Petre tapped my shoulder. “You should be more careful,” he whispered, and handed me my boot.
Careful of what? My hand slid to the holster, hidden underneath my flannel and palmed the butt of my revolver. I brought weapons; even Death liked guns. Quicker to draw than my scythe, but they wouldn’t kill Petre. However, I could slow him down, though. More likely, a gunshot wound or two would only piss him off.
I slipped my foot into the boot one-handed. Cain didn’t move, and mentally, I repeated my earlier instructions.
“Think you’re reading too much into it, sweets.”
Korrigan whimpered from wherever he was keeping her. One could never be too safe, so I relinquished my position, trusting Cain would have my back, and tied the boot. Once done and standing, Petre gestured for me to go first, but I shook my head, insisting he lead the way.
Vampires didn’t frighten me. What alarmed me was I had crossed paths multiple times with Petre over his 300-year life, yet he had no memory of me, or his best friend and business partner, Tomas. If that wasn’t bad enough, the loony bloodsucker thought we were in a different age and place.
The tiny cottage was half-burned, but the damage wasn’t new. I glanced to Cain and flashed a reassuring smile. I turned left at the burnt end of the house, sparing a minimal scan of the blackened surface and interior. Except for Korrigan, he was alone. A small broken path existed ahead of us, but my feet were larger than Petre’s. Knee-deep snow crunched beneath our feet conquering the small hike to the rear of the house.
Bound with knives to an erected cross, fastened from felled logs, Korri struggled. Spacious amber eyes released all her emotions. Brown-red snow collected the blood gushing from her wounds.
Words flooded my mind, and my fingers rubbed my temples.
“Somethings wrong. He doesn’t know who anyone is. He…”
Everything she communicated, I already knew. Petre had lost more than his memory—he’d lost his damn mind.
“This is your witch?” My voice lowered.
“She spoke of demons and kiss…kissed me.” He pointed toward her. “Me, a vicar. Look, look at the unholy, devil’s eyes.” Petre spat again.
I released a long breath. Drumming my fingers against my thigh, I reached for anything to right his mind, even if that something was a lie. “But you are a demon, Petre.”
His head cocked and neck cracked.
“You are a vampire, Petre.”
Pale fingers stroked his mouth and hooked his lips. Fangs jutted out where his canines used to be.
“Korrigan,” I extended my hand, “she is a vampire and your maker.”
Cain interrupted me, “Stop pushing him.”
As if we had never met, I studied the man halting before me. A slight snarl curled his thin lips, and his posture stood stiffer than a board. But his gray eyes reflected confusion, glancing between Korrigan and me. Petre tugged the strands of his black hair, slicking his locks back. A torn man. I didn’t know their history, but I did know Korrigan had to live to save my broken world, and he had to survive because I didn’t think she could do it without him. I stepped forward.
“Stay back,” he yelled.
Footsteps followed his outburst. I hoped Cain approached.
“Shite.” My head shook, but my attention remained on Petre. My hand fell to the butt of my gun. I would maim Petre, if forced. “He means you no harm. This is her brother, Cain.” A tickle caught my throat. “And my lover.” Warmth filled my insides at the truth released. “He’s mine. Remember? My boyfriend.”
“What is a boyfriend?”
What the hell was the Romanian word for soul mate? Fuck it. “Cain is my soul mate.” Our fingertips touched, and I folded my hand in his. “Take my hand and see the truth you have forgotten.”
Petre eyed us; his stare settled on our hands. He shook his head.
“Transform,” Cain whispered. “Show him skeletor.”
I smirked. With his fragile state, I wasn’t certain he needed to see my skeletor persona—whatever that was.
“He needs to see the world and understand. Like you showed me, sweets.”
Swallowing, I glanced to Korrigan.
“Show...him.” More tears streamed along her angelic face, and her eyes held pain no one should possess. Tattered clothes hung from her body. What had Petre done to her? Why allow him?
“Show me what?” Petre crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his chin. Narrowed gray slits rolled over me. “What could Death have to do with…with…iele?” White ones or a woman who bewitched men.
“What if she could prove it?” Cain probed, smiling at Petre.
Petre’s brows rose and fell, contemplating his words.
“Can you prove it, Korri?” Cain asked without removing his gaze from Petre.
“Your brother...Nicolai...raped...servant,” she stuttered through her agony.
Petre spun around. “Many of my people know this accusation.” His muscles relaxed a bit.
Korrigan’s eyes closed, her lips parted, but words didn’t release.
“You watched from the loft in the barn. A game, you told her, at least that’s what you thought,” Cain relayed.
“No.” Petre’s hands rubbed his temples, turning his white skin pink. “No, no, no,” he repeated in a hushed whisper so low the breeze carried it away. Long, inky strands flittered in the wind, his head violently shaking. “Enough, witch!”
Cain nudged me and motioned to Petre, who withdrew matches, striking and tossing them on the piled wood at the feet of the stake. My mouth dropped—dumbfounded.
Flames ignited at Korrigan’s feet, and her eyes flung open. Finding a second wind, she said, “Your family made you tell lies,” her shrilled voice climbed higher, “forced others to tell them. You hated yourself. Hated what Hestin transformed you into,” she cried, smoky liquid streaming along her face, and inched her tiny legs away from the flames.
Petre clutched his head, his body shaking, and screamed, “Shut up.”
“He haunts you still, Petre. Please, please, don’t do this to us.”
Petre’s knees crashed to the ground, and Cain used the distraction to kick snow onto the flickering flames. My breath held. Purple fire emitted from his fingers and doused the fire. Fighting fire with fire?
“Mine won’t burn,” he said, and the lavender essence spread over her body.
Knives slid free from her flesh and she screamed. But her wounds closed, healing rapidly.
I knelt to Petre. Sobs filled the air and rocked his thin body. I didn’t have a clue. Crazy wasn’t in the ABDA rulebook, not like this.
“Petre,” she whispered, voice hoarse but calm. “Please God…”
Cain held her back, his knuckles turned white, and his jaw tightened.
Petre glanced at me. “How could she know? Only Nicolai and my family knew. I was so naïve, so indebted to my family. I broke my vows to save a disgusting murderer.”
My hand hovered above his bent back. “Because you told her and maybe,” I glanced to Korrigan, “you cared enough to tell the truth and she loved you, despite it.”
I love Cain enough to trust him with my secrets. Why can’t he do the same?
Petre sniffled and ran a hand through his inky locks. Slowly, he glanced at her. The rest of us remained silent while he considered Korrigan. Wind whipped through her long hair, and fresh tears blinked from her amber eyes. Petre’s head tilted.
“Show me.” He grasped my hand without averting his gaze.
The wind gusted again, whooshing, and I glanced toward the clouded sky. “Shite.”
“Bloody hell you will, mate.” Veric dropped to the ground and folded his black wings.
Black? Only the fallen had black wings. Ten more agents descended—all with white wings.
“You dare turn on me, luv? Think I didn’t know?” he whisper shouted at Korrigan. Red eyes pled in both directions and the two squared off.
“I had to find him, and you know it, Veric.” Korrigan’s chin ju
tted into the air.
Cain shoved her behind him. Purple sparks emitted from his palms, and his eyes alit in a storm. “Leave my sister alone.”
The thunder of his temper rumbled from my feet, rocking my steady legs. Fuck me; he was beautiful in the glow of purple fire and sparks in his eyes.
“Arrest him.” Veric pointed at Petre.
“On what grounds?” My gaze stayed on Cain.
“Adultery,” Veric spat.
Korrigan pushed Cain aside and ran after Petre, but Veric’s snatched her up and held her back. She screamed, “No. He’s innocent.”
Obeying his order, the ten guards leaped and shackled him, pressing his face into the snow. But Petre didn’t fight back. A vampire could’ve taken everyone present down, except for Korrigan and me. Had a memory returned? Maybe he didn’t realize he could kill them.
I glanced to Cain and rubbed my neck. Veric refused to see the truth. Cain dampened the fire before tapping his head. Right, he could hear my thoughts, not that I cared what the bastard thought about me.
“How dare you do this,” she hissed. Korrigan spun in his arms and whacked him across the face. Blood splattered from his tightened jaw, misting a crimson cloud into the air.
He wiped his face and held her tighter, but she kicked and screamed bloody fucking murder. Men were stubborn.
“Veric,” I warned. The ABDA detective may have technically been my boss, but I wasn’t about to sit back and let him arrest Petre. My booted feet stormed through the snow, and I tore his hands from Korrigan.
“Don’t let her get away,” Veric ordered.
The Elioud advanced on her without drawing weapons. His eyes blinked at the tiny pixie sending his men flying into the trees, breaking one in two, and blood dribbled where she bit one. However, she didn’t kill any of our agents.
“She isn’t Angelica.” He scratched his red head and stared, mouth agape.
I drew my gun and cocked the pin, aiming it at Veric. What the hell was he? “I don’t believe she is.”
“No shit Sherlock, welcome to reality.” Cain coughed, covering his chuckle at his unspoken statement.
It was one thing for her brother to see her as Angelica. But how obsessed was Veric to insist and demand Korri to love him? “You’re all fucking crazy,” I said, but perhaps we could move forward.
“Crazy in love.” Cain pushed my arm down. “Can we put the gun away?”
“You get a pass, babe. The rest of you need straightjackets.”
I re-holstered my gun, Cain un-cuffed Petre with the wave of his hand and handed them to me. I threw the shackles at Veric’s head, but they sank soundlessly into the snow. Too bad I missed.
We hauled ass toward the farmhouse, but only made it to the wreckage before sundown; Veric and his men followed. Petre said nothing during the journey, but he did cast looks, long curious glances, at his maker.
Korrigan had spoken to him, but her gaze remained down, and her voice shook. “I need blood.” She stood near the broken train car. “But I don’t want to ask Veric.”
“I would, but I’m too weak.” Cain plopped onto the door positioned near a small, burning fire. Dry wood was scarce, seeing as Petre used most in his attempt to kill Korrigan, so Cain used his magic to keep it from going out.
“You can try me,” I offered. I still didn’t understand why she had to have demon blood.
“Petre’s never tasted right to me. Elioud blood satisfies me more.” She inched over to Veric, who piled kindling onto the fire. Korrigan cleared her throat. “I wouldn’t ask...”
“Of course, ducky.” Veric lifted his sleeve.
Her small hands wrapped around his forearm, and she bit into his flesh, slurping deeply. Crimson dripped over a black tattoo, a mark I hadn’t seen for eons outside of the Council of Seven—the Seven Archangels the ABDA reported to. An eye, but instead of an iris, it had a cross at its center. Yet no Grigori had ever bore the name Veric. No one else noticed the mark on Veric’s forearm. He wasn’t Elioud at all. He wasn’t Nephilim, either. I stepped backward and cocked my head. Did the ABDA know a damned fallen angel was leading their extraction division? There were others, but I knew them. They didn’t hide their identities or use fake names. “Who are you?” I held the question in my mind.
Veric’s gaze lifted from Korrigan and landed on me. “You’re mistaken,” he said, before returning his attention to her. “Good now? Don’t be afraid to ask. I’m not the heartless monster you’ve painted me as.”
She stared up at him, craning her neck. “I know you aren’t, Veric. I know you think you love me, but you only love the idea of me being her.”
His detectives sprawled around the fire, unearthing anything to rest on that wasn’t snow. A few shared their rations with Cain. Although, he refused at first, he eventually caved. Aside from an occasional wild animal calling into the night, quietness settled over our little group.
Cain and I excused ourselves, taking leave in our shelter. Without the need for sleep, Korrigan and Petre guarded the campsite. The remainder of us rested for the long journey ahead. But my mind refused to still, flashing to the tattoo on the inside of Veric’s forearm and the image of his mark churned my stomach.
The following morning, we renewed our trek through the Arcadian wilds, passing lofty pines and old maples. The sun peaked on the horizon and painted the sky in shades of fire. Beauty didn’t alleviate the weight, and a somberness spread over those in tow. Most of all, Veric seemed affected by the truth of his situation, not from my seeing his mark, and tore his shoulders down and deepened his scowl.
Cain attempted conversation with him, but after grunts and gruff no’s, he left Veric alone. My brow rose, Cain’s grasped my hand. I questioned why he would bother.
“He saved my life. You should be grateful.”
And I was more grateful than words could ever do justice. But who was the fallen angel parading as Veric Garland? My lips brushed Cain’s temple as his pink cheeks lifted into a smile. I raised his cold knuckles and kissed each one. “Where are your gloves?”
“I must’ve left them at the crash site.”
“Everyone hold up,” I shouted over the group. “Anyone have a spare set of gloves?”
Heads shook and murmured answers repeated the same. Cain said, “I’ll just shove them in my pockets.”
“Nope, we’re turning around. Unless you can conjure a pair or something with magic.” I stepped backward. “You guys go on, and we’ll catch up.” I waved on the rest.
“I’m still drained,” he said, spinning around. “None of the Elioud are warlocks, and Korrigan wouldn’t know how to conjure.”
I bit my lip and nodded; the others in our group followed. “Can you fly?”
“I can walk, but even if I had the strength to summon my wings, I wouldn’t have the strength to fly.” He yawned.
Silently, I cursed myself for not allowing that extra day of rest. His sunken eyes, lined with heavy bags, spoke more of my negligence. I knelt in the snow. “Get on my back.”
“What? No, you’re not carrying me.”
“Piggyback or I’ll throw you over my shoulder.”
“What’s the hold up?” Veric asked.
Cain’s pale face turned a bright red.
“Bloody hell, I’ll do it.”
“No,” Cain and I said in unison, followed by Cain stumbling behind me and lowering himself on my shoulders. I grasped his legs; grunting, I hoisted us from the ground.
Courtesy of backtracking, we spent three more days on the road. His gloves weren’t at the campsite. No. We found Cain’s missing gloves at the burned cabin, but we wound up having to camp-out again. Despite his protests, I’d continued to carry him. While he’d rested, Cain couldn’t sleep and hold onto me at the same time.
Though our trek was uneventful, we finally arrived at the farmhouse; I quickly realized there’d be no hanky-panky with a house full of ABDA agents.
Cain slid down and landed on the stoop. “You really didn’t need to
carry me all the way, but I do appreciate it.”
“Go get yourself cleaned up and rest.” I shrugged and bent over to grab the large pots we’d used for gathering snow.
He reached for another pail. “I’ll be fine. Let me give you a hand. At least I won’t feel like dead weight.”
Knowing better than to argue, my teeth dug into my lip and I lugged in buckets of snow to melt by the fireplace. Agent Veric knelt in front of the hearth, his magical essence pouring into the cold stone. His agents sprawled themselves on the tattered sofas.
Cain placed his pail next to mine. “Couldn’t we use magic to power the house?”
“We could,” Veric replied without turning from his task. “But this takes less energy. Too bad they didn’t have a generator with some bloody fuel.” A deep dimple formed as he cracked a half-smile. “You should rest and let my men do some heavy lifting.”
Cain glanced to me before nodding. He strode toward the stairs.
“Right. You lot get off your lazy bums and collect snow. Then we take turns bathing.”
One by one, the agents fetched snow, cleaned themselves, and changed into appropriate clothing left behind by the former occupants. I settled into the kitchen, not wanting to disturb Cain.
“No bath for you?” one of the agents asked.
Dark had fallen outside and the only light arrived from the roaring fire. Chatter and splashing reached my ears, but I paid no attention to it. I merely shook my head, wondering why Cain so easily accepted orders from Veric, the same ones I’d given. I stared at the pots hanging overhead.
As the door opened and closed, a chilly breeze rushed into the warm space. I leaned back in my chair as icy hands clamped and shook my shoulders. “Rest well?”
Cain replied with a groan before sitting beside me. “Warmer in here.”
He’s been outside? Without a coat?
“Did a little exploring and found canned goods in the root cellar. Moving kept me warm, so stop fretting.” He stretched and cracked his neck. “Did we check the cupboards? This place is remote. It’s possible no one’s been here aside from us.”
Altered: A Beyond the Brothel Walls Novel Page 28