Death's Redemption (The Eternal Lovers Series)

by Marie Hall

  “Do you have any family left?”

  Eyes snapping open, she couldn’t believe her ears. “I have a great-uncle.” Just saying the word brought a pang of homesickness so swift and strong it very nearly brought her to tears. It’d been too long since last she’d seen home.

  “Why’d you leave?” He asked it quietly, and she wondered at the sudden shift in his mood.

  Was he actually contemplating it? Had she finally figured him out?

  Realizing she was getting somewhere, she smiled wistfully. “To keep me safe. Ireland was too full of those who knew me, who’d sell me out for a bit of coin and brew. But,” she was quick to add, “I’ve no plans to return to the old village. I plan to lose myself in Dublin, blend in with the masses.”

  His silver eyes were dark in the night, but she felt the press of them, even separated as they were. Trying to ignore the ragged beat of her heart, or the fact that he was still very naked and she was totally turned on, she swallowed.

  “And yet you joined HPA, practically ensuring you’d get caught?” His deep voice shivered across her heated flesh.

  Hmm…maybe he wasn’t quite falling for the sweet, naïve Mila. Straightening her spine, she decided to just be honest.

  “I screwed up, okay? I did something and knew the second I did it, I shouldn’t have.”

  If he was curious as to what it was she’d done, he didn’t ask. “Hide in plain sight, that it?”

  Planting her hands on her hips, she defied him to tell her she was stupid. Idiotic. A dumb twit who’d obviously wanted to be found and have her soul consumed. She hadn’t. Mila loved life. Loved who she’d been. The line of women she’d come from, it’d meant something. There was pride in it. Defending the line. Only she’d never gotten around to passing the line on.

  She’d been killed before she could. She’d shamed the O’Fallen clan by not passing on the gift. The line had died with her and for that she’d be forever sorry. She’d not known she was running out of time, she’d always hoped there’d be more of it. That at any moment she would meet her Prince Charming. Would fall in love, make beautiful babies, and teach all she knew to the next generation.

  “You’re more than meets the eye, O’Fallen.” Were her eyes deceiving her, or had he just smiled? And had he also complimented her? Because that seriously sounded like one.

  “It’s Mila,” she corrected automatically. “Does that mean you’ll take me back to my homeland?”

  He snorted. “No. Do you take me for a fool? Think your smiles and charm would make me change my mind?”

  Seeing red, she glowered. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

  “Oh please”—he waved his hand down her body—“give me flirty glances, tease me, laugh with me. Tell me touching life stories and suddenly I’ll forget that all you’ve been wanting since waking up is to find someone willing to kill you? Do you take me for a fool, woman?”

  Sucking in a sharp breath, she barely refrained from jumping on him and clawing his eyes out.

  “Odds are you likely know a killer in Dublin, or someplace close, who’ll do the deed. No. You’re not dying.”

  “Screw you, death,” she sneered, because that hadn’t been what she’d planned to do at all. All her life she’d promised that one day she’d return to her home, one day she’d step foot back on Irish soil and breathe in that clean Irish air. She’d died before she’d gotten to fulfill that promise.

  “Fate’s done a good enough job of that, thanks.” Then the last light went off, throwing them into pitch darkness.

  “That’s it, then?” She tossed her hands up in the air. “Won’t talk to me anymore? Just like that?” She snapped her fingers.

  But he didn’t say another word and she knew she’d lost that battle. Turning on her heel, she walked out the door, slamming it behind her as hard as possible. Hoping to even rip it off its hinges, but he must have built it to withstand the rigors of an immortal’s strength, because all it did was slam loudly.

  If she’d stayed in there another minute she would have lunged at him. And very likely would have lost. If only he were human—she was suddenly feeling murderous tendencies.

  Her gran had also taught her something else, one lesson she’d actually taken to heart. Sometimes you might lose the battle, but that didn’t mean you had to lose the war.

  But right now, she was starving. As much as she kept trying to ignore her body’s constant, and very painful, hunger pangs, it was obvious to her she needed food.

  Since he wanted to sleep and she was so far from wanting that, she headed back into the kitchen, glaring at the knife in the sink one final time before heading to the fridge.

  Normally rummaging around in someone else’s house was something she wouldn’t entertain; a home was a person’s sanctuary. But A) Frenzy was no person, he was the devil incarnate, and B) he’d brought her here.

  Opening the door, she studied the contents. Beer, some bread, a carton of eggs, half a gallon of skim milk. There were about three red apples in the crisper and a paper-wrapped block of cheese in the butter drawer.

  None of which remotely piqued her interest.

  Stomach feeling as if it was going to gnaw itself in half, she snatched up the cheese and bread. Not even bothering to warm it, grabbing a slice of bread and a hunk of cheese, she piled them together and took a huge bite.

  Then she gasped as the food she chewed on tasted like rancid, spoiled milk. Gagging, she rushed to the sink and spit it out, stomach heaving as she tried to rid all traces of it from her tongue. Opening a cabinet, she grabbed a glass and filled it with water, swallowing three cupfuls before the rotten taste disappeared.

  “Oh gods,” she moaned, grabbing hold of her stomach as the knifing pain intensified. Vampires didn’t eat solids. But shifters did. She’d seen them do it a time or two, except now when she thought of it, they were more about the red meat than dairy.

  Going to the cabinets, she opened them, riffling through the dry goods. Looking for a bag of jerky—hell, even canned sardines sounded good right about now. Anything to get some protein in her body.

  Hands starting to shake with desperation, because apart from a couple bags of flour and sugar, there was literally nothing she could eat in there. Vision going hazy, she realized she was starting to walk a little funny. Nearly stumbling over a corner kitchen rug, she grasped hold of the countertop and counted slowly to ten as the spots in her vision danced and swirled. Was this vertigo?

  It felt almost like diabetic shock.

  Heart racing, she fumbled and stumbled her way over to the small kitchen table, managing by some miracle to pull out a chair and plop into it. Mum had suffered type 1 diabetes her whole life. Once she’d seen her mum go into shock, and the sight of it had scared the crap out of her eight-year-old self.

  It took all her effort just to glance down her body, to the hands lying useless in her lap. No matter how much she willed it, she literally couldn’t move them.

  And even around the darkness crowding her mind, she noted that her skin looked unnaturally pale, almost to the point of blue.

  Just as she was noting that something was possibly very, very wrong with her, her heart stopped beating and blackness consumed her.

  Chapter 8

  He would die before admitting this to anyone, but Frenzy was struggling. Rolling onto his side, he punched his pillow and growled under his breath. The woman drove him crazy, brought out the ire and beast in him. He knew he was acting like the world’s biggest prick with her, but he wasn’t sure how to stop it. Because she was worming her way under his carefully crafted guard.

  After Adrianna’s murder he’d closed himself off. Emotions could kill—it was a lesson he’d learned the hard way. Her loss had very nearly destroyed him. After her death he’d gone mad, losing any shred of humanity he might have possessed, becoming a killer of legend. Decimating the local vampire coven down to mere dregs. Not because vampires had had anything to do with her death, but because they were there and
he’d been in agony.

  His chest ached as he rubbed at the spot over his heart, staring up at the ceiling. And then here comes Mila with her spun-gold hair and her soft Irish lilt and the emotions he’d thought he’d killed were coming out.

  To see that knife in her today, he’d suffered a moment’s panic so violent it’d nearly brought him to his knees. In physical form, she reminded him nothing of his sweet-tempered Adrianna, but there was a spunk to her, a breath of freshness that he couldn’t seem to help but respond to.

  Biting his lip, he tugged the sheets higher and then, with a growl, kicked them off. He was restless; he wanted to call her back here. Just being around her soothed him. Not that she’d likely think it. He’d been nothing but an asshole.

  Sighing, he watched Lucky, his five-month-old goldfish, swim back and forth, and wondered what she was doing now. He should check on her, just to make sure she wasn’t actually trying to kill herself. But he wasn’t exactly ready to engage in a war of words with her again. Or to deal with the feelings she plucked out of him.

  It was no longer a matter of him not wanting to kill her just to satisfy his duty; Mila was breathing life into his dreary, gray existence, and he craved more, like a junkie. Maybe he should try to be nicer to her, starting tomorrow. Make an effort to show her he wasn’t really the jerk he was pretending to be.

  But the thought of dropping the mask terrified him. The mask was what helped him survive; he’d become a man he hadn’t once been because it’d been the only way for him to thrive without the constant reminder of all that he’d lost.

  It was so much easier to make others hate you than to let anyone in. Because if they hated you, you knew where they stood, but if you invited them, then you’d always wonder if they felt the same.

  Growling, he squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn’t thinking about this shit anymore. The woman was making him soft and weak already. Lise should never have stuck them together. What had she been thinking?

  It took him several hours to finally quiet the frenetic buzzing of his mind, but eventually he must have slept, because the next thing he knew he was rolling over and blinking open hazy eyes.

  Frenzy couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so rested. Sunlight filtered in through his half-drawn blinds. Peeking around his room, he noted Mila was nowhere to be seen. But he smelled her earthy scent floating in from somewhere within his apartment, perhaps coming from the direction of the kitchen.

  The wench was likely starving. He smiled thinking about her. Last night, the way she’d fought him, how soft and malleable she’d been in his arms when he’d petted her…goddess, it’d twisted him up inside.

  He could try to deny it all he liked, but she intrigued him. Her fire, her spunk, the way she moved and smelled and how wild she got when angry. How her pale, iridescent skin would flush a faint pink. How human she still seemed in so many ways.

  Rubbing his cheek, he snorted, remembering the sharp flare of pain. The way his body had tightened, his cock had grown hard—that hadn’t happened to him in ages. She brought out his violence and his lust. It was only a matter of time before they either killed each other or had nasty, hot sex. He hoped for the latter, but figured it would likely be the former.

  Neither of them had docile temperaments.

  Stretching his arms above his head one last time, he jumped out of bed. Frenzy didn’t need to sleep. None of the fae did, but he found he enjoyed the quiet, the meditative calm of just simply being still. It was when at rest that he could think best.

  Last night when Mila grilled him on what he planned to do he hadn’t answered—not out of spite, despite what she might think. Truth was, he didn’t have a clue. Lise had given him no concrete plans on what protecting Mila actually entailed. He was as alone in this as she was.

  Apart from George, who’d secluded himself away from all of humankind, he couldn’t think of another monster who wouldn’t betray his trust or worse to get at Mila. The queen and consort had shown their true colors last night. They were as interested in the her as everyone else.

  Brushing his teeth, he took care of his bodily needs next and then dressed in no hurry to get back to her, perversely enjoying prolonging their reunion. Even after seven hours of rest he didn’t really have a clue what their next move should be.

  His apartment was only a temporary solution. None knew of its location, not even his queen. Frenzy had learned how to keep his personal life private thanks to Adrianna’s death, a harsh lesson that living out in the open wasn’t wise for someone like him. Since that night he’d learned to ward his homes with powerful magic.

  Though his flat was in the heart of the business district, where hundreds of others roamed with impunity, they’d all feel a natural compulsion to give his place wide berth. It had cost a small fortune to get the crone to place the warding spell on it. She’d warned him that he wouldn’t receive many visitors, but like every other member of his species, death was solitary by nature and he especially did not wish to mingle.

  Fastening the final pearl button on his dove-gray silk shirt, he snatched up a pair of socks from his drawer and meandered toward the kitchen, frowning when he realized that apart from her smell letting him know she was still around somewhere, he heard no sounds. Not even the beating of a pulse.

  No sounds of scraping chairs, glasses, or utensils on plates; there wasn’t even an exhalation of breath. Suddenly alert, he cracked open the door and peeked inside.

  The kitchen was as it always was. Frenzy was a minimalist in every sense of the word. He did not enjoy clutter, he preferred order to chaos. That was why everything from the appliances on the glossy Formica countertop to the refrigerator, the stove, even the floor tiles were white.

  It took no time to find her sitting with her back to the door at the breakfast table. The way she sat so still, he wondered whether she’d fallen asleep attempting to raid the fridge during the night. But he had nothing in there for vampires or shifters. He wasn’t much of a meat eater and would never require bloody cocktails to get him going.

  “Wake up,” he said. Walking up to the table, he toed at the back leg of her chair, determined that today he wouldn’t be so harsh with her.

  Instead of jumping, she dropped like a stone off the side—smacking her face into the floor. Heart crowding his throat, he snatched her up, shaking her gently.

  “Mila,” he barked, noting the gray pallor to her cheeks and the veins now standing in bold relief. Her skin was dry too, like touching dehydrated corn husk. Her lips were cracked and oozing black. It took two seconds for his befuddled brain to figure out why.

  She hadn’t eaten a thing since turning two nights ago.

  “Damn it, woman,” he snarled.

  Others were immortal and very nearly indestructible, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t go bat-shit crazy if they didn’t take care of themselves. The longer she went without the sustenance her body needed, the more likely she’d suffer irreparable damage. She needed food in her quickly, needed to get her heart and blood pumping. Right now it was sitting like sludge in her veins. Not knowing whether the priority was blood or meat or both, he knew his only choice was getting her to a food source immediately.

  “Mila,” he whispered, not sure if it was a prayer or curse, then slashed a hand through the air, ripping open the fabric of time. Hauling her over his shoulder, he jumped inside, taking them to the only place he could think of.

  Walking with her in the city was too much of a risk; there were creatures looking for her everywhere. She was too incapacitated to fend for herself, especially while he had her hanging off his back like a monkey.

  No, he had to get her far away from the city. Which meant—stepping out of the tunnel, he inhaled the nutty aroma of sprouting wheat fields—he’d have to return to George’s home.

  But he couldn’t let the lone wolf know they were there either. The longer he kept Mila around the monk’s location, the more her scent would permeate, basically turning his bachelor’s paradise into
a homing beacon. George had managed to stay alive for so long by lying low; he wouldn’t risk his friend’s safety.

  In and out. That’s all they could afford.

  “I hate to do this to you, O’Fallen,” he said before releasing her and gently dropping her to the ground.

  Last time he’d been hunting he’d caught squirrel. She hadn’t touched any of it. So maybe rodent wasn’t her thing.

  A rustle of shrubbery caught his ear. Turning toward the noise, he spotted the fluffy tail of a rabbit burrowing in deep. Needing bigger game than that, he ignored it.

  The sun was shining bright; there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky and the trees were so wildly spaced that they didn’t offer much coverage. Neck prickling with the need to get them quickly back to his warded home, he scented the air, quickly catching the musk of several different prey items.

  The clean, icy scent of reptile. The nut-and-berries scent of bear. Fishy smell of hawk, the clover of more rabbit, and then finally the earthy gaminess of deer.

  By his calculations the deer, a stag in musk, was a good mile off in the distance. He could drag her with him, but she’d slow him down, making it a sure bet he wouldn’t be able to catch it.

  There was only one option. Leave her. But not unprotected. He wasn’t completely without skills. Unbuttoning his shirt, he yanked the tail out of his pants and then tore it off him. Bringing the dove-gray shirt to his mouth, he opened and exhaled.

  After Adrianna’s death and his subsequent years as a raving lunatic killing anything unfortunate enough to cross paths with him, he’d determined he’d never be weak again. Never allow anything or anyone to take what was rightfully his. He’d studied, taking centuries to master the limits of his powers. Learning there was so much more to being death than merely touching his skeletal hand to a mortal’s chest.

  He wasn’t just pushing air onto his shirt, he was scenting it. Marking it like a predator. Lacing the very fabric of it with death’s toxic kiss. Exuding a type of chemical bomb from his mouth, one that would kill anything that happened to graze it.