Gravitational Pull (Vis Vires, book 2) (Vis Vires trilogy)

by Marissa Carmel

  “Such a sad fate,” Siberian comments, pulling me away from the strange sensation.

  “Why? Who are they?” I ask with my eyes still pinned to the girl’s.

  “An ancient race, the Vis Vires,” he shakes his head mournfully.

  My eyes immediately dart to his.

  “The Vis Vires,” I repeat a little too intrigued.

  “You know of them?” Siberian queries, his sharp platinum eyes studying me.

  “Ummm, Melenia told me they created your realm.”

  “Yes, after we fled from Devon, the Vis Vires found our floundering people. They offered their help, and lead us west, away from the shores of England and onto to the shores of Ireland. There they created the crack in the rock that opened our realm.” Siberian never takes his eyes off mine as he speaks. “The Vis Vires shaped order for our ancestors. They created a land where magic can live free and a place of refuge for supernatural beings. They were so much more than just rescuers,” he says with high regard. “They were allies, friends.” He finally looks away from me and back at the embroidery.

  “Melenia said they gave you boundaries. What did she mean?” I ask now with an insatiable need for information.

  “Our early people were a bit…adolescent.” “Because you’re born of children?” I interrupt.

  Siberian smiles warmly. “Yes, we needed to evolve, to grow into our own without the effects of the human world.”

  “Because they slighted and persecuted you. And children need boundaries.”

  “Yes,” Siberian says again, and his warm smile is now beaming. “You’re very intuitive.”

  “I just understand what it’s like to struggle.”

  “I’m sorry to know that someone as superlative as yourself has struggled.”

  “It’s made me who I am,” I say, not knowing how else to

  respond.

  “I like that person very much.” He leans over me with his arms crossed. My gaze lingers on his.

  I hope he doesn’t notice my cheeks getting pink. Why does he have to be so damn charming?

  “The Vis Vires implemented a law stipulating only members of the guard can pass freely between worlds. They monitor who comes in and out of Devonshire as well as who can act as an enforcer.”

  “So you can leave if you want to?”

  “That’s dicey,” Siberian makes an uneasy face. “Maybe under the right circumstances. You don’t break Vis Vires law. The consequences are considerable.”

  “How considerable?”

  “They were people of the earth entwined with the universe.

  Their law was natural law, and you don’t contest natural law.” “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “It’s the highest law of the supernatural world. Breaking it is a direct offense against the cosmos. And trust me, you don’t want to mess with that.”

  “But the Vis Vires are extinct, right? Doesn’t that somehow negate their laws?” I ask.

  “The Vis Vires are seen as infinite, which means their laws are infinite. It’s what made them so powerful.”

  “I see,” I reflect. “To still have reach beyond their time. That

  is power.”

  “They were definitely powerful,” Siberian agrees. “They were also irrefutable and incontestable.”

  “They sound amazing.” “They were.”

  “What happened to them?” I ask, trying not to give away that I know more than I am letting on.

  “They were killed off during the Great War.” He regards the tapestry regretfully. “Their numbers were small, and no match for the onslaught Evil launched on them.”

  “Did you know them?” “I did.”

  “What were they like?” I ask eagerly. I know I shouldn’t push the subject, but I just can’t help myself.

  His silver eyes survey me, curiosity pulsating off his body. “They were a force unlike any other,” he says respectfully.

  “Wise, dignified. Almost knightly.” He leers. “Almost.”

  Siberian steps closer to me to the point our bodies are faintly touching. I know I should move, but I find myself welcoming his advance.

  Dangerous.

  “They were witty, determined people. Spirited. Much like you,” he goes on.

  “Me?” I gulp. He nods.

  “I find it hard to believe such a powerful race was eradicated so easily,” I muse.

  Siberian shakes his head, “We believed the same thing for many years. But it was challenging for the Vis Vires to produce offspring. Every child was a gift. And Evil knew exactly where their weak spots were.”

  A terrible image of carnage flicks across my mind. I wince at the imagery and the sudden pain in my heart.

  I stare at the mural in front of me, looking at face after face; wondering how it is that they are gone and I am standing here.

  I can’t keep myself from questioning: am I am the last one left? Are there others? And if so, will I ever know them?

  I suddenly feel very alone. I glance at my hands, the ones with pale pink polish and magical DNA I can now, in some semblance, identify with. These are my people. That feels so odd to say, I don’t know any of them, I didn’t even know about my lineage until recently, but here, now, seeing a dozen and a half faces in front of me, I feel the connection.

  “Who is she?” I ask Siberian about the young woman with raven-black hair and piercing purple eyes, just like mine.

  “Evangeline,” he discloses, glancing down at me, then back up the drapery. “It’s rumored she sold her immortality to be with her mortal love.”

  “Sold it?” I repeat astonished. “To who?”

  Siberian shrugs. “To whoever wanted it.” He looks at me with the realization that I know very little when it comes to the goings on of the supernatural world.

  “Immortality is a common commodity amongst the magical, but it is not bestowed upon everyone,” he explains. “And every realm has its black market. Some will pay for it, many will steal for it, most will kill for it.”

  I bat my eyes at him, processing this blitzkrieg of information. I never considered immortality as something that could be bartered.

  “So what happened? Did they get to live happily ever after?” I ask, with some hope glistening on my words.

  Siberian adversely shakes his head, diminishing my optimism. “They found the mortal, dead. And Evangeline was never heard from again.”

  Bummer.

  “You resemble her,” he points out. “Eyes and all,” he says speculatively.

  My heart starts to pound a little too wildly in my chest; I fear Siberian may be putting together the puzzle pieces of my clandestine lineage.

  “My eye color is a result of genetic mutation,” I purge quickly. “It’s been in the family for generations.”

  It’s not a lie, my great grandmother had violet eyes, as did her

  grandmother before her.

  “I’m not sure what genetic mutation is, but I have a feeling it has nothing to do with magic?” Siberian says curiously.

  “Yes, nothing whatsoever.”

  Siberian turns his back on the tapestry to face me. He folds his arms systematically, exploring me with a methodical stare. I think I may be in some serious trouble here. Half of his body is covering half of mine, and then he shifts closer to me; so-very- dangerously-close.

  “Well, wherever they came from, they are mesmerizing,” he says wantonly. And I think I have thrown him off the trail.

  “Thank you,” I respond ineptly.

  I know I need to keep a safe distance from Siberian, but my willpower is wavering. There is an indecent attraction between us; the blend of our emotions along with the hazardous proximity of our bodies is mixing a lethal chemistry in the air.

  “You know,” Siberian murmurs seductively. “You never did show me yours.”

  I stare up at his elfin-like face. Beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe it, skin like porcelain, eyes like fury. A mouth that is pleasurably pristine.

  I know I shouldn
’t. I’ve been warned. But how harmful can one more little occurrence be? Nothing catastrophic happened the first time.

  Cautiously, I lift my hand to his face, and press my bare palm

  against his marble cheek. I’ve said it before, a magical being’s

  emotions reside on a higher level. Most of the time they are restrained, controlled, but they are not incapable. They just have so much more discipline when it comes to their feelings.

  I unleash myself into him with an assault of human emotion, inundating every gap, every crack and every fracture of his arresting control. He inhales a ragged breath as pure humanity takes over.

  Siberian’s eyes flicker with incomprehension as his body goes rigid. Then a stream of tears escape down his face. His breathing is tattered, yet he never drags his eyes away from mine.

  “What did you just do?” He touches his face wonderstruck, feeling the marvel wetting his cheeks.

  “You said you wanted to see mine,” I say simply.

  “What are you?” He asks, looking down at his hands as he rubs the salty tears between his fingertips.

  “Angel, devil, hunter, solider.” I sigh aloofly, “It depends on who you ask.”

  Siberian stares up at me blankly. He has no idea what I’m rambling about. It doesn’t really matter anyway. I shouldn’t have done what I just did. I back away from him, realizing I need to put some much needed space between us.

  He steps forward, closing the gap. His eyes are on fire, alight with energy. He wraps his hands around my face, trapping me in place. I stiffen. “Like I said before. Provocative,” he says with a

  surge of excitement, and I fear he is going to kiss me.

  We stand like that for several beats before I wrap my hands around his wrists and gently pull away. He releases me, but not without a moment of hesitation first.

  “I think we should go,” I say as I take another step back.

  Not moving, he holds me in his gaze, like he wants to ensnare me right where I stand. It excites me and terrifies me all at the same time, because at this moment, I can’t interpret the true nature of his feelings.

  Does he want me? Or does he want to control me?

  He finally nods, breaking out of his trance. “As you wish,” he says, and he is the polite, courteous Siberian again.

  As we leave Keelin Castle, not a word is spoken between us. My emotions are on overload. I reflect on everything I just inadvertently learned about the Vis Vires; I feel such an intense connection to them now. I also feel an intense connection to Siberian. But most of all, I’m on edge from the extreme silence.

  “Siberian, are you okay?” I ask after he boosts me into the carriage. He climbs in after me, and I’m met with wide, vigilant eyes and a captivating smile.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been better, Liv…” he pauses. “What is your last name?”

  The horses stir, electrifying my defenses. I smile impudently.

  As if I would tell you.

  Going Under

  I hold up the necklace, studying it.

  Who was that old woman? Will I ever see her again? And what is it about this necklace that is so familiar to me?

  It is nothing overly fancy, just a circle pendant cut-out with filigree swirls inside.

  I deliberate wearing it tonight. I keep replaying what Siberian told to me, that keeping it would bring certain trouble. I think it’s already too late for that, so I clasp the delicate chain back around my neck, and decide to take my chances with trouble.

  Then I pick up the note that was tacked to my door from Melenia and read it again.

  Liv,

  I came back to check on you but you were gone. I’m sure Siberian has been keeping you entertained. He’s probably the safest and most dangerous person to be with. Be careful. And don’t let trouble drag you down. I’ll find you tonight.

  Melenia

  P.S. I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier about missing my home. Yes, I miss it, it’s where I belong, but I also think home can be anywhere you feel you belong, and that’s

  definitely with Derrin too. I understand, home isn’t always just a place, it can be a person too, but please remember this isn’t where you belong.

  I close the door to my suite and peer down the long hallway. I desperately want to see Jocelyn, but I’m afraid we’ll fight. So instead, I walk away from her door, back down the giant staircase and out the front door of the White Tulip to where Siberian is waiting. I climb into the fairytale coach, and we take off towards the Flower festival. Since Jocelyn isn’t talking to me, and I haven’t seen Melenia at all, he has become my escort by default.

  He’s sort of a good distraction. I haven’t thought about what’s–his–name all day. I just have to remind myself not to get too comfortable with Siberian, or I might become more than just a prospect.

  “You look ravishing,” he tells me rapt. “And very troubled.” He creases his eyebrows.

  One day together and he’s already fine-tuned to my moods.

  It’s creepy and consoling at the same time. I hate it.

  I can understand why it would be so appealing for someone to give themselves over to the pixie prince; on the surface Siberian is sincere, charming and chivalrous. It’s what lies beneath that is deceitful, untrustworthy and treacherous. I’m aware of that danger; he is hiding baleful intentions. At the moment though, I

  just don’t care. The excitement is the only thing that’s making me feel, and right now, I need that sensation to help keep me going.

  “I want to make up with Jocelyn,” I tell him. “None of this feels right without her.” Jocelyn has been my rock since Justice left me, and now, I feel as if I’m leaning on air.

  “It will be our first priority to find her,” he tells me. Then he grabs my hand and I jolt from the shot of energy. “I just want you to be happy, Liv,” he declares, staring deeply into my eyes.

  What he really means is: ‘I want you to be happy Liv, here with me, as my prisoner, forever.’

  I pull my hand away nicely.

  “Thank you. I appreciate that,” I say, trying not to perspire from fear. I picture myself locked away in a windowless room, the size of a coat closet, fed only stale water and bread.

  The carriage drops us off at the entrance of the festival and we make our way over the footbridge and into the square. I scan the crowd looking for either Jocelyn or Melenia, but they are impossible to find in the conglomerated mass.

  “Why don’t we get a drink and let them come to us?” Siberian asks, tightly gripping my hand. “I’ll send out a few guards to find Melenia.”

  That sounds like a plan; I am getting dizzy from all the dancing, parading and pageantry going on around us. I don’t remember it being this flaunty last night. Then again, I don’t

  really remember much of last night.

  We sit down at a table on the outskirts of the festivities; there are hand carved benches sprinkled all along the labyrinthine flowerbeds that rim the vast courtyard.

  “What can I get you?” Siberian asks in his polite manner. “Something non-toxic,” I tell him. “I’m being good tonight.” He frowns. “I’m almost disappointed to hear that.”

  I bet you are, I think to myself as I watch him glide away. When Siberian returns, we sit comfortably under the stars, just pixie watching; I am finally unwinding, and allowing myself to really enjoy the joyous nature of the festival. It is beyond beautiful. The people are dressed in stunning clothes, dancing to spellbinding music with glitter drizzling all around them. Where is that coming from? I look up, bemused. The most magnificent part is Saint Nikolas’ temple lit up in the background. The stark white building is a striking contrast to the dark night’s sky, the stunning gala and colorful gardens. I don’t want to admit it, but I am falling in love with this place; I find myself not wanting to leave. Maybe that’s what Melenia meant in her note: she knew Devonshire would put a spell on me. One that would influence me to stay, not only here, but with Siberian.

  Wh
ile soaking up the celebration, I pick up on a slow hush rolling over the crowd, dropping it like dominoes. I stand up to see what could possibly bring an entire street party to its knees. Then through the distant mist of glitter, I see it, or I should say,

  them.

  Gliding through the masses are five magnificent bodies, one I recognize all too well.

  “Why is everyone bowing to them?” I ask Siberian.

  “Seraphs,” he shrugs. “They’re divine. They’re the highest beings in the hierarchy of magic. And they know it.”

  I take it Siberian isn’t a fan by the impassive tone of his voice.

  I watch as all five Seraphs scan the throng, looking for something, or someone.

  Not me, by the way.

  And strangely, AJ is carrying Danika; she is clinging to him tightly, her head buried in his chest. The image causes a streak of dread to run through me.

  I duck beside Siberian, quietly cursing to myself. I don’t want Justice to see me. Truth be told, I don’t want to see him. Just the mere sight of him sickens me. I hate him. It’s true. He hurt me so badly my emotions run right past sad and smack into mad.

  “See someone you know?” Siberian asks with raised eyebrows.

  “Someone I once knew,” I glance over at him.

  My throat burns as I watch him carefully search the crowd.

  “I take it, one of the Seraphs is the, ‘if there was, there isn’t now?’” He quotes me from our earlier conversation.

  “Something like that,” I answer mindlessly.

  I mistakenly turn my head in Justice’s direction and irrepressibly our eyes find one another’s.

  I growl under my breath, trying to break our stare, but he is like goddamn gravity sucking me in. Our connection is finally interrupted when a pixie woman grabs his arm, drawing his attention away. He gives her a warm grin and fire instantly shoots through me. Watching him welcome her touch almost causes me to combust.