All That Bleeds

by Kimberly Frost

  Merrick choked down a bloody breath. “You are my friend, Lyse. You are,” Merrick said and coughed again, spraying the snow with specks of crimson. “I would fight to the death alongside you. You know that. But this woman…she’s—” Merrick shook his head, suffocating. “She’s my heaven…what I want to live for.” Merrick’s head buzzed, getting light. Not yet!

  “You’re a brother to me, Lysander. That’s how I know—” Merrick stopped to catch his breath. “You’ll take me to her. You’ll help me fight them to save her life.”

  Lysander scowled. “The last time I went against my better judgment to save a brother, I was cast out of heaven.”

  Merrick dragged himself to a standing position, drawing in a wheeze of air. “This time, I promise the fall won’t be nearly as far.”

  Tamberi directed the pilot toward a small ravine. The helicopter landed, and Cato hopped out with a duffel bag.

  “Hurry!” Tamberi said, then dissolved into giddy laughter. “Let’s get this party started!”

  Another ventala climbed out of the helicopter and carried Alissa to the mouth of an ice cave. Cato yanked a hammer and a set of spikes from his bag and worked quickly to drive them into the rock in a formation she recognized. Her limbs would be bound as Phaedra’s had been.

  “Don’t secure her until after you anoint her with the vampire ash.”

  Vampire ash?

  To raise a demon, why wouldn’t they use the ash or some aspect of a demon? Unless they were trying to raise something else. Alissa stared into the duffel and saw a small stone with Phaedra’s mark, the one Alissa knew had been used as a key in different types of rituals.

  Alissa turned her head to the mouth of the cave, remembering what Merrick had said.

  No one ever proved that the shapeshifting vampires came from a mutation.

  What if those shifting venomous vampires hadn’t been an evolution of the species? What if they’d been a different breed of vampire that had been brought forth?

  By muse blood or breath.

  The syndicate would spill her blood to open a gate not for demons, but for their vampire sires. And the world would be under siege again. Millions of people would die, starting with everyone in the Etherlin.

  No!

  She wouldn’t allow herself to be used for that purpose. She couldn’t let them anoint her. There were other gates that could be opened. She’d seen it in the vision of her mother. Dimitri had said that Helene was the only one hurt by what she’d done. Whatever her mother had brought forth had destroyed her and no one else.

  With her left hand, Alissa grabbed the tape and ripped it off her mouth. With her right hand, she snatched the Phaedra stone. She lunged into the mouth of the cave and dropped to her knees. She cut across the bandage and wounds from Merrick’s bite, dripping her blood onto the dirt. Then she jabbed the stone’s nub into it and turned it like a key, blowing her breath into the cave.

  “By my blood and breath, I implore you to open that I may discourse with the source.”

  A creamy light shimmered, appearing as if it were being filtered through an opal. It brightened and brightened until it blazed through the cave and bathed her in it.

  She squinted until her eyes adjusted, and she saw a collection of women with green and gold wreaths woven through their flowing hair. Their diaphanous gowns blew in the breeze and warmth radiated from them.

  They spoke the Greek of the ancients, and she recognized them from their portraits. They were the original nine muses, beautiful and glorious, crowding together near the opening, obscuring all but tiny glimpses of the opulent room behind them.

  “You’ve returned, Helene,” Clio said.

  “No, not Helene. She’s new. She’s whole,” Euterpe said.

  “I’m Alissa. Helene’s daughter.”

  “And do you have a child of your own?”

  “No.”

  “Good,” Clio said. “There’s no daughter to keep you there. Come and join us.”

  The warmth and the light were wonderful. She eased her tired body toward them.

  “Yes, come. Hurry, now.”

  From behind her, she heard Cato’s voice yelling to his sister that there was too much light.

  “Get her! You have to get her,” Tamberi shouted.

  “He won’t,” she mumbled, hurrying forward. But something—Cato’s hand—caught Alissa’s ankle and dragged her back.

  The muses shrieked, and Alissa kicked, trying to free her leg.

  “There’s poison in this cave. A man of tainted blood,” Thalia said.

  “Part man, part enemy,” Clio said. “He has her. Quickly, give me a weapon for her. Quickly, sisters! And raise the light. Burn him! Blind him! Turn him back!”

  “But the girl! Our new sister!” Thalia said.

  Alissa fought Cato’s grip, and the light intensified until Alissa’s eyes stung. She clenched them shut.

  Cato wailed, and Alissa smelled smoke. He dragged her back, then lost his grip. She scrambled forth, but he caught her leg again.

  Something clattered on the ground at Alissa’s feet. She bent and felt it. A sword.

  “Free yourself,” Clio urged.

  She clutched the sword by its rough hilt. Her hands trembled with the effort of raising it. Sharing blood with Merrick had left her weak, and the sword was heavy.

  You have to free yourself!

  “Let me go, Cato, or I will kill you.”

  His grip didn’t loosen. “You bitch—”

  Alissa swung the sword in an arc dictated by her instincts. The blade sliced through air and through muscle and bone. Alissa heard Cato’s head thud to the ground, felt a chill as his fallen soul hissed past.

  She pressed the sword tip into the ground, leaning on it to steady herself, trying to catch her breath.

  Her knees wobbled, and her body sagged as water dripped onto her head and shoulders, the light’s heat creating puddles of melted ice.

  “You’re so very tired. Come to us, darling girl. Let us comfort you,” Clio said.

  “We’ll stroke your temples.”

  “And braid flowers through your hair.”

  “Come now.”

  She would feel so much better on their side; all her pain would be gone, the past forgotten. She imagined a different life, a peaceful life. An end to loneliness. She only had to walk a little farther.

  “Another enemy comes! Run, Alissa. Run to us.”

  She dropped the sword with a clang and lurched forward.

  “Alissa!” Merrick yelled.

  Merrick!

  She turned, unseeing, toward him.

  “You must come to us! You’ll be among the strongest sisterhood in existence,” Clio said. Alissa felt a wave of comforting warmth wash over her. She wanted to cross the portal and join the other muses.

  “You’ll be powerful, and wielding the inspiration will bring an ecstasy you’ve never known.”

  Alissa’s skin tingled as though stroked. She shivered.

  “You’ll be loved and worshipped,” Thalia whispered in a silky voice.

  “You’ll be immortal,” Clio said, dripping joy over Alissa.

  Yes, that would be so wonderful…

  She stepped toward the light, and Clio’s soft hand clasped hers.

  “Alissa, no!” Merrick shouted, but his voice sounded very far away. “Come back. I can’t walk into that light.” He hissed in pain, and she heard sizzling and smelled smoke and something acrid.

  Clio tugged her, and Alissa inched forward into a place between worlds. Memories as vivid as bright paint splashed over Alissa’s mind. Merrick’s smile. His bare chest. His deep voice.

  Whispered words. Hot caresses. Shared secrets.

  Letters. Gifts. Love.

  Heaven’s Fire.

  Don’t leave him.

  Stay.

  “I can’t,” Alissa said, tears filling her eyes. “I can’t join you. I’m sorry. I belong with him.” She tried to back away, but pain blazed through her chest as if her soul
were being pulled out through her fingers. Alissa gasped and grabbed Clio’s wrist, squeezing hard. “Please stop. Let me go.”

  “You can return to him, but your power stays here. That’s the price of opening this door.”

  An image burned Alissa’s mind. Her mother clutched her chest and fell. She lay pale and close to death on the cave floor, surrounded by ice and light. The first muses had taken Helene’s magic, and its loss had driven her mother into despair. They were responsible for her death.

  Clio’s vise grip prevented Alissa from escaping. The pain tore at Alissa’s chest and she cried out.

  “James,” Alissa croaked as her knees buckled.

  She heard him shouting, but couldn’t make out the words as icy wind blew across the gate.

  “James! Put the sword in my hand. Please,” she yelled, reaching back.

  “No!” Clio screamed. “Close the gate, sisters. Close it!”

  Alissa thrust her right hand back, stretching it as far as she could. Golden flames licked her skin as she felt the hilt. She closed her fingers around it and slammed the end of the sword hilt against Clio’s arm. Losing her grip, Clio screamed. Alissa threw herself backward, away from the portal.

  Everything blazed white before bleeding to black. Alissa’s heart stuttered, threatening to stop. She gasped for breath, squeezing her eyes shut. Then her pulse thrummed again, a heavy, steady throb.

  She coughed and rolled onto her side, feeling her way to Merrick’s body. Hot and blistered, his skin smelled charred. He’d walked into the burning light for her. She felt for his lips with her fingertips, then put her cheek next to his mouth. She felt nothing. He wasn’t breathing.

  “James,” she sobbed.

  She pressed her lips to his. “You want to breathe,” she said, infusing power into her voice. “Breathe.”

  He coughed, then sucked in air with a whistling wheeze.

  “James?” she whispered.

  His arms closed around her, pulling her against him. “Yeah, I’m here,” he said in a rasping voice. “Wherever you are, that’s where I’ll be.”

  Chapter 35

  The breeze blew in with the sound of the surf. Soft light from a nearby lamp cast shadows, and Alissa rolled onto her side, catching Merrick’s scent on the sheets. She inhaled deeply, squinting. She had not fully recovered her sight yet, but she wasn’t completely blind as she had been in the first days after escaping the ice cave.

  She thought it had been two weeks since that night, but wasn’t sure. The nights blended together, a soft haze of precious moments in a precious new life.

  She climbed from the bed, finding her silk robe with her hands. She slid it on and tied it by feel. She left the master suite and trailed her hand over the furniture as she walked toward the patio where she knew she would find her men.

  “Yes, I do say you cheat, old man! Merrick, you saw him deal that card from the bottom of the deck.”

  “Sorry. If he did, I missed it.”

  “You miss nothing.” Lysander thumped his fist on the table. “I’m surrounded by liars and cheats. Why don’t I just keep company with demons?” he asked, slapping down his cards and lapsing into Latin.

  “Would a glass of wine make him a better loser?” her father asked.

  “Not that I know of,” Merrick said with a smile in his voice. She heard ice clink against Merrick’s glass. Scotch and lime for him. Merlot for her dad. Orange wedges, sometimes soaked in vodka, but usually not, for Lysander.

  “I’ll have a glass of something,” she said.

  Merrick’s chair scraped over the deck. “Here’s my good-luck charm,” he said, his voice drawing closer. He kissed her lightly on the mouth, tasting of expensive scotch and delicious Merrick. “Deal me out this hand, Richard.”

  He led her into the kitchen.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Night,” Merrick said. “But I’ll make you whatever you want for breakfast.”

  “Crepes with melted marshmallow meringue and toasted coconut?”

  He chuckled. “Sure, but we’ll need help from Richard the experimental gourmet for that.”

  Merrick was a shadowy figure before her eyes, the clanking sound of pots and pans occasionally punctuating his movements.

  “What’s this?” he said.

  “What?” she asked, straining her eyes. She saw the dark blur of his body approach.

  “Something for you,” he said, pressing a box into her hands.

  She felt a satin ribbon and untied it. As soon as she removed the lid, a wave of power rolled over her. She leaned back reflexively, but it didn’t burn. She dipped her hands inside, and her fingers traced the delicate filigree loops and small gemstones of the Muse Wreath.

  “Where did this come from?”

  “I found it in the snow.”

  She smiled, knowing he was being intentionally vague. He and Lysander had obviously made an illegal trip into the Etherlin.

  “I won’t keep it,” she said, but lifted it from the box and lowered it onto her head. A pulse of light flashed behind her eyes, and the room swam into focus. “Well, just as I said all along. There’s a little bit of healing magic in this old thing.”

  “Yeah?” he asked, snapping the frying pan so a crepe sailed into the air and flipped over before landing again with a sizzle. His casual response didn’t fool her. Even though she knew he’d been telling the truth when he said that he’d make sure she was happy whether her sight returned or not, she’d also overheard what he’d said to Lysander. She shouldn’t have been able to hear from two rooms away and over the sound of the ocean, but since the ice cave, her other senses were remarkable.

  “I got there too late to save her. She had to save herself, and it cost her her sight,” he’d said.

  “I guess you’re right,” Lysander had replied. “That’s what you get for fooling around while drowning in your own blood after that gunshot wound to your chest. You should’ve dragged down a military helicopter with the force of your will and slaughtered a pack of armed ventala with your bare hands. Really, Merrick, I don’t know how she puts up with you.”

  “Fuck off,” Merrick had said with the barest trace of amusement under the surface.

  “I never know what that actually means,” Lysander said. “But I think when I find out, I may want to break your jaw.”

  Merrick had laughed softly, and she’d been grateful again for Lysander, who’d first gone back to rescue her dad and later forced Merrick to leave her side long enough to get his own burns and wounds treated. Apparently, Merrick hadn’t been kidding when he’d said it was impossible to fight with an archangel.

  As her vision sharpened, her eyes drank in the sight of Merrick, dark and beautiful, his skin healed and unscarred, the stubble on his jaw the exact length she liked it.

  Behind him on the counter, nestled between a bottle of seventeen-year-old scotch and a bowl of bright green limes, there was a small black velvet jewelry box.

  “What’s inside that little box?” she asked, nodding.

  He didn’t answer. He only stared at her face and smiled. “Spotted that, did you? If you take the Wreath off, will your eyes work as well?” he asked.

  She shrugged and removed the Wreath. Her vision immediately began to fade. “It seems pretty good,” she lied.

  She jerked a little when his lips touched hers. She knew he’d darted forward with that inhuman speed so that her other senses didn’t have time to compensate.

  Having been caught, she smiled sheepishly. “Lysander’s right; he’s surrounded by liars and cheats.” She paused. “I exaggerated a little, but aren’t I allowed to be optimistic? My vision’s getting better bit by bit. I’m sure in a few weeks I’ll be back to normal. And even if I’m not, how can I regret what happened? If I hadn’t opened the portal to the ancients, the Jacobis would’ve killed me and let a plague of vampires into the world. I nearly lost my father, my magic, and you.” She shivered and shook her head. “If my vision is the price I pay for r
emaining a muse and having a life with you, I say…worth it.”

  His mouth settled on hers for a deep kiss. Her heart thumped heavy against her ribs. He was such a skilled kisser…lover…everything.

  When he returned to the stove, she said, “The Wreath really should go back, Merrick. My magic’s stronger than ever after the cave. I have enough power to do everything I need for my aspirants. The Wreath should be kept in the Etherlin where it can do the most good. Also, I don’t want ES hunting us for it. I want a life with you. I want to be left alone. Will you see that it’s safely returned?”

  His silence was telling. She sighed and stood. When she reached him, she pressed her body against his and slid her arms around his neck, trailing her fingers over his scalp. She felt his body’s response.

  “Do we need to have a battle over this? You know in the end you’ll give me whatever I want,” she teased.

  “You are as persuasive as advertised,” he mumbled, exhaling slowly as she moved her hand down and ran her index finger over his zipper. She heard him move the pan to another burner and felt his arm extend to turn off the flame.

  When he turned, he picked her up, and in a few short strides they were alone in their room.

  He made love to her for hours, like time was as endless as what they felt for each other.

  Close to sunrise, half asleep, she sensed him leave and then, moments later, return.

  “You asked me once what I needed,” he said.

  “I remember.”

  “It’s you. Since we met, it’s been you.” He brushed a strand of hair back from her face. “I’m yours. Until my last breath…and probably long after, if Richard’s to be believed.”

  She smiled.

  “You don’t have to promise me anything.” He paused.

  “But?”

  “But if you felt like marrying me, Lysander is willing to be my best man. And Ox could be an usher. Or a flower girl. He owes me plenty of favors.”

  She laughed, then rested her head against the pillow again.

  “Throughout this whole affair,” she said, “you let me have you on my own terms, so I’m sure that to keep you I don’t have to promise anything…but I want to.” She extracted her hand from under the pillow. “I promise you everything,” she murmured, raising and extending her left hand.