Latchling Blood Moon: A Cassidy Edwards Novella - Book 3.5

by Carmen Caine

  I closed my eyes, letting the cool, peaceful atmosphere of my chamber ripple through me and ease the pain in my knee, arm, and shoulder. I knew such effects were temporary, and should I leave the sanctity of my chamber, the damage of the curse would reactivate once again. But that didn’t stop me from savoring a momentary relief.

  Slowly, I straightened and unclenched my fists.

  The dark body of a cat dropping from above surprised me.

  Esmeralda landed on all four paws, her back already perfectly arched. “The Mindbreaker,” her voice spat in my mind. “He cursed you. I recognize the stench.”

  Her words didn’t really surprise me. On some level, I actually expected it. Still, I shivered at the ominous words as the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

  The devilkin growled and flattened her ears. “There’s an untouched curse on your flesh, Lady Elizabeth,” she warned.

  “Untouched?” I asked, raising a brow. “Surely, you are mistaken. I’ve already—”

  Rising on her hind legs, she placed a paw on my upper thigh.

  At once, my flesh began to burn in yet another, uniquely different way. “You speak the truth,” I whispered, shocked at the discovery.

  Another curse? What would this one bring?

  A genuine wave of fear rose to engulf me. Never before had I encountered such an intricately, expertly-woven master spell—perhaps beyond even something I could cast myself.

  “’Tis a deadly one,” Esmeralda continued, dropping to all four paws again as she peered up at me, her green eyes two, narrow slits. “You must counteract that one quickly, Lady Elizabeth, before it can burrow deeper.”

  I knew that, again, she spoke the truth. “But how?” I asked, at a loss of how I might destroy something I couldn’t even detect.

  “It is a thing from hell,” the devilkin hissed. “Send it to the Hell Stone where it belongs.”

  My eyes widened in astonishment over the humble beauty of her suggestion. The little creature was right. “The curse’s mana will not be able to resist the lure of its origin,” I whispered, amazed at the simplicity of the solution.

  Simple only if in my current condition, I could get past Emilio’s likely guardianship of the thing. And it was still night, the zenith of his power, but with the curses needling my flesh, I knew I couldn’t wait.

  “My blue dress, Marie!” I called over my shoulder as I ran to my ironbound chest and knelt before it.

  The chest’s lid sprang back silently on well-oiled hinges. Moving several lengths of spelled cloth aside, I found what I searched for: a bundle of soft, green velvet.

  With great reverence, I unfolded the material, revealing the hard, elegant lines of my most prized possession. A dagger. A dagger of the purest silver, a gift from my father, and an ancient weapon that I knew even Emilio himself would quake in his boots to see—be he pure vampire or not.

  Slowly, I picked up the dagger and hefted it in my hand, confident the silver dagger would ensure my access to the Hell Stone, but I knew I had to hurry before the mysterious Mindbreaker escaped the wolves and returned to curse me yet again.

  I’d scarcely risen to my feet when Marie burst into my chamber, her eyes rounded with worry. Taking one look at me, she gasped, “What happened?”

  “I will explain all later,” I promised, reaching for my wide leather belt, one I could hide the dagger behind. “Bring my blue dress at once, and then I’ll need your help.”

  At the mention of the blue dress, she winced.

  My blue dress wasn’t a thing of vanity. In truth, I cared little for the style of what I wore—but I cared deeply about the color and the cloth.

  Witches and warlocks used physical objects as vessels for their power. As a Rowle warlock, my husband specialized in dolls—puppets for the most part. I, on the other hand, came from a line of Stonehenge druids who wove their spells into cloth. I’d labored over my blue dress even longer than I had for my cloak. I’d imbued every stitch of it with mana, every embroidered flower, every bead, and every inch of brocade.

  And tonight, I prayed the dress’s mana would protect me long enough to rid myself of the Mindbreaker’s curse.

  Marie pursed her lips in a way that only accentuated her already bony cheekbones, but she knew better than to object and quickly withdrew into the shadows. A moment later, she emerged with the dress as well as a resolve to caution. “You must rest first, my lady—”

  “Nay, dear friend,” I gently cut in, even as I moved with surpassing speed to take up the dress and slip it over my head. Clasping the belt around my slender waist, I jammed the dagger behind it before explaining, “I must first break a curse, and to do that, I must venture into Emilio’s domain, into the very bowels of this castle and at once. I’ll need a distraction so I may touch the Hell Stone and—”

  “The Hell Stone?” Marie lifted a sharp brow. “If you speak of that carved pillar of evil, the Knights Templar are in the hall preparing to leave for the north as we speak, my lady. They carry that accursed thing with them, and the sooner I see it leave this castle, the better. Even I, a simple witch, can sense its great wickedness.”

  At her words, my alarm grew. Was I already too late? I bolted out my chamber door, tying the laces of my bodice as I ran.

  The pain returned before I even made it to the tower staircase, but the blue dress flared to life and succeeded in restraining it into the realm of the manageable—but barely.

  At the bottom of the steps, I nearly collided with the servants bearing the light evening meal of soup and roast fowl. With a smile, I forced myself to adopt a more sedate, ladylike pace, but with each step, the pain in my shoulder grew and I could feel the latent curse on my thigh begin to burn as it struggled to trigger.

  I quickened my step and seconds later, stood upon the threshold of Castle Llewelyn’s dimly lit hall as the familiar soothing sounds of the evening lute underscored the din of trite conversation floating around me.

  A quick scan of the area revealed no sign of the Knights Templar or of the Hell Stone—not even a single thread of its dark mana.

  My heart sank.

  With the curse still ravaging my flesh and the new layer seeking to gain a foothold, I couldn’t risk draining my mana to cast even a simple seeking spell.

  “Lady Elizabeth,” Emilio’s voice slithered from behind, his breath cold and menacing on the back of my neck.

  I grimaced, taking heart in the silver dagger tucked in my belt even as fresh jabs of pain tore my injured tendons and muscles, threatening to unknit the tenuous hold of my barely reknit bones.

  Summoning every ounce of control, I slowly turned to ask with a poised smile, “And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company, my lord? My husband will likely remain in Scotland until springtime. Why do you tarry here?”

  The vampire’s strangely colorless eyes narrowed. Clearly, my ease and composure surprised him. He’d evidently expected me to be writhing in the agony of the curse’s grip.

  “Your husband is a fool—un idiota—to leave only a woman to guard this place,” he replied in low tones, studying me closely.

  I lifted a cool brow bordering on the scornful. “But I do not stand alone, my lord,” I replied, lifting my skirts to step into the hall. I didn’t want to turn my back on him, but my hold over my pain was tenuous at best, and I knew I couldn’t withstand a detailed scrutiny.

  He followed me. I expected that he would.

  However, I did not expect his next words.

  “You do not fool me, Lady Elizabeth,” he murmured from far too close behind me, speaking in a whisper that I alone could hear. “A guileful tongue. A winsome body. Sei una bella donna. You weave a net around your husband that he cannot resist. The power you hold over him. How? Come è possible?” He paused before adding, “Druid blood. You are a latchling. A latchling sent by destiny to undo the Mindbreaker—or so you believe. Is that not so?”

  My entire body tensed at his words and I stopped, staring straight ahead with my skirts still
gathered in my hands.

  He appeared in front of me then, pointing his finger only inches from my face, a superior smile dancing on his lips. “You are no match for the Mindbreaker, bella donna—as an enemy, that is.” His dark, lecherous gaze swept over me.

  The implication of his words sickened me. Insulted, I sidestepped him to stride to the main table, but again, he was there before me. Propping himself against my chair, he shook his head, clucking. “Tsk, tsk, fair Elizabeth, Lord Rowle is ignorant of just what power lies in his bed—”

  “I do not care for the sound of my name on your tongue,” I interrupted, letting annoyance color my tone. Indeed, I couldn’t hide it. Not with the curses wreaking their havoc upon me. “You hide many secrets of your own, Emilio,” I said, going on the offense instead. “I do not fear your empty threats.”

  I lifted my hand to wave him away from my chair, but he stepped forward and clamped his fingers around my wrist like a vise.

  I felt myself go pale with shock.

  The moment his skin touched mine, the latent curse sizzled, burning even hotter, and then it triggered to unleash a dark evil with a sudden jolt.

  Terror rolled through me.

  Did he sense it? He must have. He chose that precise moment to chuckle, “Oh, you should fear me, mia cara. Feel the terror. Provi dolore.”

  Feel the terror. At the moment, I felt nothing else.

  My dress strained under the curse’s dark magic, but again, managed to contain it—by a hair’s width. And even as I battled the curse’s pervading sense of doom seeking to enter my soul, to break my mind, I found my very soul rocked by the revelation that Emilio—Emilio—had set the curse.

  It could only mean one thing: Emilio was … the Mindbreaker.

  My mind went numb. It made it easier to summon a cool smile to my lips. “Terror, my lord?” I repeated as if confused. “I have no reason to fear. I am Lady Rowle, am I not?”

  Doubt. Genuine doubt flickered across Emilio’s face. He couldn’t hide his surprise at my apparent immunity to his dark magic nor could he mask a sliver of fear of his own: uncertainty that I just might be the more powerful one.

  We stood there at an impasse, but then I heard the wolves, much closer this time.

  Emilio lifted a brow and bowed, murmuring, “Please convey my sincerest regrets to Lord Rowle should he return, mia signora, but I am unable to remain. Duty beckons.”

  I didn’t stop him. He vanished out of the hall—and not a moment too soon.

  My protective spells failed me then, shattering under the strain. Pain blistered through my body, searing through my muscles to the bone.

  Staggering to my chair, I abruptly sat down and reached for my silver chalice with a shaking hand. I opened my lips to bid the nearest servant to send for Marie, but she was already there.

  “He has gone, my lady,” she murmured, dropping a vial of mana into my waiting hands. “Along with his accursed stone.”

  I bowed my head in what I hoped most in the hall would think a devout prayer before the evening meal, even though they did not know their lady to be particularly pious. Again, I dumped the contents of the entire vial into my hand and cast my most powerful containing spell, hoping it wouldn’t trigger the Mindbreaker’s mirror curse.

  Thankfully, it didn’t. It masked the pain, enough so that I could stand. Waving for the evening meal to proceed without me, I quickly withdrew and retreated to my chamber.

  I barely made it back before my containment spell shattered, and I collapsed into a panting, pain-racked heap upon the thick carpet.

  I stared at my shaking hands, shocked. I’d expected my spell to last the night, not mere minutes.

  “We must leave, Marie,” I said in a hoarse whisper. “We must follow him at once. I must touch the Hell Stone. There is no other way!”

  I didn’t dare tell her what I’d discovered: that Emilio and the Mindbreaker were one.

  Her shoulders sagged, obviously not pleased with the news but clearly expecting it. “Yes, my lady. I’ll pack and—”

  The pain returned, along with an unnatural sense of panic. “No, I can’t wait. We must follow, at once.” I took a deep, centering breath. It was time to change strategies. “But I must change forms. Arrange a mirage spell and leave in my carriage with my likeness.” As a water witch, even a mediocre one, I knew she could easily cast such a spell. In the eyes of those within the castle, they would see only their lady, called away in the dead of night by an urgent message from their lord.

  Another wave of agony arrived. The panic turned into fear.

  I was running out of time.

  Desperately, I seized my cloak and searched through my many forms. I already knew what creature I looked for; a creature whose very nature would battle the Mindbreaker’s curse on my behalf.

  The most fearless creature I’d ever encountered.

  A badger.

  As Marie pressed another vial of mana into my sweating palm, my fingers encountered the badger’s tooth.

  I didn’t wait. I cast the spell without hesitation, whispering the words as my body vibrated in pain.

  I felt it first. The slightest hint of doubt. A doubt that turned into full-fledged fact only a moment later.

  I lifted my head in horror.

  “I can’t, Marie,” I gasped.

  The Mindbreaker had robbed me of my ability to shift.

  Highlander of my Heart

  I rode hard that night. The wolves joined us the moment Castle Llewellyn dropped out of sight. Jacques, the devil of France, was there, but I recall nothing of our conversation. Pain wracked my body, turning each spoken word into a deafening roar and each muscle twitch of the horse beneath me into a tidal wave of agony.

  But worst of all, fear seized my very soul, a fear so strong it bordered on madness.

  I was losing.

  I couldn’t break the Mindbreaker’s curse.

  As time passed, it became too burdensome to even speak. I simply sat, huddled in the saddle and buried in the soft furs of my cloak.

  At some point, we began moving again. Almost immediately, white tendrils of mist crept from the bogs around us, their swirling fingers grasping at the horse’s hooves as we passed. The further we went, the thicker the churning mists grew, masking first the surrounding trees and then every inch of the star-studded sky until even the occasional glimpse of the moon winking in and out disappeared entirely.

  And then it came: a thick bank of unholy fog.

  As that cold, white wetness kissed my face, I shivered, recognizing the work of yet another Mindbreaker curse, but I couldn’t force my lips to open. I couldn’t even twitch a muscle to warn the others.

  A bitter cold descended upon us, one that penetrated our cloaks as if we’d had none at all.

  The next moment, the Knights Templars’ trail vanished.

  “Gone,” the wolves murmured amongst themselves, desperately sniffing for any trace and finding none. “Their trail vanished into thin air.”

  I closed my eyes, wincing, as a new wave of pain descended upon me.

  “All is lost,” Marie sobbed at my side.

  “Nothing is ever lost. There is only change,” Jacques offered in consolation, but even his cheerfulness appeared subdued.

  “Wait!” The young voice of Bianca, the wolf pup, called from the rolling white mists ahead. “A cat.”

  In spite of the pain, I smiled. Of course. Esmeralda. True to her staunch, loyal nature, the devilkin had followed the Hell Stone, and still unbeknownst to the Mindbreaker, he hadn’t known to erase her tracks.

  Praying that destiny would grant me one last moment of clarity, I forced my lips to open and screamed at the top of my lungs, “Follow the cat!”

  Alas, it was no scream. I wasn’t sure that thick, garbled sound even qualified as a whisper.

  The haze of pain locking me in its thrall descended over me once again with renewed vigor.

  Had they heard me?

  I didn’t know. I felt only the toe-curling w
aves of agony seeking to rip me apart.

  A wall of darkness sped towards me. I watched it, confused and too weak to resist.

  Deep inside, my soul resisted, shouting for me to fight, pleading with me to remember the purpose of my existence, the reason that I, a Latchling of the Stonehenge Druids, had been born.

  But I stood on the brink of madness, of a dark, never-ending pain too strong to resist.

  With a sigh, I simply gave up and succumbed to my fate.

  * * *

  Something sharp dug into my ribs. Evil surrounded me from all sides—but I scarcely noticed. I noticed only the pain—or complete lack thereof.

  My agony, my curse, had simply vanished.

  I’d been too weak. I’d given up. I’d fallen prey to the Mindbreaker’s curse.

  Yet, it was gone.

  How?

  Astonished, I lifted my lashes.

  I found myself tossed over the back of a horse, my hands and legs loosely tied. Bright sunlight danced on the white snow surrounding me, the dazzling glare making me squint. I caught a glimpse of men surrounding me and instantly recognized their white tunics emblazoned with the red cross: Knights Templar.

  I scowled, confused, and then focused on the dark mana bombarding me from all sides. It came from a large, hard bundle wedged beneath my stomach.

  I recoiled.

  The Hell Stone.

  No wonder my curses had vanished. They’d been unable to resist the lure of home. I shook my head, bewildered. Yes, I’d pursued the accursed stone for precisely that purpose, but how had I ended up practically sleeping on the thing? Where had my horse gone? Marie? The wolves? Jacques? Why couldn’t I remember a thing?

  But I had little time to ponder further.

  The next moment, the sound of a man’s roar, deep-throated and full, rent the air, quickly followed by the thunder of hooves.

  I turned enough to see a single horseman, waving a sword over his head as he burst from the nearby forest to boldly gallop our way. The bright green plaid standing out sharply against the snow announced him a highlander from the north.