Mistwalker

by Fraser, Naomi

  Simone gasped and stilled.

  “He’ll be along any second. Don’t fret, darling,” Carlo said. “How did you live—with that after your mother—after you thought her dead?”

  The double doors swung open then, and Dravego swept into the room, dressed in a black suit and tie, everything about him refined perfection. A cultivated gentleman. His sculpted face, his smile, white and wide—all that life force from his victims, no doubt. His straight brown hair glistened in the amber light.

  “Simone Woods.” His voice was cultured, disarming. “I see you came right on time.”

  She tensed and looked at her guns on the floor, then back up at him.

  He gestured to her mother. “Meet Beth Woods, your long lost mother.” A sardonic smile curved his lips, but never moved from there. His gaze burned through her skin, and her entire face heated.

  Dravego laughed with undeniable amusement. “I can see your anger, child. How fortunate that you followed the trail. Saves me so much effort that I would rather spend doing anything else.” He glided to the chair behind the desk near the back wall and reclined with ease. “I presume you came earlier to trade. I like to do something to vampires who fight me. I suck their minds from their body, their personalities, and then I leave them in the pits.” Dravego tapped his fingers on the desk. “I can see the thoughts on your face, little one. Give me your blood, then your mother will be released.”

  Simone glared at the vampires who’d destroyed her life from the age of nine. “No trade. I’ve come to take back what is mine.”

  He laughed, tilting his head, and the light from the chandelier reflected in his black eyes. “How I adore a woman who knows what she wants. I’d enjoying draining someone like you.”

  “Two dead, powerful vampires seems a fair trade for my mother’s death. I imagine she would like me to kill you all,” Simone continued, undaunted.

  “It bothers me not if your mother dies,” Dravego chided. “You are the one who will have to live with that decision.”

  “I’ve lived with it for twenty years. You will not get the mist from me,” Simone said, gritting her teeth.

  “Then we are at an impasse.” Dravego laughed again with a hint of admiration. “I must say, I find you utterly delightful. Much more so than your mother who agreed immediately to conserve her energy.”

  All the actions of Simone’s life seemed to come to this one point.

  The years of training, trying to forget, coming to terms with being an orphan and living without her mother. The years of building herself up. She lifted her shoulders and raised her chin. Had it been to foster something within herself—a truth she could be proud of?

  “I won’t do it.”

  Carlo nudged her mother until the point of the arrow disappeared through her ragged shirt. The blood oozed down the shirt. “Then your mother is dust.”

  Simone had no right to wield something as powerful as the mist. The consequences weighed up to something monstrous, giving Dravego the gift, but that thread of belief in herself, her new friends and in her new life would not be extinguished. She grasped it with both hands.

  “Look at her,” Dravego said.

  Her mother’s red hair had been chopped into a messy bob cut, dirt smudged her cheeks, and her body appeared so frail she looked skin and bone, a wasteland of despair even under compulsion, as though she fought something she could never master.

  “Decide,” Dravego whispered, his dark gaze burning. Something shifted beneath his youthful face as though two thousand people resided beneath the same skin. “You want her. I want the mist.”

  The tip sunk into her mother’s flesh, and Simone knew beyond the shadow of a doubt she would not be able to fade her mother quickly enough. Tears pricked Simone’s eyes. “No. You’ve made a mistake blackmailing me.”

  Dravego growled, planted his hands on the desk and rose. “It is you who have made the mistake in thinking you had a choice.”

  The blow came with the force of a runaway train, and she stumbled, falling backwards onto the carpet. Intrusive and destructive thought tried to enter her mind and take, control, dominate. A throbbing burn exploded in her temples, and her face slackened, her gaze zoned in on Dravego’s arrogant and smiling expression.

  “That’s better. Now pour your blood into this glass.” Dravego lifted a scalpel and slid a gold chalice upon the desk toward her.

  She stood, trod clumsily forward and grasped the scalpel from his hand, slicing into the skin on her palm. She squeezed her hand into a fist, blood dripping into the glass.

  Dravego clutched the chalice with undisguised triumph. He held it up to the light, allowing the colours to refract in the room and crowed, “It is done. I have done it!” He tilted the glass to his lips and drank. His eyes closed, and a rapturous expression morphed his features. “I can feel it coursing through my veins. The power,” he whispered. “I feel it.” He cocked his head at Simone in satisfied arrogance. “It would be remiss of me to let you go without thanks.” He reached under the desk and laid another crossbow on the desk. “Carlo will release your mother, and you will destroy her, then yourself. I cannot have any of my enemies controlling the mist.”

  Simone grabbed the crossbow and trudged toward her mother.

  “Carlo, I must see to the others. Ensure our captive follows her orders.” Dravego floated toward the door, the dark trail of his aura swirling around him. Not one hair from his perfect head was out of place from their meeting. “When you are finished, come and see me down at the assassins’ camp.” The doors slammed shut on the sound of his laughter.

  Simone lifted the crossbow against her shoulder and aimed the arrow at her mother’s heart.

  Carlo smiled, immediately dropped everything and rushed toward the glass. With a carefree sigh, he murmured, “Lorena,” and then swiped his greedy fingers around the inside of the chalice, trying to clean up the last drops. He glanced at her, laughed and then tried to drink whatever drops were left behind.

  She stood there, concentrating with supreme focus on her mother’s heart. Then she turned to face him.

  She released the arrow and it flew straight to punch into his heart. He sprawled back against the desk, exploding into dust.

  She nocked another arrow. The burn of the mist flooded her system now, and it felt as though a fire raged within her soul. She thought of the room Juliun and Radu helped prepare for her mother back at Ravenkeep.

  They were both gone in a swift rush of black wind, and Simone lifted her mother’s cold body onto the bed, ensuring the metal shutters were closed. The rope lying on the sides of the bed were bewitched and immediately wrapped around her mother’s waist and arms. Simone covered her with a thick blanket and hoped Dravego’s compulsion would not make her try to escape before Radu could break it. She threw the glass with her blood into the fireplace, and the chalice shattered, flames consuming any remnants of her blood. Finally, she licked the cut in her hand to quickly heal the injury.

  She appeared where Dravego restrained her mother, hesitating outside the room in the dark hallway, allowing herself be guided by instinct. Voices drew her to a staircase, and incredibly, she recognised Juliun’s voice. She leaned her head against the wall. He’d made it on time then.

  Simone snuck her head around the stairwell. Dravego’s assassins patrolled the area. Some rested beside the banister of a large staircase, while others lined the walls and rails above her. All had crossbows. Her gaze moved to Dravego standing in front of Juliun.

  Dravego laughed. “You really believe that, don’t you? Sorry to say, prince, but your reign is completely over.” He faded and reappeared behind Juliun.

  Simone held her breath. It was one thing to know she would do it, but another to see the evidence.

  Dravego cocked his head at Juliun’s back. “What? You didn’t think she’d trade? She didn’t want to, but I convinced her. A vampire with such a feeble mind has no right controlling the mist. Your father put up much more of a fight.”

  Sim
one looked around the foyer and reappeared on an exposed arch at the ceiling, resting the crossbow in her hands. She steadied her breaths. Having the mist made a vampire complacent.

  One, two, three. Breathe deep. Calm down. She closed down her mind, only appearing solid enough to use the crossbow.

  Dravego wouldn’t have thought to blur the edges of his body, yet. Juliun didn’t distort his, trying not to show Dravego how to do it.

  Carefully, as if she had all the time in the world, she trained her focus on Dravego. Zeroed in on his heart. She closed out all other sound and thought. Her muscles loosened, and she breathed. The target swelled in size in her sight until it obliterated all else. She kept breathing, in and out. Everything rested upon this moment.

  Easy. Focus. No hurry.

  Now. She squeezed the trigger, and the arrow shot straight through the air, spearing Dravego through the heart.

  He whirled about; rage flashing across his face, a flash of mind control flaring from him. “What—” Then a wave of dust filled the air and drifted across Juliun’s boots.

  Simone stood on shaky legs, that last blast had hurt her head a little, but she mind-linked with Juliun and blurred her entire body. *I have her.*

  He smiled and then his massive body jerked forward, and blood spewed out of his mouth.

  She frowned, making him disappear to appear in front of her on the beams. She turned a layer of air to mist around them so anything trying to get through would dissolve. He fell against her, coughed, and she caught him. Warmth seeped through her fingers and dribbled down the back of his shirt.

  “What is...?” She solidified her hands and smoothed them down his back, silent dread clenching around her heart as she grasped his arms, pulling him into her body to steady him. She touched on the arrow sticking out of his back.

  “You’ve been shot!” she gasped. “You know how to use the mist.” Absolute chaos broke out beneath them. Elves, wolves and vampires burst inside the farmhouse and rallied in full combat with Dravego’s assassins.

  “Couldn’t use it to show him how to save himself, remember.”

  “Let me get it out,” she muttered.

  “No, leave it. It’s poisoned and oxygen accelerates the process. But you did it. You killed him,” Juliun said, and his expression turned into a tight grimace of pain. “I knew you would, Simone. Grandfather was right, you are fated to be here with us. Believe that.”

  “Oh, Juliun. I knew what I was getting into,” she whispered, staring up into his eyes. “I was prepared.”

  The arrow punctured the wrong side of his chest, but the notion of poison made her think of Lars’ death. Even now Juliun’s body protected hers.

  His knees buckled, and his eyelashes drifted shut. He let out a long sigh, and a terrible white stain started to bleach his skin grey. She held him up by sliding her arms beneath his. He couldn’t die. Not now.

  She heaved in a breath, and her heart slipped, falling. “Juliun? You can’t die on me. Please. You hear me? You can’t. Open your eyes.” She reached around his neck and pressed her shaking lips to his. “Don’t leave me. Stay here.”

  He lifted a trembling hand and pushed hers away. “You can’t.” His harsh breaths turned into a single groan. “The poison will infect you, too.”

  She drew back, tasting the salty wetness of her tears.

  He nestled his nose against hers, his soft, warm breath playing against her lips. “I have been trying to tell you…” He groaned again and lifted his head, his eyes swelling with an emotion so fierce she froze. “This all means nothing without you.”

  She stared at his intimidating face that had once filled her with outright fear. The hard planes and his piercing eyes. That intense, desperate expression of her beloved. Somehow she had known. Deep down inside. But she hadn’t wanted to take the idea out and really look at it.

  He collapsed, and she cuddled him close, his face warm on the skin of her neck.

  “You’re not going to die on me,” she said, but the immense roar of splintering wood and breaking glass drowned out her words.

  Radu and Witch cut a direct swathe through a group of assassins with crossbows and guns.

  The walls and floor around Radu turned into mist. He trailed it like a lightning bolt inside a storm cloud, hungry to devour everything in sight. He floated three feet above the ground in a haze, flying higher and higher, his arms raised.

  “Go,” Witch shouted up at them. “This will all disappear.”

  Simone immediately faded with Juliun in her arms.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Numbness leached into Simone’s veins, and Witch’s voice was like the buzzing of a fly Simone couldn’t find. Events suspended in the clinic. Simone watched as a voyeur watches everything swish around with her staying the same.

  Lissanne’s gut-wrenching wails garbled and gurgled from her frantic body as she hunched over Juliun. Radu’s gaze flicked between Witch’s face and her own. Alec’s soft, controlled voice; an arrow with no target.

  Air-conditioning brushing Simone’s hair so it tickled her cheek.

  It had seemed so funny to her in the beginning that his name did not suit his appearance. Juliun was a gentle name, a name producing an image of a kind-eyed man with a comforting voice and no hint of darkness. Now she knew his name suited him. In every way, past his physical appearance, he was a Juliun.

  Tears tracked down her cheeks, pooling at her chin. Her eyelashes stuck together, and she couldn’t stop shaking. She was about to lose him after all, but she would try her hardest to stop that from happening.

  Light filtered in from the bright overhead lights. Witch and Radu reappeared from somewhere.

  She could feel the warm rays of daylight. Mortals wouldn’t have noticed the shift of colour in the air or smelled the brightness of dawn. Her skin tightened over her bones with the sun’s faraway heat, and she heard the awakening of the world.

  Dust motes rose and danced above his inert body. They swirled and sprinkled while she stared, mesmerised by their flight. The soft blanket over his legs rubbed beneath her palms, and she crossed her fingers over each hand, gently resting her forehead against his arm.

  Lissanne leaned closer, her body trembling. “No.”

  Alec lifted Juliun’s mother to her feet and whispered in her ear. They moved away, and then Witch appeared yet again with Radu by her side.

  “Are you certain that Carlo is dead?” Radu asked Simone.

  She nodded. “Yes, I killed him myself.”

  “I have discovered that his bride, Lorena has also been killed.”

  “I have all my memories back.”

  “Good. We need your help,” Radu said to Simone, his gaze direct and intense. A burning flame lit the luminous orbs, capturing and holding her.

  She rose to her feet as a statue might unfold. “I’ll do whatever you ask.”

  Witch set herbs, bottles and bowls on a wide shelf and turned to her. “For the same reason he could not let you die, he refuses to rest in another place without you.”

  Simone released a pent up breath and stared down at Juliun’s beloved face, his capable hands, his long fingers, and flat, broad nails. She slid her hand under his and squeezed. The touch of his hand, so cold and lifeless, did not detract from the feeling they were joined.

  “We might not get direct access to his spirit, but I think he will hear you. You will be his anchor in this world,” Witch said.

  Simone struggled to pull herself out of her mired thoughts. She needed to hold him here. The clink of bowls and the swishing of Witch’s skirt were small shots to Simone’s numbed brain. Radu and Witch talked softly, a hushed murmur in the stillness of the room.

  Radu floated across and held his hands to the spot over Juliun’s heart, and Witch laid her fingertips upon his head.

  Simone caressed Juliun’s palm. “You can do it, Juliun.”

  Witch held out one hand toward Simone, and she pulled her hand from Juliun’s and grasped Witch’s without hesitation. She clos
ed her eyes.

  Shadows danced around her, outlines rather than solid shapes. Swirling circles corkscrewed, first dark, then milky white. Noise erupted in a discordant chatter. A thousand voices battling for supremacy. The longer Simone listened, she realised they weren’t voices at all, but thoughts, swifter than light, winging to and fro. Desperate voices, soft voices, raging voices. All out of sync with another as though distinct personalities were behind each.

  “Juliun.”

  Simone heard the word, but not with her ears. The power from that thought-voice bloomed, and she gasped.

  “I have someone here you want to see. Your bride.”

  Ah, Witch. Bride? Simone tightened her grip on the healer’s hand.

  “It’s very pleasant there, isn’t it? Yet, you face the same problems. What is life without her even in the supreme act of death? You have held on for so long.”

  Witch’s voice was loud and clear as if she spoke right into Simone’s ear, but she knew that wasn’t the case. Witch communicated with thought.

  “She is here to talk to you. Chain yourself to Simone. Even if you go, each second is one more moment you are together. Do you not hear her thoughts? Feel her presence?”

  Then, a silhouette moved, distinguishing itself from the other shadows behind Simone’s closed eyes.

  “That’s right. There she is,” Witch encouraged. “Come forward.”

  A darkened hand reached out, and fingertips caressed Simone’s face. She sucked in a shaky breath and trembled. *Juliun.*

  “Simone.” A whisper of a sigh filled the air.

  “The bond is greater than I anticipated. Hold on to her, Juliun. How long have you searched for it all to end now?” Witch asked.

  Simone was promptly plunged into this other world. The silhouette spun her around and around, and the moon blurred the night air with its pale light; the soft, warm grass padding the ground beneath her back.

  Dreamscape.

  Wildflower heads touched in the breeze. Stars dusted the black sky, and then all sight shut down as the weight of his body settled over hers.