She had fifteen minutes.
Scrambling to her feet, she sheathed the dagger and retrieved four white candles, setting one each on the four cardinal points inside the circle. Next she dipped a ladle in the bucket of salt and proceeded to set the edges of her circle by pouring trace amounts of salt in the dirt, using a small spoon. She paused every minute to shake out her hands and peer into the bucket. The salt dwindled far too fast, forcing her to reduce the amount she sprinkled along the length of the circle from west to north.
“Please, let it hold,” she whispered.
With that task behind her, Mercy stood. Everything was in order. Her shoulders relaxed, and her stomach settled.
She lit a taper and walked to the north cardinal point. Bending to light the first candle, she said, “I invoke the protection of my goddess, Freya, and offer a circle as a symbol of her never-ending love and guidance, white candles as a symbol of goodness, and salt as a symbol of purity.” She traversed the perimeter, until each candle burned bright. “From north to south, and east to west, may you contain all that lies within the circle and keep me safe. This I pray of you, Freya, please answer my prayers.”
The crypt was eerily silent. So much so that Mercy imagined she could hear the flickering of the candlelight. Her hand fell on the wooden stake in her belt loop, and she pulled it out in case she should need it. There was no knowing how the encounter with Vivian would play out.
Mercy trained her gaze on the head of Vivian’s coffin, assuming her battle stance. All she could do now was wait and hope for the best.
• • •
Victor trudged up the final two steps of the west tower and strode confidently down the corridor, Hatchet and Dominick flanking him. The tower boasted a single chamber on the top floor, so their destination was clear. Their heavy boots thudded against the floors, announcing their arrival. His friends would escort Cora home while Victor contended with Elizabeth.
Perhaps he ought to have been afraid, but a sense of peace washed over him as he recalled Mercy standing before the chapel door, her shoulders square, prepared to fight for the future.
Oh, Mercy mine, I pray to God I will not betray your trust in me.
He knocked on the chamber door, and it creaked open of its own accord. Candlelight danced on the tower walls, illuminating the richly furnished room. Silk rugs covered the floor, and fine black velvet swathed the sofas and chairs. The mahogany tables were adorned with vases and bowls, and paintings hung on the walls. And in one corner stood a four-poster bed bedecked with a shiny coverlet and a mound of silk pillows.
Elizabeth sat on a throne near the hearth with her legs crossed. Her golden curls were piled high on her head, held back by a delicate diamond tiara. The Brisingamen necklace sparkled against her creamy skin and drew the eye to her full breasts pushing against the fabric of her blood-red gown. The woman was strong . . . brave . . . fearless . . . and all alone.
Victor consulted his watch and narrowed his gaze on the witch. “It is precisely 12:15 a.m., and this is the appointed place according to your instructions. Where is my sister, damn you?”
The lips of her mouth curled up slowly, and she waved her hands in his direction. “Leave us, Charles and Dominick.”
His friends bowed, and the door slammed shut. Victor gaped after them. What the devil did the viper have planned? Cora was innocent in all of this.
“Where is my sister, you fucking bitch?”
Elizabeth’s lips quivered with a silent incantation. One second he was steps away from wrapping his hands around the witch’s vulnerable neck, and the next he was under her complete control.
“Your sister is needed elsewhere,” Elizabeth said, standing. She slithered around him, trailing her fingers across the expanse of his chest and along the sides of his waist. He felt her breath on his ear as she whispered foreign words. She completed the circle around him and gazed into his eyes.
He lifted his brow and looked away. “You’ll not entrap me with your witchcraft. I know better.”
She laughed, deep and throaty. “You’re so clever. But I’m not a seven-year-old child. I’m ancient, and unstoppable,” she said in a silky tone. “Mercy never loved you, Victor. She hates you for forcing her hand. If Eveline had not accompanied you to Blackburn Castle, you never would have found the missing stones of Freya.”
A foggy mist swirled around Victor’s brain as she spoke, and he shook his head. What was this nonsense she wished him to believe? Though it was true he had abducted Mercy, she had forgiven him and found the missing stones. Hadn’t she?
Elizabeth disappeared in the white haze, and all Victor could hear was the sound of her soothing voice. She rubbed his arms, up and down, as her words penetrated the fog and wrapped around his brain.
“You were magnificent in your efforts to coerce Mercy into breaking the Blackburn curse,” she said. “Going so far as to use the fertility serum to ensure she would bear the next Blackburn heir. Your plan was brilliant, and it would have succeeded had she not aborted the child.”
Mercy aborted his child? He swallowed back the bile rising in his throat. No, that could not be. She loved the baby.
“Mercy despises you, Victor.”
Of course, she had vowed never to break the curse. She hated him. She didn’t want his son, had never wanted to bear his child. She’d murdered his baby.
“I’m so sorry, Victor,” Elizabeth cooed. “She cannot forgive you for murdering her mother. She still wishes you dead and refused to break the Blackburn curse.”
Fear seized him by the bollocks. The Blackburn curse would claim his life. Vivian was coming for him. He would die the brutal death Mercy longed for.
“You are not alone, my love,” Elizabeth said, kissing his lips. “I will protect you and love you and give you the son you desire.”
The fog lifted, and Victor could suddenly see with utter clarity. Mercy had played him for a fool. How had she cast her spell over him when he’d avoided staring into her eyes? Elizabeth, on the other hand, was a beautiful, desirable woman. And she loved him.
“Drink, my love,” she said, holding a chalice to his mouth. “You’re so very thirsty.”
How did she know that his mouth felt terribly parched? He drank, and drank, never letting her out of his sight. The wine sluiced down his throat, and warm shivers of delight tingled over his arms and legs. He felt so alive . . .
Elizabeth pulled his head down, and her mouth crushed over his. He kissed her with wild abandon, giving in to the beautiful sensations burgeoning within him. His fingers threaded around her head, and he pulled her closer, exploring her voluptuous body with his free hand. The scent of her hair wafted in his nose, and he inhaled deeply. He loved Mercy’s scent, her silken tresses, the taste of her lips, and the feel of her supple bottom in his hands. He loved Mercy with every molecule in his body.
He froze, staring at the woman cradled in his arms. Elizabeth Thorne. Christ almighty, he drank the love potion. But it hadn’t worked.
Elizabeth’s eyelashes fluttered open, and she gazed at him, uncertain.
If he pretended to love her, Mercy and their child would be safe from the vindictive witch forever. But Mercy was the love of his life. Trust me as I trust you. He wouldn’t fail her this time. They deserved a life of happiness together, and he would rather fight than live without her.
“You once told me pure love is omnipotent,” he said, staring into her widening eyes. “You were right. I will never love you. How can I when my heart beats for Mercy?”
Elizabeth roared and tore from his embrace. She bound to the window and jumped onto the sill, glaring over her shoulder. “Only so long as her heart beats!” she shouted before jumping.
He raced to the window and leaned over the edge, looking down. Elizabeth’s arms were spread wide, the fabric of her sleeves attached to the bodice like wings, and she glided on the wind. She landed gracefully on the lawn and stormed toward the chapel.
His heart skipped a beat, and a moment later he ba
rreled through the chamber door. Bloody hell, what had he done?
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Perspiration gathered on Mercy’s brow despite the cool, damp air of the crypt. She rotated the wooden stake in her hand, seeking the most comfortable grip. A soft clicking sounded, and she tensed.
The coffin had unlocked.
She pressed her lips into a firm line and focused on the seam where the lid would open. The porcelain pitcher of blood crashed to the floor as the lid of Elizabeth’s coffin creaked open in tandem with Vivian’s. The pitcher cracked, and blood splattered everywhere. A rivulet of the red liquid snaked a slow path over the dirt floor toward the edge of the containment circle, the metallic scent filling her nostrils. She gagged as images of her parents’ pooled blood ravished her mind.
“No, please, no. What’s happening?” Mercy whispered.
Her gaze shifted to Elizabeth’s coffin, and she felt faint. Cora lay sleeping inside with her hands folded over her chest. At least Mercy hoped she was sleeping and not dead. Adrenaline pulsed through her veins, and she ran around the edge of the circle, getting as close to the head of Elizabeth’s coffin as possible. Cora was inside the circle. A famished Vivian would rise any moment. And the pitcher of blood was half empty.
“Cora, wake up,” she hissed. “Wake up, Cora!”
Cora stirred, and her eyelashes fluttered open. She turned her head and stared at Mercy, her face a mask of confusion.
“Where am I?” she asked, sitting up. She looked around, touching the red velvet lining the inside of the coffin lid.
“In the family crypt,” Mercy whispered urgently. Her view of Vivian’s coffin was blocked by the open lid. Panic reared in her belly. “Listen to me, Cora. Please do not move. There’s no time to explain. You must trust me on this.”
A feral growl pierced her ears, and she gasped, running around the north cardinal point of the circle just as Vivian leaped onto the ground.
“I’m over here!” Mercy shouted. “Come here, Vivian.”
The vampire’s eyes burned bright red, her teeth extended over her bottom lip, and she lunged. Mercy screamed, frozen in her terror. Vivian crashed against an invisible wall and stumbled backward before hurling herself at Mercy again, lightning fast. The vampire growled with a crazed look in her eyes and increased her efforts to break through the wall.
A breath of relief leaked out of Mercy, and she raked both hands through her hair. She was safe—the circle was holding against Vivian—but Cora was in mortal danger. She had to act quickly.
Use the immobility spell you’ve been practicing. Paralyze the vampire, stake her heart. Deal with Elizabeth later.
She swallowed, holding Vivian’s bright-red gaze. The vampire stood stock-still with her hands splayed against the invisible wall, staring intently at Mercy, panting and salivating. Marginally coherent.
“Enemy mine, heed my will. I command you, to be still,” Mercy said in a strong, clear voice.
Vivian suddenly sniffed the air and stepped closer to Elizabeth’s coffin. She sniffed again. Why wasn’t the spell working? Because Mercy was outside the containment circle and felt safe? She read the intent in Vivian’s eyes. The vampire smelled Cora’s blood like a hound on a pheasant.
“Cora, run!” Mercy shouted as she spun around and jumped high, landing a powerful kick to Vivian’s chest. Victor would be proud, having practiced the move with her for hours.
The vampire flew through the air and crashed to the floor on her back. Mercy pounced and raised the wooden stake, hurling her arm toward Vivian’s heart with all her strength. But her enemy’s hand caught her wrist, and before she could blink, she was on her back with a set of sharp incisors in her face. Vivian purred low in her throat and opened her jaws.
The words to the immobility spell flew over Mercy’s lips, and she turned away, her heart thundering in her chest. She waited for the excruciating pain, for the sound of her skin being ripped to shreds. But nothing happened. She glanced sideways to find Vivian’s teeth snapping inches from her exposed neck, but the vampire could get no closer.
Mercy was going to be sick. Her body was pinned to the floor. Waves of panic crashed through her. She looked around frantically. Her wooden stake had slid across the floor and penetrated the containment circle. But the broken pitcher lay an arm’s-length away, the bottom half still full of blood. If she could feed Vivian and assuage her hunger, maybe she could reason with her.
“Are you still here, Cora?” she whispered, afraid to even breathe.
Victor’s sister peeked from behind the pedestal holding Elizabeth’s coffin. “I’m here,” she whispered back, her voice trembling.
“I can’t move,” Mercy said, meeting Cora’s terrified gaze. “Do you see the broken pitcher? Feed Vivian the blood.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Be brave,” Mercy said. “Or we’re going to die. Feed her the blood!”
Cora crawled to the pitcher and lifted it to Vivian’s lips at an angle. The vampire lapped at the liquid like a thirsty hound drinking at a creek. Droplets of blood sloshed over the side of the container onto Mercy’s neck, and she groaned. A thin, red line dribbled out of the corner of the vampire’s mouth, and she sighed in ecstasy.
“Vivian Blackburn,” Mercy said, meeting the vampire’s gaze head-on. “I’m a descendant of Elizabeth Thorne, and I saved your life. You’re free of the Blackburn curse, and now I need your help. Please, you must protect me from your twin sister.”
Vivian’s eyes cleared, and she blinked.
“But Elizabeth’s curse is eternal,” the vampire said, her words gentle and laden with confusion, but entirely rational. Feeding her the blood had worked.
“No,” Mercy said, licking her lips. “I believe your mother wrote a counter curse in the Tome of the Accursed. I’ve restored the amber tear of Freya. You are no longer bound by the curse.” She glanced at Cora. “Retrieve the spell book and the stone. There, on the stool. Show her the stone. Let her read the counter curse.”
“Release me from your spell,” Vivian said. “My hunger is under control. If what you say is true, I’ll not harm you.”
Perhaps Mercy was a fool, but there was little time left to save her and Cora’s lives. “You’re released.”
Vivian darted to the book. She cradled the tome in her hand and reverently touched the amber tear of Freya with the tip of her finger. Her eyes flew over the open pages of the book until she turned, her nostrils flared, and charged toward Mercy, flying past her at lightning speed.
Mercy gasped and whirled around just as Vivian pinned Elizabeth against the wall, her arm pressed hard against her twin’s throat. She grinned, revealing razor-sharp incisors.
“Hello, dear sister,” Vivian said, licking her lips. “So good of you to visit me.”
Elizabeth struggled under Vivian’s iron grip and growled, “Let me go, beast. Whatever the girl has fed you is nothing but lies. I’m here to protect you. She would murder you while you sleep.”
“I think not,” Vivian said with a husky laugh. “You shouldn’t have come, because there is no one to protect you. Did you think I would forget your past sins? How you paid your friend Gregor to change me into the beast I am? Or the way you chained Ambrose to the wall and watched as I woke from my transformation and feasted on my beloved, unable to control my hunger?” She snapped her teeth at Elizabeth. “You’re the monster!”
“You stole Ambrose from me!” Elizabeth shouted, kicking her legs. “You knew I carried his child, and still you brewed the love potion.”
“You entrapped him. He was never yours, dear sister,” Vivian cooed. “Else the potion wouldn’t have worked. I loved him first, damn you! And I loved you, once upon a time. But no longer.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened as Vivian ripped the Brisingamen necklace from her neck and leaned in, sinking her teeth into her flesh. The vampire’s suckling noises filled the crypt as she feasted, and Mercy turned away from Elizabeth’s horrific cries of anguish.
Foot
falls pounded above in the chapel, and someone shouted Mercy’s name. Was that Victor? Startled into action, she grabbed Cora’s arm and shoved her in the direction of the stairwell, bending to grab the wooden stake on the way. They raced up the stairs, and Mercy slammed the door to the crypt shut.
Victor barreled down the aisle toward her, his face a mask of fear.
“Take Cora and run,” Mercy said, meeting him before the altar. “Vivian is feeding on Elizabeth. Get her out of here while Vivian is distracted. She’ll not harm me. I broke the curse. But I can’t say the same of Cora or you. Please, Victor, you must run.”
“I’m not leaving you,” he rasped, pulling Mercy into his embrace. “I love you.” He held her face, his smile bright. “Did you hear me? I love you.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “I know, and I love you, but you must go and keep Cora safe.”
“Run, Cora,” Victor said, embracing his sister before shoving her in the direction of the exit. “Send Dominick and Hatchet.”
The door to the crypt crashed open, and Vivian flew out, landing behind the altar. Her eyes flashed and narrowed on Victor’s arms encircling Mercy’s waist. She tilted her head, confusion blossoming in her eyes.
“Ambrose,” Vivian whispered. Pain flickered across her face as she moved around the side of the altar, slowly approaching. “Is that you, my love?”
Victor leaned down and kissed Mercy’s ear. “Wooden stake through the back.”
He released his hold on her and held his hands out to his ancestor. “Come to me, Vivian,” he said, beckoning her. “We owe Mercy our gratitude. She has broken the Blackburn curse. Our nightmare is at an end, and we can finally be happy.”
What was he doing? Mercy’s hands trembled around the wooden stake as Vivian stumbled forward. He was luring her closer. Deceiving her. Mercy didn’t want to kill the woman. She’d vowed never to kill unless her life depended on it. Vivian wouldn’t harm her. She wasn’t a threat.
“But I killed you,” Vivian said, tears blurring her eyes. “I saw you die. I visited your grave. This isn’t possible.”
Blackburn Castle (Tortured Souls Book 2) Page 26