by Kresley Cole
“But the girl,” Myst whispered, awash in confusion, tears streaming anew, “is simply gone.” The last word was a sob.
“Yes, dearling,” Nïx said. “Never to return.”
Myst wept. “But . . . but it hurts when they die.”
Nïx pressed her lips to Myst’s forehead, murmuring, “And they always do. . . .”
Myst’s sorrow pained Nikolai more than any physical wound he’d ever suffered, even his deathblow. She’d run from those men to test them; the ones who chased a “defenseless” maiden were the ones who would die.
He wanted to stay with that memory, but another familiar dream began. The meeting around the hearth. “. . . guide her to be all that was good and honorable about the Valkyries . . .” Snow outside, packed so high it covered half of the window.
As her sister spoke, Myst closed her eyes at a memory, the one Nikolai had struggled to see. Vowing again that she would be worthy, Myst remembered standing in the middle of a battlefield where one hundred thousand corpses lay hacked to pieces.
Barely fifteen, she’d been sent young as a chooser of the slain—because her mother had been a brave Pict who’d plunged a dagger into her own heart. Myst was supposed to be like that.
But she wasn’t. Not yet. She was sick with terror. Nikolai wanted to be there to protect her, comfort her.
“They were all brave.” She frantically turned in circles as electricity rolled from her in waves. A river of blood sloshed around her ankles. Sounding lost, she whispered, “How am I to choose? A beggar handing out coins . . .” She began trembling uncontrollably, and it shamed her.
Never be unworthy again. And she hadn’t been, for two millennia.
Until she’d met a male from an enemy army . . .
A new memory arose. Could Nikolai withstand another?
Myst ran to him when he returned to Blachmount from an errand. As he squeezed her against his chest and kissed her, she thought, I just ran to get in his arms. I just . . . Whoa. Whoa. Uhn-uh.
Nikolai remembered she’d clambered down from him, looking flushed and panicky.
Now he knew why. Myst, along with all her sisters, believed she would recognize her true partner when he opened his arms and she realized she’d forever run to him—
Nikolai woke to his own yell. Everything he’d thought about her was wrong. His chest hurt with the loss and anguish she’d experienced. He reached for her. “You’re free, Myst. . . .”
The bed was empty. Dread settled over him.
He shot to his feet, scanning the room. On a table, he saw the cross, with a bloody note beneath it. He read:
A heart for a heart
Even though falling for a vampire would make her unworthy in the eyes of her sisters and the Lore, she’d been losing her heart—to him.
Panic stabbed at his body like a blade. He half-staggered, half-traced into the study.
The safe was gone.
To his horror, blood coated the stone that had housed it. She’d dug through it to get to her chain, to her freedom.
Nikolai fell to his knees, head bowed as a guttural sound of pain erupted from his chest. At the first opportunity, he’d offered her torture. Once he’d found her again, he’d stolen her freedom.
And then . . .
A heart for a heart. She’d made his beat. Had he broken hers?
He’d lost her. And he deserved to.
17
Five days after Myst’s escape to Val Hall, the coven met around the vampire’s safe. The metal might be mojo-protected, but Regin wielded the Sword of Wóden, which cut through anything.
Well, anything but the chain, as Myst and Regin had discovered—after one scary experiment nearly made Myst a good deal shorter.
The sisters were still debating who would accept the responsibility of the chain. As long as Wroth lived, Myst wasn’t allowed to wear it. Since no one wanted the thing, killing that vampire seemed a bingo solution to them.
Regin raised the sword above her. Even the wraiths flying outside slowed to catch a window. The Valkyries had recently hired those ghostly creatures to guard Val Hall against intruders—after a demon turned vampire had attacked.
With a dramatic breath, Regin swung the sword down and sliced through the safe. Sparks flew and smoke billowed.
When all was clear, Myst wearily reached forward to collect the chain. Beside it was a small wooden box, about the size of one of those velvet jewelry boxes.
Her sisters must have concluded the same; they dove for it as if it were a wedding bouquet. “Shiny, in the box, shiny,” one of the youngest whimpered.
Myst snagged it first. Even if she hadn’t, she would’ve clotheslined anyone who made a run with it.
“Open it, then,” Regin cried, out of breath.
Myst did.
Light blazed from it.
“Great Freya,” someone breathed. “Diamond. Big. Glittery.”
Another said, “That’s not a rock; that’s real estate. When did vampires start ponying up rocks? No, really.”
Myst closed her fingers over what had to be a ten-carat diamond, so she could look at the actual ring. Her name had been engraved on the inside of the band.
Suddenly exhausted, she rose, dragging her feet up the stairs. The others booed her for taking away “my precious.” The chain was heavy and cold in Myst’s other hand.
Nïx followed her up to her room.
“You didn’t look surprised about this,” Myst said, holding up the ring.
Nïx’s pupils enlarged. “Surprise!”
Myst stowed it and the chain in her jewelry armoire. “You knew what was in the safe?”
“I’m not called the Ever-Knowing for nothing.” Nïx dug two bottles of fingernail polish and some cotton from her pocket. She hopped on the bed and set them up to paint each other’s toenails.
Myst had missed this little ritual, but she had no interest right now. She crossed to the window and asked, “Why didn’t you come for me? You knew how to find me.”
“You were fated to spend that time with Wroth.”
Wroth. Who had deemed her so lacking he’d decided to adjust her.
What had he seen that disgusted him so much? For the last five days, she’d racked her brain, but found nothing she’d be truly ashamed of—certainly nothing that would make a vampire lose his freaking mind. “He’s probably out there.” Myst stared out at the fog-shrouded yard. “Watching this house, waiting for a chance to take me again. But if I stay behind the wraiths, then I’m just as trapped here as I was there.”
“Without the weakness of the chain, couldn’t you fight him?” Nïx asked. “I’d bet kicking some vampire ass might be good for you.”
Regin popped her head in. “Cara and I are going out to mix it up with some ghouls. You in?”
Myst turned to Nïx. “Any reason I shouldn’t?”
Her sister bit her lip, staring at the ceiling as if recalling a memory—when she was doing just the opposite. “Hmmm. Kicking vampire ass or ghoul ass? I think either would be just the thing.”
Myst nodded slowly. “Yeah. I could use a little goo.”
Regin’s glowing skin brightened, and she bounded across the landing to scream downstairs, “Myst is back online!”
Ready to fight, needing it, she dressed while Nïx did a buff job on Myst’s neglected sword.
Myst had no doubt Wroth was out there watching her. How long would he follow his “heartless” Bride?
But she knew the answer, had felt the wild emotion roiling within him.
He’d follow forever.
Nikolai crept among the shadows of the sprawling cemetery as Myst split up from Regin and Cara.
This was the first time he’d seen her in days.
Sword sheath at her back, she vaulted to the top of a mausoleum. He was spellbound as she stalked her prey, perched on the edge of the roof, her claws curled into the clay tile. Her eyes swirled silver as she surveyed a large gathering of ghouls below her.
The unsuspecting cre
atures snapped fangs at each other or lazed in the dampness of the night.
She’d taught him about that species, warning him how dangerous they were. Ghoul bites and scratches were contagious—even to some immortals.
Clearly eager for the kill, she must be waiting for her sisters to return so they could attack as one.
He didn’t want to spoil her hunt, but he burned to speak to her now that she’d finally left her home.
After she’d escaped from Blachmount, he’d traced to Val Hall, finding it even eerier than before. Ghostly, howling creatures clad in ragged red cloth circled the manor like a tornado.
He’d shrugged and traced to her room—but the things had intercepted and thrown him. When he’d eventually landed, his lesson had been learned.
Those sentinels would protect Myst from threats like Ivo, but they kept Nikolai from her as well.
No longer. Dawn was coming soon, and he needed to—
She drew her sword from its sheath and dropped into the middle of the ghouls. There were at least fifty of them!
He traced to her side. “What the fuck are you doing?” he bellowed, freeing his own sword.
“This isn’t happening,” she muttered to herself.
“In the middle of them, Myst?”
“I’m enraged enough to do this. You have no idea”—she struck out, slicing a ghoul from crotch to neck—“how much I need this.”
“I do have an idea.” A perfect one. He’d felt her rage and her need to fight; yet he’d arrogantly informed her she never would again.
“You’d better leave. Once I finish with them, I won’t stop there.”
“I deserve your anger. I’ve wronged you and seek to make amends.” He wasn’t optimistic about his chances. She couldn’t be all things to him, and then forgiving on top of that.
“You think?”
One ghoul’s claw whistled close to his neck; he leapt back just in in time.
She snapped, “Don’t let them scratch you!”
“Concerned for me, wife?” He didn’t dare hope.
“Of course I don’t want you to get scratched. Leeches are easier to kill.”
“If I help you, will you speak with me?”
“Don’t need your assistance.” She was merrily felling them, one after another, with a skill that awed him. Her sword flew so fast, it was barely visible.
“Then you’ll have to listen here,” he grated, digging into the fight with her. “I’d had five years of torment. I’d had a hell of wanting you and feared you would leave me at the first opportunity. Then I experienced dreams of your memories.”
These ghouls irritated him, especially when they got between him and Myst while he tried to convince her about something so critical. He increased his pace, killing them more quickly. “In each one you were evil . . . a seductress.”
“Still am, Wroth.” She kicked a ghoul in the belly, freeing her sword from the thing’s chest.
“No, you’re not—”
“Duck!” Her blade sliced over his head to decapitate a ghoul behind him. “As I recall, I asked you about your dreams every sunset, but you brushed away my concerns.”
He slew two with one swing of his sword. “I should have talked to you, because those excruciating scenes of you . . . doing things were all out of context.” When the largest ghoul howled and attacked, Nikolai stabbed the creature in the face, dropping it.
She raised her eyebrows as if impressed, then scowled, remembering herself.
“Myst, even then I was still falling for you.”
That at least got her to pause. She blew a curl out of her eyes.
A ghoul behind her! Without turning, she thrust her sword backward, skewering its neck.
Now he raised his eyebrows. Focus, Nikolai. “I was angry when I saw your plan to trick me,” he continued, “but I understand you rightly wanted your freedom back. I know what and who you are now. I saw all the memories clearly at last. Not out of context.” Goddamn it, more ghouls? “Can we not just speak about this? Away from here? Dawn nears, and all I ask is a chance to—”
“I gave you a chance. Freely. And you threw it away. You were about to brainwash me.”
“I never would’ve gone through with that, couldn’t have lived with myself.” With one hand, he carved up a ghoul. “I was wrong in many ways. I took your freedom when you needed it, and I hurt you just when you’d given yourself to me.” Never had he regretted his actions so much.
He could have won her. A heart for a heart. “I wanted you so badly I resorted to any tactic and treated you ill when you didn’t deserve it.” He looked around. He’d been so intent on her, he’d scarcely noticed they’d cut such a swath the other ghouls had run. “If you give me a chance, I will make it up to you.”
She cast him a killing look. “Just let me go gift-wrap my chain for you.”
18
Wroth’s eyes flickered black, and his voice went low. “I’d destroy the goddamned thing if I saw it.”
His reaction surprised her. “You’ll certainly never get within arm’s reach of it.”
“Myst, I felt your feelings for me, felt you struggling against them. I know you care for me.” Long moments passed as they stared into each other’s eyes.
She was weak. When she’d first seen him here, she’d felt a flare of excitement. Weak. She shook her head. “I can’t. It’s just too late. I have a lot to lose from this. I won’t hurt my family by accepting you.”
“Kristoff seeks peace with the Valkyries. There would be no conflict. He wishes to fight the Horde together. And I would make an effort with your sisters. I know now how important they are to you. Believe me, I know.”
She tapped her chin. “So you can see why the idea of being forced to forget them made me cranky? Huh? And what if you saw more out of context? This would just happen again and again.”
“I would not drink from you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, just like I’m going to finally beat my video game addiction.”
“I would vow to tell you everything I saw, everything I was thinking, as if you could read my mind as well.” With his brows drawn, he stepped closer. “We are wed. We should know each other’s secrets. Myst, we are kindred.”
She’d felt that way too. Kindred.
Wait. What the hell was she thinking? He’d been about to mind-erase her. Making her voice firm, she said, “Wroth, I could never trust you—”
Her words were cut off by a massive arm, squeezing the breath from her throat. Not a ghoul. A demon?
Wroth raised his sword, a savage look in his eyes; the arm tightened, and he froze.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Ivo said as he sauntered to the front of his gang. “He’s a hybrid. He’ll snap her head right from her neck.”
She struggled to breathe. The male must be a turned demon. She’d thought that was an actual myth until one had attacked Val Hall, hence the wraiths. The Horde had upped their game. She’d known Ivo was planning something. . . .
His red gaze flickered over her. “Now, Myst, I thought I told you to wait in my dungeon.” To the demon, Ivo said, “She’s not the one.”
Then he narrowed his eyes at Wroth. “So you’re the former human who took my castle from me. You used guns? I’ll kill you just for bastardizing our war.” He glanced from Wroth to Myst, then back again. Anyone could see Wroth’s body seeming to vibrate, his muscles knotted with tension. “I believe I have something the Forbearer wants very badly. His Bride. I’ll take his life in exchange.”
Wroth could trace away in a heartbeat—but he didn’t move.
“If you walk into the sun,” Ivo told him, “I’ll vow to the Lore I’ll free her. I’ll hunt her again, but for this dawn she will live. If you trace instead, I’ll dine on her perfect flesh every night for eternity.”
“Fight me, coward,” Wroth grated, his eyes black with rage.
“Fight you for the cards I already hold?” Ivo sounded confused.
Wroth was so strong, a
nd yet he could do nothing. Frustration radiated from him.
“You know we’ve got the power here,” Ivo said. “And you know a vow to the Lore will compel me to release her.”
Wroth’s eyes were assessing, his sharp mind studying the situation. She knew the exact moment he’d decided. A calm seemed to wash over him.
Ivo demanded, “Her life or yours, Forbearer.”
One tight nod. “Done.” No hesitation. “It is done.”
Ivo and his gang traced her into the shade to ready for the dawn. Birdsong had begun.
“Catch and release?” Myst sneered. “Are you kidding me?” To Wroth, she said, “Are you eager to be ash?”
The sunlight hit the tops of the trees, descending inch by torturing inch. He stood sure and so brave, as if proud to give his life for hers.
The morning breeze blew his black hair from his face. His eyes were riveted to hers.
Rays were inches from him, almost reaching the moss of the great oaks. Now she felt frustration as she’d never known. “Don’t be stupid!”
In a low, steady tone, he said, “I love you, Myst.”
Feeling erupted in her chest. Yes, he’d wronged her, and yes, he was a vampire, but . . .
The light hit him. He did not close his eyes to the extreme brightness—and she knew it was because he wanted to see her longer.
Soon the intensity of the sun grew too great; he fell to his knees, his hands curling in agonizing pain.
He was going to die. Gone forever.
Wroth opened his eyes once more. Glowing, bare. A last look.
He’s going to die.
They always do.
Just . . . gone.
“No.” Saying the word out loud was like blasting a snowcapped mountain to free an avalanche. An immortal like him didn’t have to die. He could stay with her. “No, no, no!”
“Milaya, don’t fight,” he bit out. “It is done.”
The demon holding her smelled of rotting flesh. The cowardly gang of vampires smirked at Wroth’s death when he was so much greater than they.
She’d waited millennia to love—she’d waited for him—and they dared take him from her. From Myst the Coveted.