Blackburn Castle (Tortured Souls Book 2)

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Blackburn Castle (Tortured Souls Book 2) Page 24

by R. C. Matthews


  Victor and his family flanked her. All of them. His mother and father stood to her left while Victor and Cora stood to her right. Baby Aidan slumbered in his mother’s arms, oblivious to the significance of the ritual unfolding. Dominick, Eveline, Hatchet, and Stuart stood opposite them, quietly bearing witness.

  “As a symbol of peace, I offer three white candles,” she said turning to face Victor. “One for the past . . . one for the present . . . and one for the future. Do you accept my peace offering?”

  He smiled and nodded. “I do.”

  Tingles ran up her spine, and she smiled in return, taking his hands in hers. “I invoke the love of my goddess, Freya, and come before her with an open heart. Hear my cries for mercy on my brethren. Leave the dark past behind us and bring a future that’s bright. May your love be our guide to everlasting life.”

  She laid the four amber stones in a single row over the stones pictured in the spell book. Lifting her hands to the sky, she chanted.

  Born out of deception,

  Betrayed out of love,

  Her soul cried out,

  For justice from above.

  Justice was granted,

  Each firstborn son to the grave,

  The sister hath sinned,

  Her kin doth paid.

  Her fingers trembled as she joined the stones at the seams, presenting them as a single stone. Vivian had shattered the family ties, but Mercy would piece them together. The time for anger, hatred, and blame was at an end. She turned her mind to the babe growing in her belly. Love swelled inside her whole body, and she spoke the final words of the spell from memory.

  Yet the time hath come,

  To end the reign,

  Of hatred and division,

  To join once again.

  From within my heart,

  I beg of thee,

  Forgive the Blackburn sins,

  And set them forever free.

  She closed her eyes and searched for a sign the spell had worked. Anything deep within, a gut feeling . . . a whisper in her mind . . . an erratic heartbeat. But she felt nothing except a steady calm.

  “God in Heaven,” Victor whispered.

  Mercy’s eyes flew open. He stared at the amber tear of Freya, restored to a single, magnificent stone. A definite sign. She burst into tears, throwing herself into Victor’s arms. He swung her around, laughing under the weight of her crushing hug.

  “You’ve broken the curse,” he croaked.

  The room exploded in cheers of triumph. Aidan startled awake and cried. His parents hugged Victor from behind. Eveline rubbed Mercy’s arm, and Dominick slapped Victor hard on the shoulder.

  “I’m sorry I ever doubted you, Mercy,” Hatchet said.

  She held out her hand in invitation. Nothing could dampen the beauty of the moment. The past was forgiven, the present was surreal, and the future bright. Hatchet accepted her peace offering, and she pulled him into a shared embrace with Victor.

  “This is cause for celebration,” Lord Blackburn said, regarding Mercy warmly. “Tomorrow, we will enjoy the best bottle of wine in the house.”

  Cora rocked Aidan in her arms and cooed. “You shall not recall a single moment of this night, but it is a happy day for all.” She squeezed Victor’s cheek and grinned. “Aidan is your spitting image.”

  “I heard that,” Stuart growled.

  “Come, let us bring our son to his bed,” Cora said, winking at Victor.

  His family exited the chamber, and Mercy wrapped her arms around Victor’s waist, laying her cheek to his chest, listening to the glorious sound of his beating heart. Victor would live to see their baby come into the world. They still had to contend with Elizabeth Thorne, but the worst of Mercy’s fears were lifted with the Blackburn curse. She could breathe again.

  “It’ll only take a moment to clean up,” she said, staring into Victor’s sparkling eyes. “Will you help me?”

  “Of course.”

  She reached for the amber tear of Freya, her eyes drifting over the words of the spell one last time. Victor moved to collect the book, but she swatted his hand away. She leaned in and pushed the stone over the text, reading the words through the stone, like a magnifying glass. Only they weren’t the words of the counter spell. Her knees grew weak, and she faltered.

  “What’s wrong?” Victor asked, catching her by the arm to steady her. “Why have you grown so pale?”

  Her bottom lip quivered, and she braced her hands on the table. “You once asked why the counter spell was written in red. Like you, I believed the color signified the love I must carry in my heart when I cast the spell. We were wrong,” she said, finally meeting his gaze. Tears welled over her lashes, spilling down her cheeks. “So very, very wrong. Read the spell through the amber stone, like a lens. Elizabeth wrote a spell in blood over the original one, binding the two spells together.”

  In setting Victor free, she and their babe would die.

  • • •

  Victor picked up the stone and held it over the spell. His heart hammered in his chest. He’d never seen Mercy so pale, and she rarely cried. Something was terribly wrong. He steadied his hand and read aloud.

  Whosoever

  Casts this spell,

  Shall earn my wrath,

  A death toll, knell.

  Your forgiveness,

  Is my disgrace,

  To set her free,

  Stand in his place.

  With your last breath,

  Cometh peace at last,

  Thorne for a Blackburn,

  Peace and death.

  The words swam before his eyes, the meaning seeping into his consciousness. A death toll, knell. Stand in his place. With your last breath. Mercy must pay with her life to set him free? She was carrying their babe. The child he’d forced on her. God in Heaven, no!

  “Victor, look at me,” Mercy said, shaking his shoulders. “We’ll get through this together. Please, look at me.”

  He gazed into her rich, honey-colored eyes, and raw anguish sliced clean through his heart, gutting him from the inside out. He fell to his knees and heaved in deep, gulping breaths. The world spun on its axis. Mercy was going to die. Ambrose’s ghost. She had seen his ghost beckoning her to the grave. It had been a sign of her imminent death, and he’d ignored it.

  In drugging her with the love potion, he had set the wheels in motion for her to break the curse, thereby sentencing her to death. He had killed her mother, and now he was killing her and their child.

  “Breathe, Victor,” she cooed, kneeling in front of him. “Don’t do this! This isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known. None of us knew.”

  Breathe. Elizabeth wouldn’t win. He had to fix this, turn back time. Do it all over. But he couldn’t change the past or the future. They were stuck on the path he’d led them down.

  He stood and roared, hurling the tome across the room. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted to rip Elizabeth’s beating heart from her chest and squash it in his hand, see her eyes pop out from the sheer torture. And still she wouldn’t feel a fraction of his pain.

  Life had beat the bloody fucking hell out of him, and he’d endured it all. But this, losing the woman who risked everything for him, the woman who carried his child, this he would not survive. This he would not accept.

  “Where is she?” he growled, stalking to the door. “After Elizabeth fixes this, I’m going to fucking rip her apart, limb by limb.”

  Dominick blocked the exit, and Victor saw red. He would’ve set Mercy free before they departed Devil’s Cove if not for Dominick’s interference. And now his friend thought to keep him from his revenge? Nothing was stopping him from getting his pound of flesh.

  Victor pounced, crashing into Dominick’s chest with his shoulder, knocking the wind out of him. His friend grunted, but before Victor could throw his first punch, Dominick’s knee connected with his groin. He howled and stumbled back, gasping for air, only to find his arms locked behind his back in Hatchet’s unyielding grip. He thrashed and
growled, lunging for Dominick.

  “Not out of your system yet, mate?” Dominick asked, wiping his brow. “You want more? ’Cuz I’m good for a few more rounds. Hell, I can do this all night. Let him go, Hatchet.” He gestured with his hands, goading Victor. “Come on, so we can clear your fucking head. You want to go after a centuries-old witch without a plan?” He jabbed his finger in Victor’s chest and roared, “Bloody fool! That’s what you are. You’re not thinking with your head, but you need to if you want to fix this!”

  Closing his eyes, Victor inhaled and exhaled. He counted backward from ten and relaxed his shoulders. Dominick was right, dammit. The only way out of this mess he’d created was to devise a sound plan.

  “Let me go,” he said, his voice calm, and Hatchet obeyed. “I’ve got it under control. You will not die,” he told Mercy, crushing her close. “Vivian is the enemy. We know her strengths and weaknesses. There’s time to plan our battle. If we destroy Vivian, the curse ends, and you and the babe live. It’s that simple.”

  The only wild card was Elizabeth Thorne.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Victor paced the length of his father’s desk in the study, rehearsing the script written this morning under the watchful eyes of his friends. His mind was razor sharp, and his nerves turned to steel. What happened during his interview with Elizabeth Thorne would seal the fate of Mercy and his child. He dared not fail.

  A hardy knock sounded on the door, and his heart answered with its own clipped rapping against his chest. He inhaled sharply and exhaled.

  “Please enter,” he called, bracing his hands behind his back.

  Mrs. Hart opened the door wide enough to pass through and closed it behind her. No, not Mrs. Hart, but Elizabeth Thorne. He must not forget her true identity. But he struggled to see her as a formidable witch when she wore her standard housekeeper’s uniform.

  “You requested a word with me?” she asked, meeting his gaze.

  He inspected her facial features, and his mouth went dry. The devil take him, but how had he not seen the resemblance to Vivian Blackburn the moment he set eyes on the woman? The black hair and severe style of her coiffure had thrown him off completely.

  Her mouth twisted in an unsettling smile, spurring him into action.

  “Mrs. Hart,” Victor said, clearing his throat.

  She laughed, the sound deep and throaty. “Shall we dispense with the ruse? We both know that isn’t my name. Please, call me Elizabeth.”

  Perspiration trickled down Victor’s spine as she strolled to one of the plush leather chairs opposite the desk and sat.

  “Won’t you join me?” she asked, motioning to the second leather chair. She perused the study, tapping her long fingers on the arm of the chair. “Come, don’t be rude. Sit. Down.”

  He forced his legs to obey and sat. The witch had a commanding presence—and an agenda. Goddamn, but he hadn’t trembled this way since his first encounter with the Butcher. How had his carefully honed script gone up in flames so quickly?

  “Ambrose was fond of this study,” she said, her voice wistful, her eyes dreamy. “I can almost see him behind the desk, studying his ledgers or writing his letters. All of the Blackburn men bore an uncanny resemblance to him, the man I once loved.” Her eyes landed on Victor, burning with a frightening intensity. “But you were made from the same mold as Ambrose. When I gaze upon you, the likeness steals the very breath from my lungs.”

  His stomach plummeted, but he held her gaze. He’d always known she found him attractive, but her hungry stare warned of something far greater. Elizabeth Thorne coveted him. And he could use that to his advantage, to bend the witch to his will in order to protect Mercy and his child. A new plan forged in his mind, and he smiled.

  “You’re right,” he said, leaning forward. “Let us dispense with the artifice and get down to business. Set Mercy free from your spell, and I’m open to negotiations. You want me, Elizabeth. But nothing in this world comes free.”

  Her eyes grew stormy, and her body tensed. “You’re wrong. Love is free. Bestowed willingly from one to another. I cannot meet your demands. Mercy must die, or else you could never give me your love.”

  “Do not play games with me,” he said, glaring. “Set her free, and I’ll drink your love potion willingly. We’ll both get what we want.”

  Elizabeth laughed and shook her head. “No, my darling, we would not. You really ought to come to the negotiation table prepared. Even my love potion is impotent against true love. Love is pure and omnipotent. I cannot steal your love when it already belongs to Mercy.”

  “You lie!” He stood and strode to the desk, sitting on the edge. “Do you think me a simpleton? Vivian stole Ambrose’s love from you. You don’t think I know the history of the Blackburn curse? I’ve read the tapestries Freya wove.”

  “It isn’t a lie,” she countered, her shoulders rigid. “You believed yourselves so clever, finding the spell book and breaking the Blackburn curse. Don’t believe for one second I wasn’t aware of your every move on the chessboard. I wanted Mercy to cast that spell and seal her fate. You will finally love me, Ambrose!”

  Anger vibrated off her body, electrifying the room. Her eyes glazed over, and he leaned back instinctively. Ambrose? She was lost in the past, had gone stark raving mad. She truly believed him to be Ambrose and wanted him to finally love her. What was he missing?

  A seed of comprehension budded to life, and Victor raised his brow. “Ambrose never truly loved you? That’s why Vivian was able to steal his heart, because it didn’t belong to you.” Pure satisfaction oozed through him and fueled his words with venom. “How that must’ve ravaged your black heart. I’ve often wondered why you forced Vivian to rip out Ambrose’s throat—an odd punishment for the man you loved. But now I understand. You despised him. He planted his seed in your belly then broke your engagement, abandoning you and your child for Vivian. You believed he loved you, but you were wrong.”

  She looked away, the simple act a confirmation of the truth. Why hadn’t Mercy ever spoken of this nuance with the love potion? Unless she was not aware of it herself. Perhaps it was a blessing. Because had she known, she would not have allowed him to negotiate alone with Elizabeth.

  He treasured the idea of raising a family with Mercy—had even harbored the hope of earning her trust one day, if given time. He rubbed his eyes and snorted. Why did he always fall victim to his futile hopes and dreams? He was Victor Blackburn, destined for tragedy. But he would gladly forfeit his happiness in order to save Mercy and their child.

  “You’re in luck,” he said, folding his arms over his chest, “because I’m not in love with Mercy. Reverse your damned spell, promise never to harm her or her kin, and I’ll drink your love potion. One gaze into your eyes, a few whispered words of love, and I’m yours.”

  “You’re a fool,” Elizabeth said, laughing. “A stupid, bloody fool, if you think I believe you. You would sacrifice yourself to see her and your babe safe. What is that if not an act of pure love?”

  Victor shook his head. He didn’t love Mercy. He loved her pert mouth and the smell of her hair. He admired her strength and adored her luscious curves. But he did not love her. He was incapable of those pure emotions; he wasn’t honorable. If he were honorable, he could not have abducted her, threatened her aunt and uncle, and drugged her.

  “You’re wrong,” he said, his stomach clenching. She must believe him! He met Elizabeth’s gaze. “Please, give me the love potion, and let’s be done with this.”

  She strode to the door and turned toward him. “Mercy will fight Vivian to the death on your twenty-seventh birthday. When my sister wakes from her drug-induced sleep, she will be famished after decades without feeding. She’ll rip Mercy’s throat out and gorge on her blood, just like she has on every Blackburn male for four centuries. You will not intervene on her behalf!”

  “The hell I won’t,” Victor said, storming toward her. He grabbed hold of her shoulders and shook hard. “If you won’t negotiate, all
bets are off. You want us to fight Vivian, then we’ll bloody well fight her. Together.”

  The door to the study burst open, and Cora stepped in. She gaped at Victor and his tight hold on the housekeeper, her eyebrows rising in concern.

  “Excuse me,” she said, meeting his stare. “I’m in need of the carriage for an appointment, but I can’t seem to find Milton anywhere. I thought he might be hiding in here.”

  Elizabeth broke free and snatched Cora in a choke hold, pressing a dagger to her pulse point. She cackled, and an incantation flew over her lips. Victor sprang into action but found himself incapable of moving a single muscle. He stared in horror as Elizabeth backed out of the room, dragging Cora with her.

  His sister attempted to speak, but her airway was constricted. She gawked at him, her eyes sending a desperate plea for help, but he could not react, did not possess control of his faculties.

  “Mercy battles Vivian alone in the crypt, or Cora is dead,” the witch said, squeezing his sister’s neck until she choked out a sob. “Or do I overestimate your regard for your sister? For your nephew? I’ll slaughter them all. No one accompanies Mercy into the crypt. Is that understood?”

  The muscles in his throat relaxed, and he pleaded, “Don’t do this, Elizabeth. I’m begging you.”

  “Await further instructions from me,” the witch said, each step carrying her closer to the front entrance of the castle. “Until then, no one enters the west tower.”

  “If Mercy dies, I’ll slit my throat before I’ll drink your love potion!” Victor warned, pinning her with hatred and rage. “Either way, you will not win. Do you hear me?”

  Elizabeth smiled. “We shall see, my love.”

  She disappeared through the front door with Cora in tow. Victor wanted to chase after the bitch and finish her off. But her magic held, rendering him immobile. Bloody hell! He could not defeat a centuries-old witch capable of paralyzing him with a few simple words.

  Several minutes passed, and the effects of Elizabeth’s spell dissipated. Victor crumpled onto one of the leather chairs. He closed his eyes, refusing to succumb to the panic welling in him. Stuart must be informed of the disastrous news, as well as Mercy and the rest of the party. But he found himself incapable of action, weighed down by the impossible decision looming before him.

 

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