The Lore Series (Box Set): All 3 Books In One Volume

by Chad T. Douglas

  “Right it is then.” Fastening the holster high around her right thigh, Tom twirled the pistol and pocketed it within the holster, buckling it down securely before sneaking a kiss to the inside of her thigh. Molly drew a quiet, sharp breath. “I pity the bastard that provokes you to use that thing,” Tom said with a rather devious grin. “It’s enchanted with deleterious magic, like a poison.”

  “Yes, well I hope that won’t be necessary.”

  “Hm, but it would be a shame not to ever hear it fire, yeah? A waste, I should think.”

  Molly hid her own grin. “You and I clearly think differently of waste. And you found such a fine gun?”

  “I have a habit of finding many things, whether I mean to or not,” Tom replied with a smirk. “Most times I’m quite lucky, such as when I found you.”

  Molly turned her face from view, biting her lip and smiling. “I think you’re mistaken. Twas I who found you, Thomas.”

  “Well,” he said looking at her, “let’s split the blame.” Tom retrieved his things from underneath the bed, slinging a leather belt over his shoulder, filling it with knives, and wrapped a pistol bandolier around his waist, covering both with an inconspicuous, loose white shirt. “Beautiful day,” he said, squinting out the balcony doors.

  “Lovely,” Molly agreed, looking at Tom rather than the scenery.

  Placing a hat on his head, Tom asked if she needed anything before the carriage arrived.

  “I’ll just need a moment to change. I don’t want to risk ruining such a lovely dress.” She was still wearing the red and white dress from the night before.

  He nodded. “Of course. I’ll wait outside the door then.”

  After a moment, Molly met him outside the room, dressed in a simple, cream-colored skirt and white blouse, held tight by a black bodice, her mahogany hair sitting freely on her shoulders. “Shall we?”

  Tom smiled and led her downstairs. He noticed that in addition to her everyday attire Molly had put on a belt he’d never seen her wear, he assumed it hid a pistol and some knives. It was pretty, stamped and riveted.

  At the bottom of the stair they heard a commotion coming from the first floor of the inn. Tom quietly suggested they stop near the base of the stairs.

  “Return to the room for a moment, please,” he whispered to Molly.

  A distinct English accent rang out from downstairs: “Sir, if you are lying you will suffer the wrath of the law and His Majesty’s Royal Navy!” Molly’s eyes widened in shock.

  The Spanish voice of the innkeeper responded, sounding confused. The officer spoke again.

  “Do you realize you are harboring a criminal? Reveal him to us or be arrested!”

  Tom whispered to Molly again, more urgently. “Go now, please. Hide.”

  Molly gazed at him hard. “I’m not going to stand by while they take you away.”

  “What makes you think they can?” He smiled mischievously and started down the stairs. “Go.”

  Molly hurried back inside her room, listening intently through the door.

  “Has anything been found upstairs?” Heavy footsteps patrolled the hallway.

  “Sir, I have only so much patience!” The voice called upstairs. “Search the rooms!” Along the hallway, doors were broken in.

  In a panic, Molly searched around for an escape. There was nowhere she could hide. Thinking quickly, she slipped behind the curtains and stepped out onto the balcony, closing the doors behind her. The bedroom door crashed inward and two British Royal Navy soldiers stomped in. Instinctively, Molly held her breath. The voices were muffled behind the door: “Turn over the bed!”

  The balcony was too high to jump down from. Below patrolled a group of another ten soldiers. Molly’s heartbeat quickened. One of the men in her room pulled back a curtain and saw her on the balcony.

  “You there, ma’am!”

  Molly turned, startled, but quickly composed herself. As the soldier spoke to a guard next to him, Molly saw five armed men rush into the inn downstairs. Another voice from inside on the first floor cried out.

  “Sir! I’ll ask only once mo—” Crash! She saw a soldier, presumably the one interrogating the innkeeper, hurled through a window into the street.

  The squad of soldiers in the street shouted and entered the building. The balcony doors flew open. “Miss! Come with us for your safety!” The soldiers who’d turned over her room approached, with muskets in hand. Molly looked back over the rail, contemplating a jump.

  “Pardon me, gentlemen,” a voice began. The guards came to a halt. “I’ll take her with me.”

  Both guards spun around. “Who are you—Agh!” One of the soldiers fell to the ground before finishing his sentence, having received a pewter vase to the forehead. The other soldier wheezed as Thomas thrust a palm into his chest. A burst of bright green magical light propelled him over the balcony. He flipped backward, musket firing into the air, and landed in a rain barrel below.

  “About time to leave, yes?” Tom hurried Molly to the railing.

  “Breakfast would have been nice, but yes, I do agree,” she stammered, taking his hand.

  “Don’t scream.” He wrapped his arms around her and leapt off the balcony. Landing with a grunt, Tom rushed Molly to their waiting carriage and set her inside. The driver gave a forceful “Yah!” and the horses charged forward. The soldiers in the inn scampered out into the street and raised their guns to fire. Tom swung himself up on top of the carriage while Molly ducked to the floor. With an annoyed sneer, Tom climbed to the driver’s seat and tossed the driver out of his way, sending him tumbling into the street, shouting in surprise. Tom snapped the reins furiously. “Yah!”

  The horses got the message. Musket shots rang out and woke up everyone in the neighborhood. Swearing, the soldiers lowered their guns. The carriage tore through the streets of Pamplona and left the town, disappearing from sight.

  “Carriage rides, tequila, dresses, guns...” Molly shouted, poking her head out the carriage window, “I do believe you are trying to court me, Thomas Crowe!”

  Tom drove the carriage straight through the night and stopped only to allow Molly to sleep peacefully for a few hours while he kept watch. The soldiers caused them no more grief during the night, and by noon the next day Tom began to relax. When they were safely back at his home in Barcelona, Tom carried the sleeping Molly from the carriage into her bedroom, placing her beneath covers on her bed before hastening to his own bedroom, where he immediately collapsed.

  Molly shuddered violently in her sleep from a searing pain in her upper arm. She awoke suddenly, touching her arm and wincing. Part of her sleeve was caked in blood. She realized the misfired bullet from the soldier on the balcony must have nicked her upper arm, and she had failed to notice in all the chaos. The pain had finally caught up with her. It was nothing serious by any means, but she decided it would be best to clean it. She peeled off her blouse and pulled her chemise out from under her skirt and over her head. The pain caused her to suck in a breath sharply. How did Thomas shrug off such terrible wounds? Molly thought she’d rather be dead than shot again. Blood began oozing, and she laid a soft cloth over the wound. The contact, delicate as it was, made her see stars and for a moment she became sick. It would’ve surprised Thomas to know it wasn’t the first time she’d been shot, either. She didn’t like to think about the first time, and put it out of mind.

  Finding a silk robe in her room, she quietly made her way downstairs. She thought about washing off in the kitchen but decided against it, thinking it would cause too much noise. She wanted to avoid waking the captain at all costs, and didn’t want to worry him. Instead, she headed into the garden and sat by the fountain.

  Beyond the fountain two maids were tending the garden on the patio. Molly, noticing them, hesitated. She couldn’t have the maids knowing, because they were sure to mention it to the captain. She headed back inside, knowing she would have to take her chances in the kitchen. The kitchen was empty; the next meal wouldn’t be served for two
or three hours. Molly prepared a bowl of water with a rag and sat down at the kitchen table.

  Tom writhed in his bed, biting down onto a pillow to suppress any shouts of pain. Standing up defiantly, he unintentionally ripped the sheets on his bed. He tore a sleeve off his shirt, rolling it up and substituting it for the pillow in his mouth. Unlacing the shirt and casting it aside, he examined the full extent of the damage done to his ribs and left arm. He hadn’t gotten away clean. The mark on his back burned red hot. The rag fell from his mouth, allowing a shout to escape. The pain intensified, and his shouts became barking, growling and snarling. He quickly covered his mouth again. The numerous sword slices in his abdomen slowly hissed and sealed themselves shut. At least I’m not bleeding, he thought.

  Molly, downstairs, heard the noise coming from upstairs. Setting her wound dressings aside, she got up and went to check on Tom.

  Tom bit down onto the rag again and swore. The wounds burned and hissed insufferably. Attempting to cross the room and lock the door, Tom fell to one knee.

  “Aaaah!” He wrapped an arm around his stomach and reached out to the doorknob. His fingers fumbled with the lock and finally flicked it into place. Through gritted teeth he breathed furiously. The gashes across his body slowly disappeared, hissing and producing a dark smoke, which rose from the severed edges of his skin. Why did it hurt more than usual? The blade hadn’t been silver, had it? The thought frightened him and he tried to calm himself.

  Molly came to the door and tried to turn the knob. It wouldn’t budge. “Thomas!” She wrestled with the door handle. “Thomas, are you all right? Please answer me!” Molly’s own wound began to bleed again but she hardly noticed. “Thomas! I need to know you’re all right!”

  Accidentally Tom bit into his own tongue with an elongated fang. His wounds sizzled shut and he lay still, breathing heavily. Angry at himself, he lifted both arms, thumping the floor with his palms and willing himself to stand. His footsteps assured Molly that he was up and walking. Molly backed away from the door as Tom sighed and unlatched the lock. His voice was soft and tired.

  “Good afternoon.” Folding an arm in an attempt to cover the temporary scars, which were tinted a pitch black along the sword lines, he allowed her in. “Have you eaten?”

  Molly sighed deeply, looking away, but happy to know he was all right. “You’ve a bad habit of trying to distract me with food, Thomas. You should learn new tricks.”

  “Did you hurt yourself?” he said, noticing the blood coming through the sleeve of the robe. He reached toward her shoulder.

  Molly flinched, turning away. “It’s nothing. The first of many to come, I’m sure.” She tried to laugh about it. “I guess it’s rather special, in that case.” She didn’t want him to worry. As much grief as he normally gave himself, she did not want to know, of all things, he’d gotten her shot.

  “It’s still bleeding. You don’t want to lose any more. You only get so much, you know. I’ll find you a better bandage.” Tom exited to the hallway and motioned for her to follow him. He seemed to forget his stomach and failed to notice when he stopped covering the black scars on his body.

  ”I’m sure I can take care of it,” she said meekly as she followed him into the hall.

  “I have medicines. I’ll treat it so there is no scar.” Taking her arm, Tom led her onward.

  Molly winced.

  “Sofia!” Tom searched the main hall. Sofia entered from down the kitchen.

  “Yes?”

  Tom instructed her to retrieve particular medicines while he found bandages. Seeing Molly’s bloodied sleeve, Sofia released an “Oh!” and hurried to find the medicines. Tom came back with the bandages, followed by Sofia, who handed him two glass jars.

  “Gracias, Sofia.”

  Sofia, not much older than Molly herself, but shorter, with green, feline eyes and ink-black hair, nodded and wrung her hands nervously. Tom sent her away and then took Molly’s hand again. “All right then, follow me.” He guided her to her room. She followed him reluctantly, thinking it best not to protest. Tom closed the door behind them and set her on the bed.

  “Don’t worry. With this treatment the wound will disappear entirely.” He smiled at her reassuringly.

  Molly frowned, seeing Tom’s wounds, which were much more numerous and severe. “What about you?”

  “Me?” He chuckled wholeheartedly. He had completely forgotten about his own pain.

  Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Captain, I’ve never before heard anyone in such pain.”

  “My pain is an inescapable fact. It’s routine. Yours is of much more concern to me. You’re always nursing me. It’s about time I reciprocated.” Picking up a rag from the table next to him, Tom pulled up a chair to her. He slung the rag over one shoulder, partially obscuring a trail of the black scars, and opened the larger of the medicine jars. Setting the lid aside, he took out some of the light green ointment with two fingers, spreading it across both hands. He then held his palms face-up. “Could you …” He gestured at her robe with a very subtle nod, eyes darting down to his hands awkwardly and remaining there, then attempting to meet hers again. Molly nodded, letting the robe slip from her shoulders, folding one arm across her chest to catch the fabric as it bunched up at her bust. Tom fumbled the jar back to the table and shakily slid the chair closer. “It won’t hurt.”

  Molly watched as Tom gingerly placed a hand over the wound and applied the strange medicine to her skin. The sensation left by the substance was soothing and cool, creating a numbing effect on her shoulder. Once more, with the other hand, Tom coated the wound. Molly closed her eyes with a sigh. After cleaning his hands, Tom opened the smaller jar and poured a fine, black powder into one hand, but only very little. “This will seal it and prevent a scar,” he explained.

  Molly opened her eyes once more and watched as Tom sprinkled the grains evenly over the ointment, then brushed off his hands before sealing the jars and setting them aside.

  “Allow it some time to dry, and then I’ll wrap it for you.”

  Molly didn’t immediately pull the robe back up to her shoulders. She liked the way Thomas looked at her.

  “I’ll leave you in privacy so it can take effect. When it feels like it has settled properly … I’ll … would you like me to wait outside the room for your call?”

  Disregarding his question, Molly reached out to touch his shoulder, touching the tip of one of the black scars. “Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked quietly.

  “I promise.” He forced a comforting grin, his blue eyes dashing back and forth between her face and her deep cleavage.

  “I know this must be normal for you. But I am only human. I can’t help but worry about you.”

  “I don’t mind your concern at all.” Allowing her fingers to slip away, he turned to leave. Tom stopped at the door, head tilted toward the ground, turning slightly toward her. “You’re sure this is the life you want? The purpose?” he asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  Tom swallowed hard, keeping his head tilted away, hiding his face.

  Molly stood, moving to look at him. “Why do you say such things?”

  “Because I can’t forgive myself when you get hurt. I can stand in front of a gun and laugh at its wielder knowing I run no risk of death. You don’t have that luxury, and yet you should be the one who is impervious to pain and death, not me. It’s all a part of the curse, I suppose. I’ll wait outside for your call.” Trying to keep his eyes averted politely, Tom tripped over a rug on his way out. “Be sure to tell me if you begin to feel any pain, yeah?” He opened the door and left.

  As he vanished, Molly frowned. “What is he thinking?” she asked aloud. Sighing, she approached a mirror in a little boudoir off to one side of the room and fussed with her hair. She let her silk robe fall to the floor. Before putting anything else on, she locked her door and went to her bed, lying on her back. Shutting her eyes, she thought of the night before, being in Tom’s arms again. Rolling over onto her stomach like
a cat, she stretched, reaching over the side of the bed and rummaging through the bag containing her personal effects.

  Tom called down to the Sofia, requesting an early dinner. In no time, the house was filled with the scent of rice, flour, spices and beef. Molly could smell dinner from upstairs and decided to call the captain for the bandage before she ate. Getting up from her bed she quickly donned her silk robe. Tom arrived at her room promptly, bandages piled in his arms. “I had the kitchen prepare dinner so you could eat as soon as the medicine set in.”

  Molly smiled in thanks, letting him in. Tom slid the chair over to her bed once more. “I promise I’ll be quick this time,” he said, waiting in the chair, unfolding the bandages.

  Molly exposed her shoulder and arm to him, turning away so she couldn’t see the ugly wound.

  “It may be tight, but you won’t have to be concerned about bleeding. The medicine is working very well,” he continued, unraveling a bandage and looping it over her shoulder, tying it and then securing the first bandage with a second that overlapped it. He repeated the process with three lighter bandages, tying off the last and gathering up the spares.

  Covering herself, Molly turned back to him again. “You’re much better at this than I am.”

  “Well one does become accustomed. I gave up the effort to care for my own injuries. The medicines take away the pain of the rapid healing, but I simply stopped after a year or two. The scars hurt a little, but only until the next visible moon. It isn’t so bad. Tending to all of them became tedious. There’s no point when they’ll just go away by themselves.”

  Molly reached out to touch his face tenderly. “You’ll find Harlan and make things right again. I know it. I have a feeling there may be a peaceful solution to all of this.”

  Tom closed his eyes, toying with the bandages in his hands. No, there won’t, he thought.

  Molly wrapped her arms around him, embracing him tightly. “Whatever happens, I’ll be here.” Despite Tom’s best efforts, he couldn’t say anything in response. The darkness inside released him as she squeezed, and solace was all he could think about.