Forever in Darkness (novella) (Order of the Blade #4)

by Rowe, Stephanie

  “Fuck you,” Ian gritted out, his body shaking with the intensity of resisting the urge to call his weapons back and use them to finally wipe out the Fitzgerald line forever. “I’m going to uphold my family’s honor, and you’re the one who’s going to die,” he spat out.

  Ian opened his palm and stared at the word he’d carved on his skin as he’d watched his ancestor die, a reminder of the vow he’d made on that day to resist the curse that had destroyed Augustus and doomed every male in his family. Honor.

  Die. The voice reverberated in his mind. You cannot survive without her. You owe her your death.

  Ian gritted his teeth, the brands on his arms burning with the need to call his weapons back to his hands. He watched the blades quiver in the tree trunk, working their way free, responding to his instinctive call. “No,” he swore. “I will not succumb.”

  He bowed his head, fighting against the agony coursing through him. Beneath his hands was the damp earth, freshly turned from the grave Ian had dug to bury the woman who had plunged deep into his soul and ripped past the shields he’d fortified so religiously for six hundred years. Dead. She was dead. She was dead. As he should be as well.

  Slowly, unable to resist the need to call his weapons back, he raised his head, watching his weapons, instinctively knowing how long he had until they would vanish. Calydon weapons would maintain their form only for so long if they weren’t touching flesh. He only had to hang on until they disappeared, and granted him a respite.

  One weapon shimmered and disappeared, and Ian felt some of his tension ease, knowing it would be several minutes before he could recall it.

  Then the other one tore out of the tree, hurtling through the air back to his hand. Victory roared through him as the curse came to life. Time to die. Ian lunged for the mace, his palm open to catch it and thrust it through his heart—

  It disintegrated in mid-air, vanishing a split second before it hit his palm.

  Spared.

  “Son of a bitch.” Ian’s body shook with relief and disgust, his hand still curved to catch his blade and shove it into his body. Swearing, he stumbled to his feet, his mind reeling with how close he’d come to succumbing, the need to destroy himself still coursing through him. He had to get away, get out, and find his footing before his weapons came back to him, before the curse took him.

  Like some rookie loser, the big, badass warrior needed to flee, and he needed to do it now.

  Ian strode to his motorcycle, his boots thudding in the soft dirt as he fought for his life against the invisible foe that had destroyed every male in his line. He threw his leg over the seat and punched the start button, kicking the engine into a roaring fury. But instead of driving away, he looked back at the grave he’d just dug.

  His soul mate lay beneath that marker, sharing her final resting place with his ancestors. Beside her was an empty plot. His. Waiting for him to join her. It was where he belonged. He could feel his grave calling to him, welcoming him, offering him respite from the pain he was suffering.

  Grief consumed him, and he fisted the handlebars, fighting against the surge of despair so intense he couldn’t even breathe. Then he felt the burn in his arms as his weapons became available, and he heard the satisfied rumble of the voice that had taken so many from him.

  The fight wasn’t over.

  Swearing, he thrust the bike forward, the tires spinning out as he left behind the woman whose death was already eating away at what little was left of his soul.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Alice Shaw screamed, gasping for air as she grabbed at the claws crushing her throat, her fingernails scrabbling uselessly on the scaly skin of her assailant. Her body was on fire with the poison racing through her veins, the taint rushing into her cells. “No,” she shouted, her voice raw as she sucked in another desperate breath.

  Above her gleamed the face of death, the twisted rotting face of one of the demons that lurked beneath the earth, that lived in the hell that no human could survive, the one reserved for those who had died and deserved nothing but eternal torment.

  Its eyes glowed red, its features contorted by the way its skin stretched across its bones. Its mouth was twisted in that malicious smile that drove chills through the marrow of her bones. Pain screamed through Alice’s body, and she knew she couldn’t take anymore—

  A bright white light flared behind the demon’s head, and Alice gasped. Tears of agonizing relief filled her eyes as she watched it take the shape of a person.

  Of a woman.

  Of herself.

  Her way out had just arrived.

  The demon shrieked and reared back to shove its claw into her heart. She met the demon’s deranged gaze, unable to keep the triumph off her face. “You lose,” she whispered. “Again.”

  It ignored her as the light behind it began to spin, faster and faster, changing shape from a flaming spear to a globe. So close. Almost ready. Almost—

  The demon plunged its claw into her chest. Alice screamed, her body bowing with agony as its claws closed around her heart. Too much. Too much. She couldn’t survive it—

  The glowing white sphere careened over the demon’s shoulder and plunged into Alice’s stomach. The demon bellowed in agony, and the air was filled with the scent of burning rubber as it stumbled back from her. The white light streamed through her body, igniting each cell with an intense heat that sent pain knifing through her.

  But it was beautiful pain. It was the agony of her cells coming back to life, of the light cutting the ties the demon had on her and freeing her from the hell that had taken her. It was life, coming back to her, and bringing her back from the darkness that had done its best to take her.

  It was over.

  Death had lost its grip on her.

  She was going home….until it happened again.

  The demons had almost succeeded this time. One more time, maybe two more times, and then she was out of chances.

  Time was running out.

  *

  Ian yanked open the door to the bar and shoved his way into the dark dive that was hidden below the city of the eastern Oregon town. The bar for people of Otherworld descent was accessible only by the narrow set of steps hidden in a filthy alley that relied on the stench of decaying rodents and rotting garbage to deflect the interest of all except those determined to come.

  He needed a shot of something hard, and the name Deliverance had called to him.

  The lighting was dim, and the bar was loaded with more people than Ian felt like dealing with. The ceiling was low, the walls dark, and the low murmur of conversation thrummed through him. The hum of Otherworld undercurrent was thick, making the air ripple with energy. Ian paused by the entrance, using the wall to guard his back while he took stock of the room.

  He scented desperation, lust and desire. The dark, swirling emotions matched his restless mood. Low music pulsed through the air, the drum beat thudding in his gut as couples moved across the dance floor in sensual, decadent rhythms that ignited a raw lust in him, that same sexual need that sent every Calydon seeking out women despite the danger of stumbling upon his soul mate, the woman destined to destroy him.

  But Ian had no interest in any woman other than the female whose scent was still burned in his mind.

  Swearing, he stepped away from the wall and strode across the room toward the one empty seat at the bar. He took over the vacant stool, and downed the shot that the bartender slammed down in front of him. The liquid burned through him, streaking its way down his throat, but the pain wasn’t enough.

  Shit.

  Nothing was enough.

  Scowling, he turned and surveyed the room, the brands on his arms burning with the need to call out his weapons. The darkness pulsed at him, like a miasma of doom and decay, trying to pull him down. He gripped the bar, swearing as the darkness closed in around him.

  It was worse this time. Worse than the first time she’d died, when he’d been so screwed up that his teammates had chained him down for months t
o keep him from snapping. He could feel the insidious poison crawling through him. He was losing it. Losing his shit.

  Swearing, he braced his hands on the polished wood of the bar, bowing his head as he sucked the thick, damp air into his lungs.

  A deep breath.

  Another.

  And another—

  His internal alarms suddenly exploded through him, his head snapped up, and he went rigid. He spun around, searching the bar, his heart crashing through his chest. He saw nothing amiss. Just the same people who’d been there when he walked in. What had he just sensed?

  He searched the room with his senses again. He inhaled deeply, carefully sifting through the scents and then he found it: the same fragrance of lilac and lavender that he’d scented on both Catherine Taylor and the woman he’d just buried.

  Again.

  She was here.

  Adrenaline roared through Ian and he leapt to his feet, frantically scenting the air, but the scent had already dissipated. Shit! He bolted into the crowd, searching for her, for that shock of auburn hair, for another whiff of that scent, for the curve of her shoulder. Here. There. He grabbed a woman, she turned, and he saw it wasn’t her. Another woman with red hair…not her. And another. And another.

  It seemed like there were women with auburn hair everywhere, surrounding him, taunting him, but none of them were Catherine. The scent grew stronger, and he raced toward the corner where it seemed to be coming from, but it was empty. Then the smell was gone again, leaving him with an aching sense of loss so severe he felt like he couldn’t take another step…and that’s when he realized what was happening.

  It wasn’t Catherine he was sensing. It was the curse gnawing away at him, fabricating her scent just to torment him. Or was it? Or was she really there?

  Ian stood in the shadowed corner, his breath heaving in his chest, sweat cascading down his temples. He stared out at the crowd, at the undulating couples on the dance floor. He listened to the thud of darts against the targets, the crack of balls from the pool tables. He could smell the stale beer. He could taste the sweat and stench of too many bodies in too small an area.

  But he could not see the woman he was looking for.

  He couldn’t find her scent.

  It was as if she’d never been there. Had she been?

  Grimly, he surveyed the club. Had it been his imagination? Or had it been real? Confusion warred at his mind, and Ian cursed, no longer certain about any of it, other than the fact that Elijah had killed his sheva eight months ago. He knew that had really happened, because other members of the Order had been there and witnessed it. Had all the rest been his imagination? The curse trying to eat away at him? Was he finally losing it entirely?

  Ian laced his hands through his hair and braced them on his head, fighting to catch his breath, to clear his mind, to finally grasp the truth.

  There was no way that his sheva had returned to his life twice within eight months. She was dead, and all that other crap was simply the curse trying to derail him.

  Catherine was gone.

  It was over.

  He had to accept it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Alice ducked through the crowd, her heart racing as she glanced over her shoulder once again. But no one had followed her in through the rear door. No one had noticed she was there. She was still safe.

  She hurried up to the bar and leaned on it. “James!”

  The bartender glanced over at her and raised his eyebrows in greeting. He was wearing the same jeans and tie-dyed tee shirt he always did, and his bald head gleamed in the fluorescent lighting above the bar. It was weird to see him like that, still the same, still making drinks, after all she’d just been through. She felt like her head was spinning and hell was on her heels, while James was just kicking back in his rainbow-spotted shirt making drinks like he always did.

  “Where have you been?” he asked, shooting her a warm grin.

  “Dead,” she answered, too frantic to bother making up an answer. And why bother? He wouldn’t believe her anyway. Who would?

  “Yeah, you and me both.” James pulled the tap and filled a tall glass with an amber liquid. “You want to fill in tonight?”

  “No, God, no.” She hadn’t worked there in ages, since everything fell apart. “I need to talk to Flynn. Is he here?”

  James gave her a friendly leer. “You finally decide to put the guy out of his misery and sleep with him?”

  Alice felt her cheeks heat up. “Dammit, James, I don’t have time for that. I need to find him. Where is he?” Flynn was the one person who could help her. She hadn’t talked to him in months, not since that horrific night, but she didn’t know where else to turn.

  James’s smile faded as he realized she was serious. He swore, set the beer on the counter in front of a customer and walked over to her. He leaned toward her, his scarred fingers gripping the shiny wood. “Flynn has been a mess since that night,” he said quietly. “Don’t track him down. He’s too dangerous. Especially to you.”

  Alice saw the truth in James’s eyes, and her heart sank. “But I need him. I don’t have anywhere else to turn.”

  James shook his head. “Find someone else to help,” he said. “You don’t want to unleash what’s inside of him. You really don’t.”

  Guilt rippled through Alice, because she knew she was partially responsible for what Flynn had become. But she had no choice. Without Flynn, she had no chance at all. “I have to take the risk,” she said. “He’s my only chance.” She’d held off trying to find Flynn, knowing how dangerous it would be to connect with him again, but this last round with death had made her realize she had no choice but to act now.

  She’d rather have her death be at Flynn’s hands, knowing that she’d done everything she could to save her sister, than to get run over by a bus and know she hadn’t had the guts to track him down.

  James shook his head in regret. “He’ll be in later tonight,” he finally said. “But you should take that cute little ass of yours out that door and be gone by then.”

  Fear rippled through Alice, but she shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Then good luck.” James’s face was grim, and he leaned over and kissed her forehead. Alice closed her eyes at the feel of his lips brushing against her skin, her throat tightening at the expression of affection from the man she considered such a dear friend. James turned away without another word, but she saw the tightness of his mouth and knew he believed that this was the last time he would ever see her.

  And she knew he was probably right, one way or another.

  Tears burned in her eyes as she turned away from him, fighting against the swell of loneliness. Then she fisted her hands and lifted her chin as she surveyed the room for Flynn. Dammit. She would not fall apart now. She didn’t have time. She had to focus on her sister—

  Her gaze settled on a man in the corner of the bar. Adrenaline leapt through her and awareness pulsed low in her belly at the sight of the stranger. He was tall, taller than most of the males in the bar. His shoulders were wide, cut sharply with thick, strong muscle, but his body was so lean he looked as if he hadn’t eaten in months. He was all muscle, no fat. He was looking in the other direction, giving her a clear view of his profile. His jaw was tight, and there were sunken hollows deep in his cheeks, a man who had suffered something horrible.

  Her heart tightened. She almost took a step toward him, drawn to both his strength and his suffering, both of which were so extreme that she could feel them resonating through her. He was wearing dark jeans and heavy black boots. Motorcycle boots? Even though he was so broad and heavily muscled, his black tee shirt hung loosely on him, as if he’d lost a vast amount of weight and no longer fit into it.

  His dark hair was ragged and long, tousled carelessly as if he hadn’t thought about combing it in months, and his whiskers had been long neglected by a razor. He was a man on the edge, a warrior who was being haunted by nightmares that were destroying him. God, she knew what that was li
ke, and she was suddenly consumed with the need to cross the dance floor and touch him, just to feel his skin beneath her hand—

  He turned his head suddenly, and looked right at her.

  Alice froze at the sudden intensity burning in his eyes. She was riveted in place, unable to shield herself from his stare. Her heart began to pound, and she felt her skin heat up as his gaze bore into her. His eyes were haunted, loaded with shadows so intense she could barely breathe, but it was the raw ferocity and desire burning in them that made her entire body tremble in response.

  She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t pry her gaze from his—

  Then he closed his eyes and turned away, severing the connection like a cold knife through her soul.

  *

  It wasn’t her.

  Ian gritted his jaw, fighting against the need to sprint across the room and grab the woman standing beside the bar. It couldn’t be true. There was no chance that the woman thirty feet away from him was Catherine Taylor.

  Catherine Taylor was dead. She’d fallen into his arms, stared at him for a fraction of a second, and then Ian’s teammate had struck her down. Dead. Done. Over. She was history.

  And the second woman he’d buried earlier in the evening? He was sure now that it hadn’t been Catherine. It had been a woman who looked like her, and his screwed-up mind had mixed them up.

  The curse was trying to work him over. There was no reality anymore. Just delusions.

  It’s not her.

  Sweat beaded on Ian’s brow, and adrenaline surged through him. His entire body shook with the effort of staying where he was instead of responding to the siren call of the woman by the bar. His head pounded with the strain of trying to control his thoughts, to keep from hauling ass over there, sweeping her up in his arms and carting her off to his place to make love to her until neither of them could move.

  He ground his jaw, focusing his attention on an old wooden sign on the opposite wall. Be a Man. Play with Sharp Objects.

  Be a man. Stand with honor. Shit. What was he doing hiding in the shadows?