed hair from her face. “Plus, the disappearance of the sapphire and the death of Queen Elena coincide perfectly. Sometimes, the greatest mysteries are solved by coincidence. It merely required logical thinking.”
Victoria paused and stared down at Mikayla for a moment who rested against the handle of her shovel. Anger rose inside her at the insinuation that she, Princess Victoria, was not intelligent enough to put together the story that had plagued the island and the family’s history for generations. She growled, deep in her throat. “Get back to work.”
Mikayla straightened and grabbed at the shovel as Victoria moved off into the darkness, her movements smooth, sinuous, like a giant cat stalking in the dark. Her back was to Mikayla as she moved along the steps of the altar. Her shoulders were straight and her head high. Mikayla swallowed and picked up the shovel. She braced the weight and stepped from the grave to the altar. Each step slow, measured, her breathing shallow so as not to be heard. She knew she was only going to get one chance.
She raised the shovel above her head, held her breath and swung down.
Victoria jumped out of the way of the shovel and laughed brightly as the gun leveled again on Mikayla’s forehead. “Ah hah ah, Mikayla, it isn’t a good idea to try to knock out the one person who controls your life. You kill me, you go to prison. You wouldn’t be able to escape this one and the Amorian law is pretty strict about taking the life of a royal personage. Whether I hold the gun or not, I am still the Crown Princess of Amor.”
Mikayla sighed and backed into the hole she had begun to dig. With her eyes on Victoria, she resumed her digging. Her brain working furiously, trying to remember every book she had ever read, every movie she had ever seen where the female lead was held captive. Unfortunately, for Mikayla, the female lead usually escaped when the male lead appeared to rescue her.
Victoria squatted next to the hole Mikayla stood in so they were eye to eye. “Darling, I know you are wondering why my fantastically gorgeous brother has not come to rescue you since that’s how these things happen in romance novels and movies.” Victoria twirled one of Mikayla’s stray strands of sweat-drenched hair and then pinched her nose. “Unfortunately, darling, William won’t be rescuing you.” She smiled and straightened. “He’s dead, dear. It’s just you and I.” The pure evil in her smile sent shivers of terror along Mikayla’s spine as tears welled in her eyes and her heart wrenched with pain.
Victoria sobered slightly though the glint remained in her eyes. “I know, I shall miss him greatly also, but…” She shrugged her shoulders and gestured to the digging. “Get back to work, Mikayla, and you may live to write that book about Amor.”
Mikayla sniffed the tears that rolled down her cheeks and dug into the hard-packed dirt. Her voice was clogged with her grief. “Why, Victoria, why are you doing all of this?”
Victoria leaned against the lectern, watching every move made by Mikayla, no trust between them. “Why, Mikayla, that one’s easy. I was never going to inherit any throne when I’m the one who really wanted to inherit it and who had trained for it.”
Victoria smoothed her skirt, flicking dirt from the blue fabric. “Mikayla, do you know what it is like to be the second child, since I am technically four minutes older than William, and to know that you will never inherit because a male must inherit the throne?”
Mikayla continued to dig, but she listened. Her tears dried and her mind began working again, a new frantic energy filling her as she tried to find a solution.
“My older brother, Jonathan, wanted to be king. He honestly did, but he wouldn’t have been a good king. He was too simple minded, too kind-hearted for that kind of responsibility. I do truly miss him, even after I pushed him from the boat in that storm.” Her voice was almost wistful and her eyes had a glaze over them as Mikayla glanced up from her digging. It was that glaze that hardened Mikayla’s resolve to find some way out of this, some method of survival. She continued to work, listening to Victoria’s words, trying to understand the madness, seeking an answer. “William has no desire whatsoever to be king. He is certainly intelligent enough and is quite the Prince Charming, which is an important trait, but he has no wish to be king.”
Victoria paused. She never moved, but Mikayla could tell her breathing was shallower and her eyes darted from side to side. “Isn’t that right, brother dear?”
Mikayla’s heart leapt as Will stepped from behind a pillar. He limped slightly and his eyes squinted against the light, but he stared down his sister, hatred burning in his eyes as he moved closer. “If you wanted to be Queen so bad, Vicky, all you had to do was tell me. I would have gladly abdicated the throne after Johnny’s death.”
Victoria smiled and moved around the hole in the floor until Mikayla was between herself and her brother. “Sure you would have. I believe that like I believe the two of you will see the sun rise tomorrow!” Victoria lifted an eye brow. “Keep moving closer and I kill her.” To emphasize her point, she placed the barrel of the gun against the back of Mikayla’s head.
Will shook his head and gripped the edge of the nearest pew. He took another step closer. He said nothing but kept his eyes on those of his sister, frightened by the coldness that was there instead of the warm spirit he had known his entire life.
Victoria cocked the gun. “I’m warning you, William, keep moving and your little honey whose bed you’ve been warming for the last two months is going to become a permanent resident of this chapel.”
Will swallowed and stopped in his tracks. His heart raced in his chest while his head ached where he had been knocked unconscious. He was sure that his leg was broken, but yet he stood still and waited, counting the seconds, searching for some way to rescue Mikayla, whose eyes were wide, waiting for him to do just that. He held up his hands in surrender and stood still, waiting.
Victoria smiled. “Excellent. I always knew my brother was intelligent, regardless of his ambitions.” She nudged Mikayla. “Now, get back to work.” She shifted her eyes to Will’s. “You make any movements, and she dies. You and I both know I never miss.”
Mikayla swallowed the sob that longed to rip itself from her lungs and sank the shovel back into the dirt, digging again with a fervor she had not had before.
Victoria settled herself on the edge of the grave, watching both Mikayla and Will. She was confident that her plan would now go as it was supposed to, and when it was complete, she would kill both her brother and his mistress. She would bury them in the grave and seal the tomb. No one would ever be the wiser. Should someone question the disappearance of both, she would make up an excuse that Will had finally run away for good with t
he American at his side. No one would ever know the truth, no one except the Queen of Amor, of course.
Her smile grew larger as Mikayla’s shovel struck the wood of the coffin of Queen Elena. She watched carefully as Mikayla climbed from the hole and struck down with the pick-axe, breaking apart the rotted wood. Finally! It would be hers, and no one would ever question her legitimate claim to the throne of Amor.
Mikayla wrenched at the wood, pulling it up and gagging as the stench of the decomposed materials filled the air. She breathed shallowly, wishing for a handkerchief to cover her mouth, but knowing better than to ask for it. She struggled with the wood, pulling and yanking as microscopic slivers broke off in her hands.
“Why don’t you let me help her, Victoria?” Will’s voice bounced from the walls of the cathedral drawing Victoria’s attention from the human form that was appearing as Mikayla worked diligently. Will took a step closer. “I’m a lot stronger than she is. It won’t take as long, if I help.”
Victoria laughed, a deep, long laugh that denied the cold air that surrounded her. “You honestly believe I would allow you to help her?” She straightened out the gun. “You stay there, William, and maybe you’ll get to give her that diamond necklace you ordered from the mainland last week.”
Mikayla glanced up as Will sank slowly to the seat of the pew. His eyes remained on Mikayla, apologies and promises filling them just as tears filled her own. She yanked harder at the boards and threw pieces of wood out of the hole. Queen Elena’s body was a shadow in the darkness, the once crimson velvet of her ceremonial gown now black from time and decay. Her white hair hung in long strands from her face, bound with a red ribbon that now was in tatters. Her hands were crossed across her stomach, a crucifix wound through the bones of her fingers. The diamonds and gold of the crucifix glimmered in the dim light.
Victoria laughed, sending shivers down Mikayla’s spine. Her eyes were wide and anticipation turned her ugly as the greed filled her. She gestured to the long-dead queen. “Well, Mikayla, you know where the stone is hidden. Get it!”
Mikayla closed her eyes briefly, then leaned into the grave. She carefully pulled the hands apart, praying for the soul of the queen who had been brought to her final rest in the floor of this cathedral. Her fingers worked among the stiff hands, pulling apart the fingers, unwinding the rosary. At first, she believed that she had been wrong until her fingers brushed against the coldness of the stone, shoved into the bell-shaped sleeves of the queen’s ceremonial gown. Slowly, she pulled the stone from its resting place, where it had remained hidden from the prying eyes of the world for eight hundred years.
Mikayla realized as she closed her hand over the stone that had it been another situation, she would have felt triumphant. Instead, she merely felt a cold dread. She knew Victoria had no other use for her now. Her life was over just as she had begun to really live.
She kept her hand wrapped around the stone as she pulled herself from the hole. She kept her eyes locked on Will’s as he stood from the pew in the cathedral. She felt as if she were detached from her body. She was watching herself from high above in the chapel, watching every move without the sound. She ignored Victoria’s demands that she hand over the stone as she stood and began walking down the steps of the altar. The world was silent around her, all voices and noises faded into the background, as she crossed the marble floor, torn dress dragging along the ground.
Will watched her but dared not move. His eyes never left her face, the terror-driven eyes, the torn, dirty dress that dragged along the ground as she crossed to him. Her movements slow and measured, not harried. Her hair stuck out at strange places, and dirt smudged her face. She moved with purpose, a purpose that shown through the terror and gave him hope.
Mikayla’s arm raised, the yellow sapphire glinted in the light as it slid into the air from her fingertips, shooting sunlight throughout the cathedral as light hit its facets.
It was the sudden burst of fiery pain and the force that drove her forward that brought Mikayla from her dreamlike state, yanking her back into her body and the reality that surrounded her. She cried out and fell to the marble floor; the warm-stickiness of her own blood tangy in her nostrils. The world grayed and then disappeared into blackness.
The sapphire skittered across the marble floor as Will fell to the floor beside Mikayla. He yanked the vest of his tuxedo off and pressed it into the wound in her shoulder, stanching the flow but panicking when blood seeped from beneath her. Whimpering, he carefully rolled her over and pressed a shirt sleeve he ripped from himself into the gaping, ugly wound. It was only then that he felt the cold metal pressing into the back of his head.
“You can tend to her, if you like, or you can live, but I promise you, only one of you gets to walk out of this church.”
Will raised his head and turned slightly until he was looking down the barrel of the gun, his sister’s jeweled fingers resting lightly on the trigger. The faint smell of ozone filled his nostrils. The heat from the barrel wrapped around his head, making him dizzy. He stood until he was eye to eye with his sister, hands raised, palms out. He said nothing, merely kept his eyes locked with his sister’s, realizing for the first time how different they were.
“So, you’re the Wolf, aren’t you?” Will’s voice was level and he held his ground.
Victoria smirked. “Well done, brother. How long have you known?”
Will kept his eyes locked on hers as his mind worked, looking for a way out. “Since Grandfather’s death. I found the syringe.” When Victoria’s face remained impassive, he smiled, a smile that struck fear into her heart because it was so like her own, cold. “It had a smudge of coral nail-polish on it. I remembered that you had painted your nails that morning.” He paused and then leaned in until his chest was pressed against the gun. “Coral, if memory serves.”
Victoria smirked. “Well done, brother. Perhaps I should have enlisted your help instead of those two idiots, Dejeune and Kankaredes.”
Will raised his eye brows and returned her smirk with one of his own. “Perhaps, except, you know I would never have allowed you to go through with it.” He whispered. “I would have killed you, Victoria, and you know it.”
Victoria stiffly swallowed, but never let her gaze waver. “So, dear brother, are you telling me I’m going to have to kill you now instead of convincing you that just disappearing to England where you are so at home is the best course of action?”
Will winked. He straightened and blew the clutch of hair that insisted on falling in his face away. He smiled, one that threatened even as it charmed.
Victoria took a step backwards. Her confidence was slipping even as she tried to regain it and regain control of the situation. “Apparently, I killed you too quickly before. Apparently, I shouldn’t have just shoved you down the stairs but actually put a bullet in you.”
Will nodded. “Probably.” He took a step towards Victoria as she backed away. Her feet slid along the floor, searching the jewel that had slid away in the fray. “You could just give me the gun, Vicky, and we’ll pretend this never happened.”
Victoria laughed. Her face twisted, unnatural, a distorted version of her brother. “I don’t think so, William.” The sound of the sapphire sliding along the marble floor drew her attention just briefly away from Will. Her quick glance down showed her that the stone was within reach, gleaming in the darkness like the eye of a wolf hunting.
That brief moment was all Will needed. He reached out and grabbed her wrist, yanking her arm upwards, even as she battled him with her nails, scratching and hitting. Her fist struck bruises not yet begun to heal as he struggled to get the gun from her hand. He cried out in pain as she struck out with a knee, forcing him to his knees.
The gun fell to the floor, sliding into the darkness of the aisles. Victoria scooped up the sapphire and kicked Will again as he tried to regain his feet. He sprawled at her feet, barely conscious from her kick to his head. He moaned and tried to roll away from her, but she followed, laughing a
s if possessed by the devil. The Eye of the Wolf winking in the darkness from her cultured hand.
Victoria knelt down over Will. She set the sapphire on the floor next to his head and looked at him as he struggled to maintain consciousness. “Well, Will, I guess the best sibling won.” She wrapped her delicate hands around his neck. “Since you’ve deprived me of my weapon, I will just have to strangle you. It shouldn’t be too difficult. I’ve done it before.”
Victoria pressed her thumbs into his neck, her smile growing larger with each gasp that escaped his lips. He struggled, but weakness from his injuries overtook him as blackness began to settle in. Laughter now bubbled from her lips as his half-closed eyes rolled back in his head.
Mikayla’s fingers closed over the cold metal of the butt of the gun. Her head swam as she opened her eyes to the faint light of the cathedral. Slowly, the sound of maniacal laughter filled her head, drawing her towards the sound and away from the world where she floated. Pain filled her as consciousness came back, and she sat up. Her fingers gripped the gun in a death-grip knowing that this was her last chance.
Mikayla crawled to her feet, holding her dress away from her feet as she moved up the aisle. Victoria’s blonde hair was a beacon as it shone in the darkness. Her ice blue gown covered in dirt, blood, and torn. Her hands were wrapped around Will’s neck and she laughed like a wild-woman.
Victoria’s head jerked up as the click of the hammer of the pistol echoed through the still air of the cathedral. Slowly, she slid her hands from Will’s neck and turned around.
“Get up, Victoria.” Mikayla’s voice was calm, soft, in control. Blood had soaked into her dress and was smeared across her creamy skin, but her eyes were clear and her voice even.
Victoria gripped the Eye of the Wolf and stood. She kept her eyes on Mikayla but made no movements. Her own eyes were wild, crazed as the greed ate at her soul, leaving her the victim of her own plans.
The Eye of the Wolf Page 33