Love Is Mortal

by Caroline Hanson

  He drew back, saw her lashes were wet with tears. “I’ll get her…up, and hopefully she will tell me immediately.”

  “Make her tell you,” Jack said, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

  Rachel smiled. “One doesn’t make Marion do anything. Marion is her own entity. Twisted, crazy and stubborn. She doesn’t mind pain. If she doesn’t want to tell me and laughs when I try to hurt her—don’t underestimate her. I don’t want to get into some long drawn-out bullshit about why you are with me. She’s suspicious and smart.”

  “So, what am I supposed to do?”

  “Man the door. Make sure it stays locked.”

  “Won’t they just materialize in?”

  “No. It’s warded. Lucas had the witches do it centuries ago. No one can come in without breaking down the door. And it’s a big fucking door. Lucas didn’t take any chances. Fuck. Okay. I have to go in. The sooner we do this, the sooner we can…forget about it.” He wondered what she had been about to say. Move on? Was she afraid to say they would move on because it implied they would be together?

  “I want you to say nothing. Be weak and cowed. Like I beat the crap out of you in places that don’t leave marks.”

  Because she undoubtedly did that. That’s my girl, he thought harshly.

  “Won’t she ask about why I’m here? She will know it’s for revenge.”

  She gave him a quizzical look. “No, she’ll think you’re my bitch. Bound to me and under my control. She won’t be expecting the, ‘You snacked on my parents. Now prepare to die approach.’ Okay Inigo Montoya, let’s go.” She opened the door and switched on the light, illuminating the dark room with harsh florescent light that added to the morgue vibe.

  In the huge stone room sat a single coffin, wrapped in silver chains.

  “Table for one,” Jack muttered, really not wanting to go into that room and get close to that coffin.

  “Yeah, Lucas isn’t big on second chances. You’re going to need to help me unwrap her. I can’t touch the silver chains,” she said and grimaced.

  It bore repeating. “You want me to…unwrap the woman who slaughtered my parents?”

  Rachel scowled. “Yeah. That’s what I want you to do. It’s no big deal,” she said with an airy wave.

  “If you don’t see how fucked up this is—forget it.” Jack blew out a harsh breath and moved closer. “There's no padlock,” Jack said, and pulled on a chain, the sound echoing off the stone walls as the metal hit the ground. The noise startled him, and he wondered if he should try to be more quiet.

  “The silver chains were symbolic. More for my torture than hers.” He wondered if Marion could hear them. If the noise had woken her up. Or maybe she was already awake.

  Rachel put a hand over his and squeezed gently, careful not to touch the silver. The irony of the moment was not lost on him. Here he was, digging up his parent’s murderer to set her free. The last loop of chain slid to the floor, and Jack couldn’t stop staring at the unwrapped coffin. It looked new and had flowers carved into the top of it.

  “Why the flowers?” he asked, needing a moment to steady his nerves.

  “Lucas got it on discount,” Rachel said, and then she looked at him with a scowl. “How the fuck do I know? It’s probably part of his flair for the dramatic. Okay, stand back. I’m going to crack this baby open like an oyster. Come on this side; stand next to the wall behind her head.”

  Jack walked around the coffin. How many steps was it? Eight? But he felt his shoe touch down with each step, heard the small noises of his footfalls blaring in his ears like gunshots. Fuck.

  Rachel sighed, and then with one hand, she grabbed the lip of the casket, ripping it off and throwing it aside. Jack bit his lip to keep from making some kind of noise. This was happening too fast. He could see into the coffin. See Marion laying there, eyes closed, looking like a corpse. As though she had fought a long illness and hadn’t survived.

  Her collarbones jutted out in harsh relief. Rachel brought her wrist to her mouth, biting hard. Jack thought he heard the flesh tear, and it made him tense. Made his world narrow down like he was in a combat situation, surrounded on all sides and waiting to die.

  This is really fucking happening.

  Blood dripped over the white satin interior, a drop landing on Marion’s jaw. Then Rachel’s wrist was over Marion’s closed mouth, forcing her lips apart. Marion swallowed instantly.

  Ravenously.

  Jack jerked back a step. As though his legs were trying to escape, whether he wanted to or not. He saw her heart beat once and then again. She was so thin he could see the pulse of it under her skin. He wanted to stake her. He’d burn anything that was left even if it were just dust. Just to make sure she never came back.

  “Now you,” Rachel said, and withdrew her arm from the coffin.

  He couldn’t move. “I can’t,” he said hoarsely.

  “You can and you will. Give me your wrist,” she commanded, and he responded. He had to obey that tone. He walked forward despite himself. Rachel cut his wrist with her teeth, and he held back a sound of distress, felt her tongue on his flesh as she swiped at the wound, the lick oddly reassuring.

  Then she pulled him closer, so his wrist was above Marion’s open mouth. Her eyes were still closed, but there was such a sense of impending doom, that he knew she was close to wakefulness.

  “How much?” he asked through a fog. When he was little, his Papa had given him a Jack-in-the-box, and he had hated it. He’d hated waiting for that stupid puppet to jump out at him. This was a million times worse.

  “Not too much. I don’t know what effect your blood will have on her. His blood dripped on to her mouth for several heartbeats, leaking in grotesquely.

  “That’s enough,” she said and let him go. He took a step back, unable to be so close to her. “If she doesn’t wake up in a minute, we can try it again, but I don’t want her to be too strong. Your blood might be different now, because of the bond. Plus, you’re a werewolf.”

  “Different how?” he asked numbly.

  He heard Marion say softly, “It tastes like magic.” She sat straight up, as if she had hinges instead of bones. She took in a shuddering breath and then looked around her frantically, eyes filling with tears.

  “I’m in a coffin! I don’t want to be in a coffin! Get me out, Rachel. Help me!”

  Marion reached for her, and Rachel leaned in, letting Marion wrap her arms around her neck as she scooped her out of the coffin. Rachel carried her to the corner of the room, and he knew the exact second Marion spotted him. He felt it inside of him like a ghostly touch.

  “Fear,” Marion said. Then she smiled, the action making her skin crinkle like old paper, and for one horrendous second, he thought her skin would split open.

  “I’m thirsty. Bring him to me.”

  Rachel stroked the hair back from Marion’s face. “Not yet, my love.” She sounded tender, and Jack noticed that she was crying, holding Marion tightly. Like she loved her. Rachel was lying to one of them. But who? “We can’t drink him. Lucas ordered us to leave him alone,” Rachel said, lying to her.“Lucas,” Marion whispered, filling his name with venom.

  Rachel nodded. “He’s willing to let you out. He made me an offer, and I accepted on your behalf.”

  Marion blinked at Rachel in confusion. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because he was going to kill you, and I couldn’t let that happen. I love you,” she said, and kissed Marion on the lips.

  Marion smiled and looked fondly at her, raising a weak hand to brush down Rachel’s porcelain cheek.

  “Lucas wants the Sard,” Rachel said, voice sounding loud in the small chamber.

  Marion frowned. Scooted back a little, and almost fell off Rachel's lap. Rachel tightened her grip, holding her close. “No. It’s mine. He gave it to me. Why would he want it after all these years?” she paused and took a breath, then asked slowly, “How long have I been away?”

  “Not long.”

  Mar
ion looked down at her lap, smoothed her hand down her silk dress. “Why does he want it?” she repeated.

  “I don’t know. He just said that if you gave it to him, you were free.”

  Marion nodded, slowly. She looked up at Rachel with emotion in her eyes. Love, trust and something else. Maybe sadness. “He gave it to me to bring my Margaret back. He has never wanted it for himself. Where is he? He loves Margaret. He just needs to be reminded.”

  Her smile was tremulous. “We will go get it and take it to him. Then you can convince him. If you go empty-handed, he will be angry. We cannot give him an excuse to send you back into that coffin.”

  Marion gasped, “I can’t! I cannot survive in there.”

  “I know.” Rachel kissed her on the lips. “Where is the Sard, my love?”

  Marion blinked a few times, as though she were processing the question. “The Paris flat,” she said quietly.

  “I looked there,” Rachel said. Marion flicked a glance at Jack as if he were the only unpleasant item of food left in a barren cupboard. Alarm bells went off inside of him, but he stayed still, trying to do what Rachel wanted.

  They left the room and went to the antechamber. Rachel took Jack's hand, and he saw Marion track the movement, a frown on her face. “We will meet you there,” Rachel said. Rachel and Jack disappeared. The three of them appearing in Rachel and Marion’s Parisian love nest at the same time.

  Marion sat down on a blue velvet couch. Her cheeks were pale as a sheet. She patted her limp black hair. “Call down and get me a snack, dear. Any delivery boy will do. Or girl.” She looked at Jack. “I’m not sexist, you know.”

  He couldn’t speak. He hated the sound of her fucking voice.

  Rachel was standing near the fireplace looking tense.

  “And make me a fire, will you?” she said to Rachel, but her gaze was fixed on Jack. Not just her gaze he thought, but it was as if every fiber of her being was attuned to him, and was examining him for weaknesses, strengths and signs of treachery.

  After all of these years, Jack had thought that he had grown, left the past—if not behind—then locked away deep inside of him. But seeing Marion, having her close enough to touch, having her words directed at him with such cool hauteur, smashed open that dark place inside of him and made his life a living annihilation.

  She would destroy him.

  She did not believe them.

  He knew it.

  “It’s boiling outside,” Rachel said, throwing up her hands in disgust.

  Marion shuddered, the move exaggerated. “It’s cold, my love. I want to ward off the chill. It must be from being stuck in that coffin for so long. Please?” Marion pouted and slumped back against the couch weakly.

  The fire was already set, and Rachel took the matches off the mantel and bent down, lighting it easily. The room was all pale purple and gray, except for the blue couch in the center of the room. Beautiful and modern, but cold.

  So cold.

  “Marion, tell me where the gem is and let’s get you free. Then we can work on everything else,” Rachel said, still kneeling down by the fire.

  “I’m already free. What’s the hurry?” she said petulantly and reached behind her, pulling a gray silk blanket off the back of the couch and arranging it around her.

  He feared Rachel paused a moment too long. “Lucas said he wanted it immediately. He won’t wait.”

  Marion arched an eyebrow. “Now he’s impatient? Just like a man. Does nothing for centuries, and then suddenly we are supposed to jump and do his bidding. Fine,” she sniffed, “Bring me my jewelry box.”

  Rachel pursed her lips and frowned. They had looked there. Was there a hidden drawer or something? Jack shifted on his feet.

  “Send your wolf out. I don’t want him here if I can’t eat him.”

  Jack clamped his jaw tight. He wouldn’t screw this up. Rachel nodded at him, and he moved towards the door. How far should he go? When should he return? Rachel was already out of the room, so he couldn't ask her.

  He had to walk past Marion to reach the door, only a few feet between them. Her voice caught him, stopped him in his tracks “She gets bored you know. I see that she’s interested in you. But what we have…love, death, passion—it’s a once in a lifetime bond. And I mean my lifetime, not yours. You are a passing fancy, and the day will come where she won’t want you around, and then we can finish things, all right? Maybe we can go back to that sad little hotel your parents owned. I’m very nostalgic that way.” She rubbed a finger along the coffee table as though looking for dust; Jack apparently dismissed from her mind already. “I’m glad the maid kept up with things. How long was I in there anyway?”

  She waited for him to speak, the moments spinning out, until finally he cleared his throat and managed to respond. “Not long enough.”

  She shrugged. “It felt like longer,” she said flatly. “Terrible hunger. Now leave. Let me go through my things without an audience that wishes me ill.”

  He walked past her, out the door and down the hall. He wouldn’t leave. He couldn’t, but standing here, waiting for something to happen, for Rachel or Marion to come and get him, for one of the three of them to die…

  It was almost over. His big moment was almost here. She would die. He just had to hope she didn't take him with her.

  Chapter 19

  VALERIE HIT Save and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her eyes because they burned from staring at the computer screen for so long. Who knew teaching required so much computer work? Tiny numbers on a tiny screen dealing with big kids.

  “So this is where you work,” she heard a deep voice say, and her breath caught in her throat.

  It was him again. The beautiful guy who’d accosted her at Pinkberry. Who’d bolted when she started bleeding. And now he was here. Leave it to me get the most gorgeous stalker ever.

  Unless he really was someone’s dad. Why did she dismiss that? Assume that his interest was for her, in particular? His skin seemed darker than it had when she saw him in Pinkberry. As if he’d been outside all weekend. And he had the faintest crinkle lines near his eyes that made hot men seem wise and as if they enjoyed life.

  But the eyes themselves, and maybe even the set of his mouth, were not young. They were cop eyes or war eyes.

  Haunted.

  His voice was soft. “You are staring at me.”

  Val blushed and looked away. How mortifying. Although…how could she not stare? Dark jeans that fit very well, and an army-green T-shirt that clung to his arms obscenely.

  “I am…surprised,” she said and laughed nervously.

  “I am glad to find you,” he said.

  “Should I call security?” she said half-joking. Maybe he was a stalker, but if he was, the cops would make an exception. They’d say ‘lady, count your blessings and ride this one out.’ She was suddenly distracted by the idea of riding it out.

  Then she realized he’d said something. “Uh, what?” Nice.

  “Why would you call for security? Are you in danger?” He had turned so he could watch the door as if something might come barging in.

  “Because of you! I would call security because you are here…stalking me?” That probably shouldn’t have ended as a question.

  He flinched. “You said you did not know me.”

  “I don’t.” And now she was confused.

  “But you would call security. You are afraid of me?” he asked and crossed his arms, one large hand covering his mouth, as though he wanted to protect himself from her answer, or what she might say. He had beautiful fingers. Tanned, the nails trimmed, but the tops of his hands were laced with scars.

  She knew she was staring, but couldn’t stop looking at the white tracery of scars. He looked familiar. But that was ridiculous. She wouldn’t forget him. No one could forget this guy.

  “I’m not afraid of you. Seeing you makes me feel…ignore that. So, really, why are you here?” she said, having no idea what she might have said. Seeing him made her feel a million d
ifferent things, and she wasn’t sure she could describe any of them accurately.

  “I am here to see you,” he said, and leaned back against one of the desks. He crossed his legs at the ankles as he reclined there, and she looked away from him, shuffling papers around on her desk.

  “Yes, but I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, and so it’s as if you’re following me, and that makes you—” What if she said a weirdo, and he was? What if she said a weirdo, and he wasn’t? What was the etiquette here? Val shrugged, having no idea how to finish the sentence.

  He made her feel uncomfortable. A little bit scared, very unsure of herself and…hurt. Something about him made her feel sad. And there was a part of her that wished she had never seen him, had been able to forget.

  Her hands started to tremble, and she thought she might puke. “I need air,” she said and stood abruptly, almost stumbling to the door. He put an arm around her, pulling her into him as he supported her and led her out of the building. A bench was just outside, and he sat her down, kneeling in front of her. He looked up into her face, so close she could see every eyelash, see the flecks of brown and gold in his pale blue eyes.

  “I am sorry,” he said with such feeling that it was almost comical.

  She chuckled. “It’s not your fault. I’m sure you have this effect on all the ladies.”

  He looked down. “I am only interested in your reaction to me. Please…give me a chance to—” he broke off midsentence and looked around as if there was a cue card somewhere, and he’d forgotten the lines. His hand lifted as if he would touch her face, and then he frowned.

  “Do you believe in second chances?” he asked quietly.

  The change in conversation threw her.

  A little brown bird was hopping along the ground, picking up potato chips some kid had dropped. Lucas spoke before she could answer. “There are many things in life we cannot choose, many things that get decided for us or…decisions that are poor, and I want every decision that I make with you to be the right one. So, if I have disturbed you and upset you by showing up like this, then…” he shook his head, brow furrowed. “then, I will leave. I suppose I will just leave,” he sounded very uncertain of himself.