The Awakening (Immortals)

by Joy Nash

  Her arms tightened around his neck. When had she reached for him? She couldn’t remember. She only knew she had to hold him, had to press every inch of her body to every inch of his. This was where she belonged, what she’d been created for. But how could she let Kalen carry her off to safety in Annwyn while the rest of her race was doomed to suffer?

  How could she not?

  He ran his hands over her body in blatant, possessive exploration. The buttons on her shirt slipped open. A second later, the garment disappeared over the side of the bed. Her pants, shoes, and stockings soon followed. Kalen slipped off his suit jacket and tie, and unbuttoned his shirt. The edges parted, revealing the dark swath of hair on his chest. He sat back on his heels and looked down at her.

  There was no mistaking the expression in his eyes. He needed her. Desperately. She didn’t know why, but she knew with a certainty it was true.

  “Unbind your hair,” he said hoarsely.

  Wordlessly, she obeyed, unraveling her braid and shaking her head. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders.

  Reverently, Kalen sifted his fingers through the heavy strands. Then he dipped his head and kissed the valley between her breasts. Trailed his tongue to one nipple and drew it into his mouth. She gasped as he suckled, scraping his teeth gently.

  “You’re mine,” he murmured again, but there was fear in his voice, as if he didn’t quite believe it. His unexpected vulnerability squeezed her heart.

  “Why?” She threaded her fingers through his hair as his lips journeyed to her stomach. He pressed his open mouth over her navel, swirling his tongue in the indentation and causing her hips to arch off the bed. “Why do you need me so?”

  He answered by kissing a path to her clitoris. Her womb clenched and her thighs went slick. All thought, all questions, fled. She was filled with an aching need to give and to love. He licked lower on her body, his lips sliding to the slick folds at the entrance to her body. He delved deep with his tongue. Their magic melded.

  Pleasure—incredible, magical pleasure—consumed her. “Please…” She didn’t know what she was asking. Please love me? Please let me go?

  He shoved himself off the bed just long enough to rid himself of the rest of his clothes. When he mounted the mattress again, she pressed him down and crawled over him, dipping her head and lapping at his skin with her tongue. He tasted salty. She licked him again, her tongue traveling over his flesh in a long, erotic slide.

  He groaned. Hands bracketing her hips, he lifted her and positioned the entrance to her body at the tip of his erection. With a wrenching sigh, she impaled herself on his rigid shaft. Her inner muscles clenched, holding him safe as he moved inside her, her moans encouraging every upward thrust of his hips. His breathing was harsh, his skin slick. Their combined magic swirled, spiraling upward. Her head fell back; he sucked in a breath as her hair brushed his thighs.

  She couldn’t hold back. Didn’t want to. He was so hard inside her, stroked her so deeply.

  Her climax crashed like a tsunami. Kalen cried her name at the same time. She convulsed atop him, her head coming forward to press into the hollow of his shoulder. His breathing was ragged. She gave a final shudder and collapsed atop him. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest.

  He soothed his hands over her shoulders, her back. When she lifted her head, he tucked her blue-streaked lock of hair behind her ear and smiled. Their gazes locked for long moments.

  Finally, he looked away. “You’ll come with me to Annwyn.” There was an unmistakable note of finality in his tone. “Lir…he’ll offer you a gift when you arrive.”

  She frowned. “What gift?”

  “An Immortal soul.”

  Christine stared at him. “How is that possible?”

  “Lir is an extremely powerful god. I once did him a very great service. In return, he offered me a home in Annwyn and immortality to any companion I wished to bring with me.”

  “Must have been some favor,” Christine said shakily. Her? Immortal? Impossible.

  “It was. I saved Mac’s life.”

  She looked up, puzzled. “But Mac’s a demigod. Isn’t he immortal?”

  “As an adult, he’s like me. As long as he’s in a realm containing life magic, he’ll live forever. But as a child, his fate wasn’t so secure. He’s half Sidhe, and Sidhe children are very fragile. Most die in their first decade, especially if they venture outside Annwyn. Mac learned at a very young age how to open the Gates just enough to slip out. He was forever sneaking off—it’s why Niniane is so protective of him now. The day I saw him for the first time, he was five years old. He’d wandered into the middle of an Unseelie battle. Three of the monsters had him cornered. If I’d arrived a few seconds later, he’d have been gutted.”

  “No wonder he loves you so,” Christine said.

  Kalen raised his brows. “Some way to show it. He was trying to seduce my woman.” But he smiled as he said it, and she could see in his eyes how deeply he felt for his friend.

  Christine rolled her eyes. “We were only dancing.”

  “Oh, is that what they call it these days?” He let his gaze drift down her body.

  She didn’t return the suggestive look. “Kalen, Mac said something odd…something about how you can’t fight. Not that you won’t fight, but that you can’t. What did he mean?”

  His smile abruptly faded. “Nothing.”

  He was motionless for a long time. He turned her in his arms so her back was to him, her spine cradled by his chest. A heavy arm draped over her waist anchored her to his body. When she tried to turn and look at him, he wouldn’t let her.

  “It’s not nothing,” she said softly. “Won’t you tell me?”

  He didn’t reply immediately. She held herself silent. She sensed him searching for words. Painful words, she was sure.

  “You deserve the truth,” he said finally, more to himself than to her.

  “You can trust me,” she said, placing a kiss on his arm. “Nothing you could tell me would turn me against you.”

  “I pray that’s true.” He was silent a moment longer, then finally, he sighed. “I told you my goddess mother, Uni, charged me with the task of guarding the line of Tyrrhenus.”

  She murmured her assent.

  “For centuries, I did just that. But not as well as I might have. Adrian was always pulling rank, summoning me to this battle or that. It only got worse in the Dark Ages. Death magic was rampant then. During the plague years, I wasn’t always there to assist my people with sanitation, medicine, clean water and food. They suffered terribly. By the end of the thirteenth century, there was but a single descendant of Tyrrhenus alive. An infant. A male.”

  Christine sucked in a breath. “And he died, too?”

  Kalen gave a bitter laugh. “No, I wouldn’t allow that. Gerold lived. I was loath to entrust him to human foster parents, so I made a home in Tuscany and raised him myself. I ignored Adrian’s frequent summons. I focused all my attention on the boy. Gerold was to become my new Tyrrhenus. The father of a new dynasty.”

  Christine waited for him to continue. When he did, his voice was steady, though the rise and fall of his breath was not.

  “Gerold was a bookish sort, quiet, scholarly, and intense. I taught him everything—who he was, what was expected of him—but when he grew up, he turned his back on his duty. Rather than worship Uni, he found a new god. He wanted to take the vows of a monk. Poverty, obedience…and celibacy. I forbade it, ordering him to marry. He refused. He would not even take a woman to his bed. He vowed he would die chaste. Against my wishes, he entered a monastery.

  “I couldn’t accept that Tyrrhenus’s line would die with Gerold. So in my arrogance, I conceived a plan. I found a young beauty who was experienced in the ways of pleasure. I told her I would shower her with riches if she put aside her other lovers and bore Gerold’s child. She agreed. She seduced Gerold in the monastery fields, not once but many times, until her belly swelled. I was overjoyed. Gerold could dedicate the rest of his l
ife to the church, and I had my new heir.”

  He fell silent for a moment. Christine could feel the tension gathering in his body. “The courtesan had just started her birth travails when Adrian summoned me. It had been two decades since I’d answered one of his calls, but this time the need was truly dire—the Unseelie Host had massed a hideous, brutal army and was laying a swath of destruction across Scotland. Humans and Celtic life magic creatures were being slaughtered. I couldn’t turn my back on the conflict. So I went.”

  “That was when you saved Mac.”

  “Yes. And after the battle was over and Mac safely delivered into his parents’ arms, I returned to Italy. I found both the courtesan and her midwife dead. The babe was gone. For a time, I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. And then I heard it. The Calling, like a whisper inside my brain, spoken by the only person alive with the right to utter the spell. Gerold.

  “I went to him at once, materializing within the monastery walls. I found him presiding over a makeshift altar in a dank, dark crypt, his abbot hovering nearby. Gerold’s newborn daughter, still bloody and trailing her birth cord, lay squalling on the cold stone. Just inches above her stomach, Gerold held a knife.”

  Christine gasped. Twisting in Kalen’s arms, she searched his face. His eyes were hollow. “Goddess. He didn’t…?”

  “He did. I tried to stop it, but I was too late. The infant I caused to be conceived ended her short life at the hands of her own father. Rage unlike any I’d ever known descended on me. My heart screamed for revenge. I lifted my spear and drove it straight through Gerold’s chest.”

  “Oh, Goddess.” Hot tears streamed down Christine’s cheeks. Kalen wiped them away with his thumb. “The tale isn’t yet finished. But perhaps you’ve heard enough.”

  She found his hand and gripped it tightly. “No. I want to hear everything.”

  “Gerold’s lifeless corpse fell across the body of his infant daughter. The abbot gave a shout of laughter. I spun about and discovered not a monk, but a demon. Culsu, my nemesis of old. She’d masterminded the whole atrocity. And I hadn’t even suspected.”

  “Oh, Kalen.”

  “As Culsu gloated, I became aware of another presence in the crypt. Uni, my mother goddess. She is not…” He grimaced. “Not known for her forgiving nature. Her wrath was profound. I’d killed the last of Tyrrhenus’s descendants with the very spear she’d created to protect them. There was no defense I could offer for my actions—I’d acted in anger and arrogance, ignorant that Gerold had been Culsu’s victim. I deserved death, but that was impossible. As it turned out, Uni’s punishment was far more difficult.”

  If Kalen’s eyes had been hollow before, they were completely dead now. “Uni transported me to a realm outside the human world, where I was suspended in a place where there was no vision, no sound, no scent or taste. No feeling at all. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. It was as if I’d ceased to exist, except in my own mind. She told me nothing—not how long I would be confined, or even if I’d been doomed to a living hell for all eternity. It was, you see, a taste of death. A taste of what I’d dealt to Gerold.” He gave a harsh laugh. “It was an effective punishment. The hours, the minutes, the days—they bled together, taking my soul with them. I wished for true oblivion more times than I could count.”

  “Oh, Kalen! How long did Uni keep you there?”

  “A hundred years. When I emerged, Uni told me my arrogant Immortal soul didn’t yet understand the value of life. She forbade me to kill for nine hundred more years. And the edict extended not only to humans and living magic creatures, but to animals and death magic creatures as well. Nothing animated is to die by my hand. I am to eat no meat. If I violate Uni’s decree, she will return me to that numb, lifeless hell—for eternity. It’s been six hundred years since that day. Since then, I’ve learned to live without killing. Practicing only defensive magic. Learning to control my anger, swallow my pride.” His eyes were bleak. “Do you want to know what the worst part of my life is, Christine? Watching innocents die because I cannot risk defending them.”

  “That’s the reason you refused to help me?” Christine’s emotions were in a jumble. “You can’t fight for another three hundred years?”

  “Two hundred ninety-three years. Yes, that’s why I’ve refused you.”

  “You should have told me. If I’d known, I never would have pressed you.”

  “You know now. You also know I love you. I can’t bear the thought of you putting yourself in danger for a cause that may very well be lost. Please say you’ll come with me to Annwyn. We can live in love and peace there, forever.”

  It was too much for Christine to absorb. Especially coming on the heels of Kalen’s heartbreaking story. She’d thought him heartless for not joining the Coven of Light’s fight—now she understood why he’d refused. If he killed, he faced a fate worse than death. An eternity of numbed awareness. The thought sickened her. No, Kalen couldn’t fight. Now that she knew what he faced, she wouldn’t allow him to fight. But flee with him to Annwyn? How could she do that?

  “Christine?”

  She stirred in his arms. “Yes?”

  “Does this…does what I told you…did it…” He paused, and her heart ached at the utter pain and selfloathing in his voice. “Did it cause you to hate me?”

  It was hard to answer around the hot lump in her throat. “No,” she said hoarsely. She pressed her forehead to his. “I could never hate you, Kalen. I love you.”

  She felt his tears on her cheek. “Thank you.”

  After a time, he spoke again. “It will be a few days before Mac’s ready to open the Gates. There’s something I’d like you to see before you leave your world for good.”

  Her heart twisted painfully. He thought her declaration of love meant she would go with him to Annwyn. “What is it?”

  “DeLinea’s Edinburgh gallery. I have a show scheduled for tomorrow night. It will be my last.”

  “But…what about the death magic? The Unseelies?”

  “The gallery’s defenses are extremely strong. You’ll be completely safe, I promise.”

  Christine’s mind raced. Attend a deLinea show in Edinburgh? A few short weeks ago she would’ve been thrilled at the prospect. Now it left her cold inside, because she knew what she had to do once she got off this island.

  “I’d love to go to Edinburgh,” she said.

  But it was going to be so hard to leave him once she got there.

  Once again, while Christine slept, Kalen painted.

  This time he used watercolors, Christine’s preferred medium. She was curled in a ball around a plump feather pillow, the intricate Celtic knot tattoo on her right shoulder riding just above the edge of the bedsheets, but he didn’t paint her in that pose. No, the image emerging on paper was from his memory, a pose he was sure would bring a lovely blush to Christine’s cheeks. She was nude, her legs spread wide, her breasts in full view. Dark hair tumbled about unblemished shoulders. One hand rested on her inner thigh, as if she were gathering the courage to pleasure herself for him. The other hand grazed the upper slope of her breast. Her expression was one he’d come to know deeply: love mingled with a soul-deep vulnerability.

  Ah, she was so beautiful. And the painting? Superb.

  His brush moved on the paper as his cock hardened—as much from the memory of Christine as from the sheer exhilaration of creating such a beautiful work of art.

  He could not lose her. Would not.

  In so short a time, she’d become vital to his existence. When he buried himself inside her, stroked her into bliss as their combined magic swirled about them, he felt whole. After seven hundred years of feeling less than a man, he felt Christine had given him back his self. Her light invaded every part of his soul, casting forgiveness on guilt that had festered for centuries. He’d told her the worst, and she hadn’t turned away.

  Guided by her muse’s magic, at last he understood what Uni had meant for him to learn. Love. It was life itself, the essence of creatio
n. The inspiration of all art. In all the years he’d wielded his spear, he’d never understood the value of the human life he’d fought to protect. Until now.

  He would honor Christine for all eternity for her gift. He would take her to Annwyn, present her as his wife to Niniane and Lir. Lir would gift her with an immortal soul. There would be children, many children. He and Christine would live unending lives free of death or evil.

  And Christine would be happy.

  He would see to it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Kalen! Help me!”

  The cry was Christine’s. Gods! Kalen sprinted toward it, through a miasma so thick and putrid he nearly choked.

  “Kalen!”

  The call was behind him now. Impossible. He spun about, his warrior’s senses taut. His grip tightened on the shaft of Uni’s crystal spear. But that was impossible. He’d not held the weapon in seven hundred years.

  His feet thudded on uneven ground. He was in some putrid hell. Shadows formed, sharpened. Suddenly, before him, Christine appeared. Her body was draped across a boulder, bound hand and foot. Looming over her, a glinting blade in her hand, was Culsu.

  “No!” This would not happen. Not again.

  “You love this woman.” Culsu’s cold, dead eyes brought him up short. “For that, I will kill her.”

  “No. I will not permit it.”

  Culsu’s blade rose a fraction. “Kill me, then, Immortal.”

  At Kalen’s hesitation, she laughed. “You can’t do it, can you? You won’t trade an eternity of nothingness for her life.”

  “I would,” Kalen whispered, but the vow had come a heartbeat too late.

  Culsu laughed. Her blade sliced in a downward arc. Kalen tried to move and found he could not. Darkness blotted his vision; the ground fell away.

  Christine screamed.…

  And the dream shattered. Kalen expelled a harsh breath. A nightmare. Just a nightmare. Except…slowly, he became aware of the disturbing fact that he was no longer in his bed, or even in his bedchamber.