Latchling Blood Moon: A Cassidy Edwards Novella - Book 3.5

by Carmen Caine

  I felt his breath on my neck. The next moment, his fangs scraped against my throat.

  My lashes flew open. “No!” I gasped.

  Emilio looked at me from inches away, his pupils dilated in anger and a vein on his temple throbbing. “You have delayed something precious to me, foolish mortal,” he said, indicating Lord Rowle with a toss of his chin. But then, a smile played over his lips. “But I have time. Your child. A latchling. A soul, young, malleable to my will. Tutto mio. All mine.”

  I saw then my daughter’s wisdom in refusing my power to carry it as a promise only. Emilio would be searching for a powerful child. He’d never look for a little mortal girl far away in the highlands.

  “I expected more from you, Elizabeth,” Emilio was saying. “Especially on Latchling Blood Moon. Così deludente. So disappointing.”

  Latchling Blood Moon? I blinked, astonished. How had I forgotten? Latchling Blood Moon—the repeat of the full moon of my birth. The night my powers would have been at their zenith. Had my mortal blood weakened me so? I bowed my head for a moment, overwhelmed with my mistakes.

  Had I failed my destiny?

  But even as I thought it, I knew I hadn’t. My beautiful daughter could never be a mistake.

  In the distance, I heard the wolves howl.

  I lifted my head, hope rising once again.

  Emilio’s face darkened. “They will not save you,” he swore.

  He moved in a flash, catching me easily and dragging me to the window. Throwing the shutters wide, he pushed me nearly over the edge. “I thank you, Elizabeth,” he said with a cruel smile. “You have given me il inestimabile, the most priceless gift of your latchling child. For such a wondrous thing, I will grant you a death most quick.”

  Without hesitation, he tossed me over the edge.

  My stomach dropped as I fell, clawing the castle stones—Stonehenge stones—begging them to save me, to recognize me as a daughter of the druids even though mana no longer sang in my blood. Be it Latchling Blood Moon or coincidence, my knee scraped against a ledge as my hands found purchase, the rough stones cutting sharply into my skin.

  “Why strive so hard to live, donna stolta? You have lost,” he cackled from above, looking at me and glowing with satisfaction over my plight. “You’re not cunning enough to live through this night. No, non del tutto.”

  Below me, I saw a wolf darting across the courtyard as the howling starting again, this time, within the castle walls.

  Jacques was here.

  Relief surged through me. “Hold on,” I whispered, ordering my fingers to not let go.

  Above me, Emilio swore. I heard the sounds of fighting, and the next moment, strong arms caught me about my waist.

  My rescuer plucked me off the castle tower with ease, tossing me over his broad shoulder and skipping down from the tower window as if he were merely dashing across the stepping stones of a garden path. Scarcely a moment later, he landed on the ground, lightly and with ease.

  Above me, at the top of the tower, Emilio screamed as Jacques’ distinctive tones followed quick on its heels, “’Tis time to answer for your evil deeds.”

  I blinked, startled. Jacques’ voice came from above. Even now, I could hear both Emilio and the French devil of a vampire shouting curses at one another as the fighting continued.

  Ah yes, the shoulders beneath my ribs were too broad for Jacques. And the muscled arm twisting up to lift me down, far too bulky as well. But a vampire it had to be. No other creature could move in such a way and with such ease, faster than the wind.

  As my feet touched the ground, I shook my hair from my eyes and looked up into the eyes of my new ally, but the moment I saw him, I lost my balance and pitched forward, shocked beyond belief.

  Yes, a Chosen One stood there, dwarfing me with his very tall and very familiar form.

  But how?

  How?

  A … vampire?

  “Dorian!” His name burst from my lips.

  One Last Kiss

  He didn’t stay. He vanished in a blur, disappearing into the castle tower in the manner that only the vampire kind can. I followed. I couldn’t stop myself. Time was of the essence—I knew that. Yet, my heart controlled my feet. Instead of running down into the bowels of the castle where the Hell Stone waited, I ran in the opposite direction, taking the steps away from the voices ringing through the tower, knowing that Dorian would seek solitude.

  I found him. I don’t know how out of all the chambers in that mighty castle of Dunnottar that I picked the right one. Perhaps, on this night of nights, my Latchling Blood Moon and the Stonehenge stones nudged me in the right direction. Perhaps, they still watched over me, even though I could no longer hear their voices pulsing in my blood. The chamber was a large one. I entered, moving to the very center as the weak rays of the newly risen moon fell through the open windows. Outside, I heard the pounding of the sea. Gusts of wind rattled the shutters, causing the white curtains to billow inwardly like dancing ghosts.

  Instinct drew my eyes to the corner. I saw him there, standing with arms folded and feet splayed wide.

  “Dorian?” I whispered, shock still rippling through me.

  He hesitated and then stepped into a shaft of moonlight. The sight of his face brought a twinge of pain, making me feel raw. I froze, unable to believe that Dorian stood before me as tall, handsome, and broad-shouldered as before. Or almost. Now, his green eyes held that distinctly vampire predator gleam, and the glow of his sun-kissed skin had faded to a harsh marble white.

  Dorian Ramsey … a Chosen One. How ironic. ‘Twas I who stood uncharmed now.

  I closed my eyes to halt the tears.

  He moaned, softly.

  Still, I didn’t lift my lashes. Not until he’d closed the distance between us and I felt his strong fingers—ice cold—tightly gripping my shoulders. Sucking in my breath, I sagged against his chest.

  “How?” I mouthed the word more than voiced it.

  I looked at him then, unable to believe Fate had granted me one last look at the face of the man I loved even as I stood there, unable to believe him now a vampire.

  “You must have known,” he said. “How did you know?”

  The words made me freeze. Was that an accusation? Bewildered, I searched his face but saw no hint of emotion. He was silent. Withdrawn. Impassive.

  At last, his carved lips parted. “The silver dagger,” he said.

  “I only sought to protect you,” I choked. “I—”

  “My sweet Elizabeth,” he interrupted quickly, a sad smile forming on his lips as his rugged features grew soft. “I dinna blame you, lass. Nay, ‘twas the dagger that saved my life, though it did precious little in truly stopping Emilio. I meant to thank you, truly, lass.”

  Relief coursed through me, along with alarm. Of course. Emilio wasn’t entirely vampire. Such trivial things as silver daggers would only serve as irritants and delays.

  “I sent Jacques after you,” I said, wanting him to know that I’d tried. “I’d have come myself, but—”

  “Nay,” he interrupted with a rumble of a whisper. “You owe me no apology, sweet lady. ‘Tis … hard to speak of, that is all.”

  I wanted to say so much, but my feelings for him sealed my lips shut.

  “I wouldna have believed a word if you’d told me such things as witches, vampires, and the wolf kind walked the earth,” he said with a short, bitter laugh. “Now? Now, I’m cursed to walk the night—”

  “No!” I said. I couldn’t bear to hear him call himself accursed. “I missed you so much, Dorian.” I hadn’t planned to say it. The words simply spoke themselves.

  “There’s no tune sweeter than the sound of your voice, lass,” he whispered his soft reply.

  How could I speak after that? My throat closed over any words I might have said. I wanted to tell him of our daughter. My heart cried, nay, begged me to, but I knew for her safety and our future latchling that I could not.

  Dorian caught me close in his arms then. “
I couldn’t come to you,” he said, his tone laced with regret. He expelled a long breath through his nose. “For a time, I travelled with Jacques, seeking vengeance for this…” He lifted his upper lip, exposing his fangs, and then he searched my face, his gaze sober and steady. “And then, I heard of your child.”

  Our child, I wanted to say. Our child.

  “I couldn’t…” he said, clenching his jaw as well as his fists. “’Twas Lord Rowle’s doing, this.” He waved a hand at himself. “Because of him, both I and my sister, Gloria, will forever walk with the night. I burned with rage, Elizabeth. Such rage. I am ashamed—”

  “Hush, there is no shame,” I interrupted, laying a finger over his lips.

  I wanted to tell him everything, but I knew I must go. I had to. Jacques would only delay Emilio, not stop him. But I also knew I likely walked to my death, and like with Marie, I chose to once again delay my destiny and spend a few extra precious moments with someone I loved.

  “Hold me, please,” I whispered. “Just a moment, Dorian. Just a moment.”

  He pulled me even closer, resting his cheek on top of my head as I molded into his embrace.

  It didn’t last nearly long enough.

  It couldn’t have been five seconds before he pushed me away. “Ach, lass, but your scent is far too intoxicating,” he confessed, lightly rubbing his knuckles across my cheek “Already, I fear I’ll lose control. I’m doomed to walk with the incessant hunger for human blood, Elizabeth. You’re not safe with me.”

  He moved away, leaving me to feel naked outside the comforting circle of his embrace. A sudden cold enveloped me from within as well as without. “There is so much I wish to say, Dorian,” I admitted. “But I was born to accomplish a task and I must go, to see it done. At last.”

  He lifted a brow. “I have a different understanding of your tasks now,” he replied. “Jacques told me you are a witch most powerful. A queen.”

  Was. I was powerful. I dropped my gaze to my hands.

  “Tell me, my queen, how may I assist you?” came his next words.

  I took a deep, wavering breath to steady myself. I couldn’t chance having him around for what I must do. For his sake, I would spare him the pain. But I did have something I needed him to do, something to protect us all.

  “A favor,” I whispered.

  “Anything in my power to give, lass,” he replied hoarsely.

  “You must lead them away from me,” I said, forcing myself to step farther away from him. It was time for distance now. Yes, fate had let me say my farewells to those I loved. Now, I must follow my fate. “They must think I loved Lord Rowle. Everyone. No one must ever suspect otherwise. It is important. You must spread tales, my love. You must let them think that Lord Rowle and I shared a love beyond compare. You must find warlocks and witches most powerful to help you.”

  Somehow, I’d ended up back in his arms.

  I twisted his shirt in my hands and gave him a shake, looking directly into his eyes as I spoke from the bottom of my heart, “No one must ever know of us. Do you hear me? No one!” No one could become suspicious. It might lead to our sweet daughter’s trail.

  He stared down at me, shocked, the moonlight casting a bluish tint upon his hair and skin. “You speak as if you will walk no more,” he whispered, holding me tight.

  I bowed my head. “I must go,” was all I said, attempting to twist away, but he refused to let me go.

  “What is happening, lass?” he insisted.

  Ignoring him, I placed both hands on his chest and pushed him back, seeing then for the first time that he wore a sword and a dagger.

  Seizing the dagger’s hilt, I unsheathed the blade and, grabbing my loose braid, cut almost the entire thing from my head.

  “Swear that you will go to the Terzi, Dorian,” I said, pressing my shorn hair into his hands. “The Terzi are most powerful with a brush. You must have them paint as many portraits as they can with my hair. And take my most precious things, my comb, my goblet, my rings. Spell them all.” Such spells painted with my own hair and over my most intimately familiar objects would be powerful. “No one must know I was here in Dunnottar,” I continued. The stones knew me too well. If the right witch or warlock searched for me here, they just might uncover my latchling’s existence. “Venice. Let them think I met my end in Venice. You must cover my tracks, Dorian. No one must ever know me as anything other than Lord Rowle’s faithful wife.”

  “Where are you going?” he asked instead. The invisible weight of his gaze made it hard for me to breathe. “Tell me? I’ll not have you—”

  I drew myself up, knowing I had to lie. He would never let me knowingly walk to my death. “I will return,” I said. “I’m simply giving orders that will help me, Dorian. I cannot have Lord Rowle suspicious of me. ‘Tis far too dangerous.”

  He didn’t believe me. I couldn’t blame him. He caught my chin in his fingers and bending down, fit his mouth over mine in a kiss powerful, tender, and sweet.

  It ripped my heart asunder to tear my lips away, but I did.

  “Neither you nor I can change destiny.” I breathed against his mouth. I stepped back then and bowed in a deep curtsey. “Until we meet again, Dorian Ramsey. Until we meet again.”

  I didn’t look at him. I fled the chamber, carrying with me the memory of his soft, green eyes and charming smile. He’d follow. I knew that. I ran quickly through the passage, desperately searching for a way to evade him.

  Again, the moon showed me the way. Latchling Blood Moon. I may have found myself powerless that night, but it was clear that my Latchling Blood Moon still guided my path.

  As I rounded the corner, a shaft of blue moonlight fell upon the answer.

  A blur of black fur. Esmeralda. She arched her back and then shifted into her devilkin form.

  “You must hurry if you wish to see the Hell Stone,” she said. Her eyes flicked to the darkness behind me.

  “Hide me,” I whispered the plea. Devilkins excelled in tricks of the eye. Making me vanish would be child’s play for her.

  She didn’t ask why. She simply nodded.

  A moment later, Dorian rushed by, running desperately down the passage, searching for me.

  “Fool,” Esmeralda clucked and then she beckoned. “The wolves have driven Emilio away, but it won’t be for long, fair lady.”

  I nodded, picking up my skirts to follow her down the spiraling stairs to the castle’s dungeons, my slipper-clad feet scraping softly on the stone steps.

  The Hell Stone. The writings in the Stonehenge druid vaults had led me to believe it held the answer to Emilio’s power. My heart trusted that once I saw it, I would know how to destroy it. I had to believe that. Surely, why else had destiny conspired to put me here at such a place and time—on my very own Latchling Blood Moon and in the company of a devilkin—if I didn’t have a chance of success? Faith, I think some call it.

  Lifting my chin, I followed the little brown wizened creature, running down the steps into the dungeon’s darkness, illuminated only by the occasional flickering of a wall torch. The rank stench of urine and mold grew only stronger with each step.

  “There,” Esmeralda said, pointing her spindly finger into a cell on my left.

  I squinted through the iron bars, seeing nothing but darkness.

  “Lord Rowle cast a hiding spell,” Esmeralda explained.

  I frowned at the deep shadows, impenetrable by any form of light and shrouding any hint of what lay hidden within. My heart sank. “Then Lord Rowle still lives or else his curses would have faded by now,” I said, torn between disappointment and relief that I had not killed him—relief only that I hadn’t taken a human life, even one so foul as his.

  The cell door creaked as I opened it and stepped inside. Three feet in, I passed through the wall of shadows to see the large iron ring I’d seen the Knights Templar bundle into the cart. It caught my attention as it hung there, suspended from the ceiling.

  “And what dark magic is this?” I wondered aloud.


  “An accursed thing, my lady,” came an unexpected reply.

  I whirled to see Jacques emerging from the shadows behind me, his clothing torn but the wounds on his neck, face, and hands already healing.

  “I’ve come to take you away,” he said. “Emilio is not far. He will be here soon. You must leave, my lady, and now.”

  I didn’t answer him. Instead, I eyed the ring once again before casting a glance about the cell. There wasn’t much. A small table stood nearby, holding several books, what appeared to be a few small padlocks, and the Hell Stone.

  The Hell Stone.

  As I eyed the thing, Esmeralda jumped up on the table to sit beside it.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Jacques,” I murmured finally.

  “But you must, ma belle dame,” his elegant tones stressed softly. “Your eyes betray that you still have yet to regain your power, and Emilio—”

  “Hush,” I cut him short.

  The Hell Stone filled my vision. It’s stone-carved surface was a wealth of intricately wrought Celtic patterns which wreathed an eight-pointed star.

  As if in a dream, I moved closer.

  Jacques followed, insisting I leave, but I no longer heard him. My eyes fell on the small padlocks lying at the Hell Stone’s base. They were Rowle locks—not ordinary locks. They were locks designed to hold mana and keep it safe, and better yet, the mechanism to set them required no spell at all, lest it interfere with the precious mana cargo it protected. Warlocks and witches used such locks to hold spells for countless years.

  An idea blazed across my mind.

  Marie’s watermark. It still had yet to trigger, most likely because our tears had mingled with her blood as we sat on the Stonehenge stones under the light of my Latchling Blood Moon. Such powerful forces had rendered her spell stronger than usual, perhaps somehow tying it to me as well as her.

  But that would soon change. I had little chance in surviving the power of the Hell Stone. And that meant the watermark would soon trigger, burning its message wherever it lay.

  And now? I’d found the perfect hiding place. I eyed the ring where it hung. An item precious to the Mindbreaker, one guaranteed to reach my latchling, for the Mindbreaker himself would protect it.