Love Is Mortal

by Caroline Hanson

  “Tell me why you took her memory away from me.” She wanted to know. She would get out of here, and she didn’t want to look back and think about him for any reason.

  “Let us hope that you will leave if I tell you. You had nothing left of her. Only pain. Only fear. The memories were destroying you.”

  “You want me to believe you helped me? Isn't that convenient.”

  He shook his head, mouth in a hard frown. She wanted him to tell her, and she had only one threat that might work. “I will make you drink my blood again, unless you tell me the truth.”

  He shot her a look she couldn’t decipher. “You were afraid and miserable. You did not sleep. Your father was going to send you away. It was easier to hide you away and pursue his grief, than deal with a daughter who was teetering on the edge of mental collapse. I did nothing except allow you to be…who you are. It was there but buried underneath the fear. I moved that aside.”

  Was it true? Had he helped her, taken it away because she was a wreck and her father was going to get rid of her? Tears coursed down her cheeks, and she didn’t know what to do.

  “Valerie. You are an empath and emotional. You must be rational to leave here. I saved you for myself. The last of your kind. What good would you have done me if you were insane and locked away?”

  She nodded. That was a reasonable explanation, wasn’t it? Why he helped her? Not because he cared for her, but because she was a commodity.

  For the briefest moment, she wished she’d never found out about his trickery, that he would have taken her from here, escaped the Land of Fey, and she could have loved him blindly. He would take her to bed, keep her safe, be kind to her…and she would have loved him. He would have protected her. Kept her and cared for her. Wouldn’t he?

  He shook his head back and forth looking at the ground. “Take my blood and go, Valerie. There is nothing for you here.”

  “You don’t dismiss me anymore. I’m looking for reasons to forgive you. Why? Why do I…still want you even when I know what you are?”

  “The futility of your interest in me is truly ridiculous,” he said angrily. “But if you are so desperate then come, undo my clothing, and we will be together one more time. You do not need to romanticize your desire for me. Do not try to turn it into something pretty. You crave me. You want to be with me. Let us see how bold you really are. Take what you want. It is nothing more than lust. An itch. Do us both a favor and scratch it.” He smiled at her malevolently. “After all, this could be my last chance before I die.”

  She wanted to slap him. Deny what he was saying. Lust? “I think it’s more than lust. I think you—” Rage rose within her sharply. It blinded her and overwhelmed her thoughts. Rage she had never felt before. It was a storm surrounding her, and she wanted to hurt him back for all the terrible things he had done to her and all of his victims.

  She was suddenly before him, her blade at his neck, her body an inch from his. She pricked his throat, and he did nothing to stop her. Held still while she cut him, and his blood trickled down the pale column of his throat. He turned his head to the side, granting her access. She leaned forward, ready to drink him down.

  He deserved it. After everything he had done, she was doing nothing he hadn’t earned. The pleasure of her fury arced through her, made her hesitate because it was so…strange, but familiar at the same time. And then she remembered the ring, the I-want-to-fuck-you-and-kill-you ring, as she thought of it. He had put it on her the night of the vampire ball, and it had been made with Fey magic. It provoked the wearer to act. Just like she felt the need to drink him down right now.

  She was acting, but the motives and drive were not hers. She watched the spill of dark blood slide down his flesh. I cut too deep; I hurt him. Hunger slammed into her again, blocking out any concern for his precious neck. She hungered…like a vampire.

  This isn’t me.

  “No!” she cried out and stumbled backward, falling hard on her ass. The feelings clung to her like cobwebs, something sticky and elusive. “You did that to me. You pushed those emotions at me. Why?” she asked.

  His voice was harsh and gravelly, his breathing as fast as hers. “You truly are a full empath now. Good for Cerdewellyn. Do you understand that I can manipulate you? Just as you can manipulate me. We shared blood. Consider yourself warned. Now hurry, Cerdewellyn might return, and your angst is exhausting.” He sighed. “You are like a puppy gnawing at my shoes. You make demands with no reason, no strength to back you up. Come. Take your blood and go. What happened in that corridor was an aberration. If you try to control me, try to break into my mind again, I will fight back. I have more experience than you ever will, little girl. More experience in everything. I could own you if I choose to. I could have you on your knees servicing me like a whore,” he said in a low tone, his gaze raking over her indecently. “Take my blood and leave my memories alone. Do you understand?”

  “I don’t want your memories.”

  He made a noise that was part growl and part exasperation. “You lie to me and to yourself. You ripped through my mind and left a mess in your wake, pulling out what you wanted to know, shoving your fears inside of me as you left me on that floor—uncaring whether I lived or died.

  “You deserved it.”

  He smiled, shook his head. “No, Valerie. We never get what we deserve. We get what we bargain for. And I am bargaining with you now: I will give you my blood freely, but you need to stay out of my mind..”

  Val was shaking. She stepped forward and touched his chest, felt his flesh under her hand. His jaw was hard, and she could see the muscles of his jaw locked tight. Every muscle tense as she invaded his personal space, a scant few inches separating their bodies. Of course, it reminded her of kissing him, being with him.

  She nicked his neck with the knife and leaned forward, really wanting to get it over with, feeling her stomach heave in revolt at the idea of slurping up his blood, putting a damper on the instant lust that always arose when she was near him. Her mouth filled with saliva, and not in a good way.

  She made a sound of distress and began to pull back. And then she felt little tendrils of hunger snaking around her, coiling tighter: blood lust. He was feeling it, letting it rise to the surface, and her bond with him was bringing it forward, giving it to her, making her own grow.

  Suddenly, the blood was not revolting. Was nothing beyond a connection to him, and Val realized she didn’t have to hate him for the next few moments. She could lean her weight on him, kiss him, and it was for her survival. Oh yeah, I'm totally pathetic. She kissed his chest and then again, near his shoulder. The blood a few inches away.

  Dimly, she heard him say ‘no.’ He did not want her affection, or for her to get caught up in him physically. She kissed again and pressed closer. Inhaled deeply. The smell of him, his blood and strength, was like an aphrodisiac. He was evil. But for this moment, he was hers.

  Valerie licked his smooth flesh, closed her mouth over the wound on his neck.

  There. It was like a lock. A connection. Like two huge pieces of metal fitting together. A car crash at a hundred miles per hour.

  He was not hers. She knew that, but it fell away. For this moment, when her body was flush to his, when she could feel his erection against her stomach and hear him sighing her name, he was hers. She wanted to weep for the loss of him.

  And I will never get over him.

  That was the brutal, inescapable truth. He was like a crippling disease. Even if she left here and lived a normal life, she would dream of him, remember him, and want him. Wonder what he was doing tucked away in Cerdewellyn’s dungeon waiting to die.

  When she was old and he was still here, perfect and alone, would she sense him? Dream about him? If he died, would she feel it? She might be dust, and he would still be down here, perfect and golden, waiting for Cerdewellyn to put an end to him. The thought of it broke her heart.

  Chapter 8

  STRENGTH RETURNED to her, infusing her limbs with energy, making her
feel more alive and awake. As if she had just downed a triple espresso and a candy bar. She wished happiness had come with it. She stepped back from him and couldn't face looking, didn't want to see what expression he might have. Be it condescension or boredom, she didn't want to know.

  She could not get him out of here, had to focus on herself. A pang went through her, but Jack and Rachel were gone. Sure, Lucas said Jack couldn't fight her, but she didn't believe it. Part of her thought that if Jack really cared about her, he would have found a way to fight Rachel and stay.

  So that was it then, she thought, as her newly energized body went up the steps. And what kind of goodbye could she say to him anyway? ‘I really wish you weren't evil’ or ‘we had some good times, thanks for the orgasms.’ But walking away from him was hard, it was as if the magnetic force of him was trying to pull her back. Valerie opened the door to the dungeon, lost to her own thoughts as she stepped into the corridor.

  “Following directions is not one of your strong suits I see.”

  Valerie whirled around, startled half to death. “Cerdewellyn,” she gasped. Cerdewellyn wore brown this time. Brown breeches and some sort of riding boot. As if he’d just stepped out of a Regency Romance and had been inspecting his property all morning. There was no denying that Cerdewellyn was attractive, his thick black hair and olive-colored skin. He was tall, graceful and athletic, and he wasn’t as ruthless as Lucas, either.

  And yet he scared her more.

  Perhaps because she was a commodity to him, and nothing more. She sensed a barrier within him. That he wouldn’t let her or any woman in. Would he have been the same way with Virginia?

  Maybe that was one of the problems with these men who lived forever, they’d built up an immunity or resistance to affection. Perhaps because when everyone they knew and loved continued to die, they realized the value of distance, of not losing one’s self completely to love.

  Did one have to be mortal in order to love?

  He gave her a small nod and looked at the closed door. “No matter. You look well. Better than before,” he said, solicitously. As he looked her over, again as if she were a prime piece of equestrian flesh, she tried to get herself together and figure out what she was going to do. She didn't have a lot of time to make plans.

  “Come,” he said and led her to the library. The place where she’d learned all about Lucas and his treachery. He walked to a small table. Poured a drink of what looked like brandy and offered it to her. “Drink?”

  “No. Still no.”

  He raised an eyebrow. An expression that playfully said he had to try to get her to drink even though he knew she would say no. It was almost a joke. Except that it was her life on the line.

  “What’s the deal, Cer? You’re just going to wait me out and then what? I don’t want to be your queen. You have to let me go. You promised you would let me go.” She cleared her throat, trying to orient herself to this moment. Part of her was still in that dungeon with Lucas, and she needed to be here. Cerdewellyn was a threat. He wanted to harm her. This was her chance. She took a deep breath.

  He tossed the drink back, held the liquid in his mouth for a second before swallowing hard. As though it burned all the way down. “Lucas cares for you. Not forever you understand? But for now. Your blood runs through him, and it’s clear he feels for you. Harming you will harm him.”

  He came towards her, and she backed up. She bumped into something and whirled around. A table had come from nowhere, blocking her in. This was her moment. And it was coming upon her a bit faster than she’d expected.

  Cerdewellyn was closing in on her. Valerie drew her knife and stabbed outwards, slicing his arm as he jerked away from her slashing blade. He grunted in pain. “That will hurt you more than me,” he said, and his hand covered hers, wrapping around the handle of the knife so fast that she hadn't seen more than a blur. Damned supernatural freaks with their speed. He squeezed her hand hard, her bones shifting in excruciating pain as he ground them together.

  “I will break your hand if you do not let go,” he warned her.

  She screamed and threw her head forward, trying to head butt him, but he jerked back, and had the gall to chuckle at her. Despite the pain, she held on tight, unwilling to let it go. She needed to break free, stab him, and then go.

  Cerdewellyn yanked her forward and to the right, using his weight and superior strength to force her body to move, slamming her arm into the table. Her hand went numb, fingers opening, the knife falling to the ground, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe, as if the air was liquid and too heavy to drag into her lungs.

  Her chest burned, and the blood vessels in her head, heart, and then her entire body, seemed to throb. Before she could scream or even fall down, the pressure dissipated, flooding out of her, taking all of her borrowed strength from Lucas with it. It was as if a fundamental piece of her soul dissolved.

  It was a strange and unpleasant feeling, having her strength and vitality leave her. It didn’t hurt per se. It just felt like she was becoming exhausted. It was hard to stand upright, to keep her eyes open, muscles she took for granted protested at working. Would she die, she wondered? Would her heart stop pumping too?

  Valerie fell forward, and Cerdewellyn caught her. As he hauled her up in his arms, she saw a vase of flowers behind her change. It had been a container full of sticks, brown and dried out, but now they were blooming.

  “He fed you; he made you strong, and now I am taking it back. Do not fight it, do not try to attack me again, or I will chain you like a dog, and there will be no more pretense of civility. Do you understand? Now go to sleep,” he said, voice dark and hypnotic.

  And so she did.

  Chapter 9

  VALERIE MOANED and shifted on the ground, coming to slowly.

  Her head was killing her, and she covered her face with her hands, her body curling into a fetal position. Without opening her eyes, she knew she was back in the dungeon. It was cold and smelled bad, and just to confirm her guess, Lucas spoke to her.

  “You are weak. What did Cerdewellyn do?” he asked.

  “He sucked me dry like a sorority girl with a Jell-O shot,” she said and opened her eyes, seeing him several feet away. Her eyes met his, and she felt that same electric charge between them. That current of knowledge and desire that she’d only ever felt with him.

  His eyebrows raised. “For a moment, I was uncertain where you were going with that metaphor.”

  She wasn’t sure what the hell he was talking about. Although it could just have something to do with the fact that she’d been drained and tossed aside, and was now in the midst of what felt like the worst hangover ever. What had she said? Oh, she’d been sucked dry. Cause a sorority girl might suck other things. She laughed weakly and felt herself blush. “I wish you weren’t funny.”

  “I am not,” he said to her gravely. “You are in a desperate situation. If you think I am amusing, we truly are one step away from certain death.”

  “Great.” She rubbed her forehead and sat up slowly, whimpering at the pain that flowed through her body.

  “Can you stand?”

  “Just a minute,” she said.

  “Then let me tell you the story of the Sard. At least what I know of it. It is a jewel. One that Cer covets. The legend is, that once upon a time, there was a prince who walked out of the sun. That, I believe, means he came from Fey to Earth. He was very powerful and was revered as a deity and king.”

  “Wait. Where and when is this?”

  “Egypt. Probably, six or seven thousand years ago.”

  “That’s what you have narrowed it down to?” she asked, unaccountably irritated.

  He blinked slowly. “I cannot see why it matters. Cerdewellyn exists. That is fact. The point is that it was a very long time ago. The point is, the Sard, which Cerdewellyn wants back, and why he wants it. Not whether or not his father was Horus or Narmer.”

  He waited for her to argue. She shrugged. He sighed and continued. “The prince who walk
ed out of the sun, was Cerdewellyn’s father. He fell in love but was immortal. His beloved was not.”

  Uh oh. “So she got older, and he stayed young?”

  Lucas gave her an odd look. “It is a frequent problem when mortals and immortals mix,” he said, conversationally. “But no, she became pregnant. And the child was killing her. She was going to die, her womb still distended with child; and the king called all the sorcerers and wise men and women in the land to her bedside. They told him there was nothing to be done. The midwives explained to him about life and death, and whatever they told him, convinced him to try to make her like him. He bled himself, feeding her his blood again and again. For whatever reason, it did not work, and she died. Perhaps he waited too long. And then her body disappeared.”

  “So he loved her but couldn’t save her. That’s kind of sad. How do you know she didn’t get up and wander away?”

  “If you stop interrupting, I will tell you,” he said waspishly.

  “Temper, temper,” she said, and in a different situation, it might have been amusing to see him irritated.

  “I am not irritated; it is just that the day is wearing on, and I have so much in my schedule.”

  She squinted at him. Yeah, another joke. “The story is that her body was divided up without the king’s knowledge. Some ate her flesh; others drank her blood, and yet another group took her bones and made talismans of them. For their king was much feared and much beloved. When he found out what had been done to his love, he cursed them.”

  “That must have been quite a damper on the beloved part.”

  He ignored her. “Those who ate her flesh, were consumed with the desire to eat flesh forever, and turned into wolves. Those who drank her blood became vampires. And those who took her bones, were witches, their magic twisted so that when they used their newfound powers, they paid a great price for it.”

  His gaze slid to hers, and it was so empty, his eyes so dull, that she was suddenly scared for him. Scared for him, even though he was superhuman. As if the biggest danger that threatened him was internal rather than external. “What the king did not realize, was that the blood he gave was still linked to him. As the curse spread, and more creatures were created, he became weaker and weaker. All those that he had cursed were draining him, taking from him to sustain themselves. He worried he would perish, and that he would be forgotten and unavenged. He sent out his followers to kill all those that were accursed, and created the Sard—a repository for all the power to return to, until he could find a way to reabsorb it into himself. But he still wanted to punish those that had stolen from him, and so he created one more group of accursed beings…those who could make the cursed feel remorse for what they had done. They would remind all the Others what pain the king had endured. I assume you can guess—that was the creation of the empath.”