by J. A. Saare
Get it over with already.
"Yes."
Showing emotion was for the weak, but she was glad her face was shielded from view. The sound of the bullwhip unraveling was bad, but she knew from experience that the bite it provided was much worse.
She braced herself, cursing the impulsiveness that slew Alexander two hundred years before, the recklessness that allowed her to bond with a deceitful Lycae, and most importantly, the misguided hope that she had finally managed to escape the hell that had become her existence.
Terrance ordered, “Count."
The first bite of the lash as he parted skin and found muscle was always the worst because it was the easiest she was bound to receive. The skin broken and ripped apart by leather was virginal, ripe, and unafraid of the soon-to-be-endured agony. The remaining seven blows, as a result of remembrance, would be unfiltered agony. Each torn piece of flesh would be stretched and tested, until she was forced to bite her lip to remain silent.
Eight was the magic number, signifying new beginnings.
Grinding her teeth together, she spat, “One."
* * * *
"Where the fuck is she?” Luke thundered, pacing around the living room.
The sun was long gone, replaced by the darkened night. Hoots and hollers sounded from far away, excited children squealing as they donned costumes to celebrate the holiday.
He wanted to rip out his hair, shift into his wolf form, and devour half the city population. Hours had passed, and he was no closer to finding Onyx. Her scent took him as far as the Louisville Suite Hotel, but he lost it the minute he entered the lobby.
"She'll be at the gathering in the cemetery, Luke,” Trevor reminded him again, tossing an annoyed look in his direction. “You have tae keep that head of yours on straight. If we want tae pull this off, you have tae help the pack settle. It's bad enough that you've caught them off guard with news of your mate. Wolfe will no’ be pleased when he returns."
"Wolfe won't know until after the dust has settled,” Luke snarled, throwing Trevor's earlier words back at him. His cousin wasn't reachable on the phone, which meant he was probably enjoying time alone with his mate.
Not that he blamed him.
"Touche."
Closing his eyes, he tried again. The mental bond between them was strong enough to use, but she'd somehow managed to sever it. It both concerned and terrified him. Common sense said that if something bad happened to her, he'd feel it all the way to the depths of his soul.
"Calm down,” Trevor ordered. “Your emotions are all over the place, and they are goddamned distracting. I canna focus as I need tae, and if you'd focus, you'd see your pack looks ready to tear the city apart."
Luke peered over his shoulder and grimaced when he saw the grim expressions and glittering eyes of his pack mates. It wasn't easy accommodating over two dozen of them inside the too-small living room, but he didn't have much of a choice. Trevor warned him there were bound to be hired protectors all around the perimeter as insurance, and he needed all the muscle he could get.
He forced his wolf to settle, calling on the calm the pack offered. Once, he led them, even though the beast within him wasn't ready for the responsibility. If he could offer them anything, it was strength and a level head.
"When will the witch be here?” he asked in an amazingly steady tone.
A knock sounded at the door, and he rushed to answer it. His shoulders sagged in relief when he saw Helen waiting outside. She had a large tote of some kind over her shoulder and a large picnic basket cradled under one arm.
"In here, Helen,” Trevor called from the kitchen.
She didn't wait for an invitation and slid past him, striding toward the sound of Trevor's voice.
"So.” She walked to the table and placed her burden on top of the wooden surface. “Are you ready for some fun?"
"I donna know if I'd classify it as fun. I'm the one taking the risk. Summoning Judges is damned dangerous, even if you're related tae them."
"It'll be cherry, Sheriff. If the wolves take care of the hired thugs, it will be like stealing candy from a baby."
"Now that everyone's here, do you mind telling us what the fuck is going on?” Luke interrupted.
"The coven will attempt to guide Alexander back to his body. It's magic that requires certain elements coming together."
He frowned and said, “I thought you said they were here for souls."
"In a manner of speaking, they are.” Helen removed vials from the basket.” It's taken them years to accumulate the power necessary to return their fearless leader to flesh and blood. They had to make a blood offering of some kind to lost souls, gaining their assistance to piece him back together. Tonight, they'll summon all of those restless spirits, and under the light of a new moon, they will restore him to life."
Luke crossed his arms and asked, “How do you know that?"
"Divination. When my coven shunned me, I developed the gift. I can see different versions of the future, impacted by the decisions that change them."
"Sounds confusing."
"Try maddening. There are so many variants, so many winding paths to take. You can go insane if you try to zero in on any one of them at a time."
The impatience he worked so hard to control began to wane, and he turned to Trevor. “What do you need us to do?"
"I need you and the pack tae hold off whatever they've got waiting, and I should warn you, it's going tae be ugly. They have no’ waited this long tae fail."
"That won't be a problem."
"We have tae let them complete the ceremony. They will summon the spirits of the dead tae bring Alexander tae human form. We canna do anything until that happens. If you want the curse broken, I must have something tae bargain with."
"What about Onyx? What if I can't speak to her telepathically because they've harmed her? I can't stand by and allow that."
"You will wait until they've summoned the spirits.” Trevor narrowed his eyes in warning. “I mean it, Luke. You risk everything if you doona listen tae me. Do you understand?"
A portion of him rebelled at the notion of allowing Alexander Clarisse to return to human form. The temptation to kill the bastard would be too good to pass by. But the image of Onyx's wounded face when she learned he wasn't honest with her served to remind him that petty revenge was the least of his concerns.
He dipped his chin. “I understand."
Then, he turned away from the magic-casters and went to his pack.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Eleven
Onyx remained on her knees inside the circle, unable to do more than stare blankly at the neat rows of smooth black stones surrounding her. It was dark, the cemetery eerily quiet. She grimaced and closed her eyes as she shifted her weight. The cool cement slab wasn't made any softer by the bloodstained dress, and the burning in her back was now a steady throb, each deep cut beating with its own unique pulse.
That was the curse of being one of the Covenant—pain was felt more deeply.
Her mother had said it was meant as compensation for immortality and the enhanced strength and speed granted to them. But through the years, she'd garnered her own theories, including the one at the top of her list—servitude was ultimately about suffering.
"We offer that which stole you, Alexander.” Terrence's voice cut through the silence. “The cursed blade of Anubis."
Lifting her eyes, she watched as the blade that was once given to her in good faith was placed inside the circle. The hilt made of gold was encrusted with expensive jewels. The silver edge was still stained with brown—Alexander's blood left behind.
One by one, the artifacts collected of the souls that would guide him back were placed around her, each a marker that would lead the spirits through the realm of heaven and hell, of life and death.
The coven moved into position around the circle when all twelve were in place, chanting in Latin. The last time they sequestered a spirit, the routine was much the same—the
circle was the power source, and she was the tether—only this time, she could feel the malevolent energy building within the magical space. The air turned heavier, the smell of sulfur nearly overwhelming.
Thoughts of Luke eased the feeling of suffocation and entrapment, her lungs laboring as the quality of air in the circle lessened and she struggled to breathe. She pretended the wispy fingers that touched her shoulders were strands of his hair and not the caresses of the dead, that laps of ghostly tongues against her savaged skin were those of healing affection and not hunger.
Souls were drawn to what they remembered best, and there was nothing more sweet and warm than fresh blood directly from the flesh. The circle allowed them to partake in the offering of the coven, each lash mark oozing freely as they reopened the just-sealed wounds, and she felt the hot trickle of her life's blood as it dripped down the indention of her spine.
Damn him.
She'd had decades to prepare for this. Hours spent chasing that demon called the future while knowing Alexander would return and claim her as he swore he would. Now, that foundation was cracked, torn down the center.
Hope did that to creatures, mortal and immortal.
The mess that was her back protested in misery as the circle expanded and drew on the power wrought from her willfully given blood. The magic had to breach the entire perimeter of the cemetery to allow the souls to lead the way home, but that required an immortal's strength and vitality.
Hers.
Muffled whispers of excitement fell upon deaf ears. Her mind was intent on the goal, focusing on the means to an end. Physical agony was nothing compared to mental isolation. The scars on a body were generally forgotten like regretted tattoos, but those of the mind always remained.
"Yes, that's it!” Terrence exclaimed, his enthusiastic voice breaking through her shoddy concentration.
She lifted her head and watched as the ghosts surrounding her moved away, toward the outside of the neatly crafted circle of onyx stones. All along the perimeter, spirits appeared. Some she recognized, others she didn't. Halloween was the key, the element that brought it all together. The spirits were drawn to the magic, compelled to venture to this place offering blood and power.
A lingering stroke of fingers started at her bared nape and traveled the column in the middle of her back. It was one of familiarity, of possession.
"Sire,” the coven chimed in unison.
His body wasn't entirely whole, almost as if he were particles that formed and held a holographic image. He flickered as he attempted to find solidity, his touch vanishing and then returning.
A chorus of loud growls and furious roars echoed through the graves and headstones, and the hand at her back evaporated.
"No!” Terrence screeched, ordering, “We must return him to flesh now! Hurry!"
The misery she stifled erupted from her lips when fingers ripped at the flayed skin on her back. Blood no longer trickled. It pooled into the back of the dress, warm and sticky. The ground trembled, as if a stampede was nearly upon her, and a pair of arms snagged her beneath her knees and arms.
She was lifted before she could conceive it, carried from the confines of the circle. The motion caused her to whimper, and she was shifted, brought around until she was held like a child with a leg on either side of lean hips. A soothing hand touched the burning in her back, gentle fingers going stock-still when they touched the bloody mess left behind following the cleansing.
"What have they done to you?” Luke demanded, voice quivering with rage.
"Put me down.” She tried to make it an order, but it escaped as a laughable plea.
"Never, do you hear me?” His syllables were tight, and his voice cracked. “You only run from me if you want to be caught. And I will catch you, mate."
"You lied to me, something Alexander never did. I can't trust you."
The arms holding her went tight. “I wasn't honest with you, but I never lied. Mates don't lie to one another. It's not our way."
She stopped arguing when she noticed several of the coven clouding her peripheral vision, advancing on them with gleaming ceremonial swords raised.
"Put me down, Luke,” she ordered, voice steady this time. “We have company."
Those strong arms brought her closer, trapping her against his chest. “No."
"I command you tae halt!” A voice thundered, silencing all but the sounds of violence in the distance.
Luke turned, allowing her to see the Scottish friend she'd cursed earlier. His long brown duster was gone, revealing a body that was sinewy and impressive in its own right. He wasn't as tall as the Lycae holding her, or as wide, but he was damned close.
"What business have you here, Judge?” Terrence demanded. “You have violated the rights of magic-wielders by tainting our hex. Something we can demand recompense for."
"Doona worry, pissant. I have no’ come tae put a damper on your proceedings."
"Then why have you come?"
"Tae have a word with Alexander Clarisse."
The magic shifted once more, brushing painfully against her skin. The ghosts returned, bodies shimmering brightly inside her abandoned circle, and directly in the center was the man she loathed as much as she needed. His body was covered in the same clothing he wore the night he died—trousers and nothing more. His blue eyes narrowed when he saw her in Luke's arms, and he started to step forward.
"Oh no you don't,” the Scot said, shaking his head. He lifted his wand and thundered, “Lost brethren, I summon you tae assist me!"
A dozen bodies appeared behind him, these wholly flesh. Their eyes were white and cloudy, and their clothing of the old fashion. Tunics and breeches replaced modern T-shirts and jeans, and each of the men had neatly trimmed beards.
"What are you doing?” Terrence's voice trembled with outrage. “He is all but flesh. Allow him to exit the circle and become whole."
"No, I doona believe I will.” The Scot stared at Alexander. “You are no’ an idiot. I assume you know why I've come."
"You cannot have her,” Alexander sneered. “I will cross the threshold and claim her as I should have done long ago."
Luke's steady growl vibrated against her ear, and his arms gripped her painfully.
"No, you willna. You will absolve her of the curse and bid her fare thee well."
"And if I don't?"
"My brothers will take your arse back tae the other side, and"—he motioned just behind him, at a witch she recognized from the bar—"Helen will release the contents of the binding spell to ensure you stay there."
Alexander stared directly at her, his narrowed eyes of luminous blue sparkling evilly. “I will sever your contract, Onyx. You know what happens then."
"I do,” she acknowledged quietly and tried not to shiver when Luke stroked her head possessively. “And the prospect no longer frightens me."
"You would forsake immortality for him?” Alexander raged.
Luke's hand went still, and she knew then that he didn't know of all the implications of severing her ties with the coven.
"I would forsake immortality to be free of you."
The answer enraged him. “Foolish and impulsive girl, so be it! You will age, wither, and die. The beauty that captivates will be no more, and when you reflect upon the poor decisions you have made, you will do so alone."
"No, she won't. She will always have a home among us."
This voice was unfamiliar, yet it gained the attention of all the Lycae standing over the bodies of Chimeras and demons hired to stop them. One by one, they took a knee, eyes downcast. He looked very much like Luke, with dark black hair, a massive build, and vibrant green eyes. The girl walking beside him reminded her of an angel. Her eyes were large and blue, and her white-blonde hair seemed to glow in the darkness. He stopped several feet away, and guns, both locked and loaded, appeared in each hand of the girl.
"Doona go and do something stupid, Cricket,” the Scot grumbled, glancing at the sidearms.
"Who, me?” She
shook her head and smiled, flashing slightly tipped fangs.
"I'm happy to see you've kept things in line while I've been away, cousin. It's a good thing Arden insisted we return home early. I wouldn't have wanted to miss this."
"Next time, come the first time I call,” Luke retorted.
Alexander started to move from the circle, and the Scot lifted the heavy casting wand.
"No’ yet. Rescind the curse."
"No."
Terrence stepped forward. “Sire, if you don't release her, I will."
The outrage on the wizard's face distorted his once-beautiful features. “You most certainly will not! She is mine to command."
"You are not yet whole, sire. Until you are, the curses you've maintained are mine to absolve."
"Enough!” The wand flashed as the Warlock lost his composure. “Sever the curse or I will have my brothers escort you tae the place you should have gone the first time, you arrogant piece of shit!” The orb pulsed as he turned to Terrence and barked, “Do it now!"
Terrence turned from his superior even as he brayed in fury, reaching into his robe to produce a thin wand. “Onyx Blackthorn, daughter of Lilith and Mercrial Blackthorn, you are hereby released from your contract."
Releasing the curse was as painful as enduring it. If it weren't for Luke's arms, she would have collapsed onto the earth and writhed. As it was, her limbs and torso convulsed and thrashed, her entire body trembling violently. She felt the strength of the Covenant leave her, as it did when a contract was met.
Immortality was intended for those who served. Not those who lived.
The moment the curse lifted and she became mortal, she screamed in misery. The wounds in her back were unbearable, made all the worse by the potion that slowed the ability to heal. Darkness beckoned, promising shelter and relief.
She went willingly into those shaded arms, knowing that when she woke, she would finally be free.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Epilogue
Colby, Tennessee. Two weeks later
Onyx breathed in, dragging the brisk winter air into her lungs. The last rays of the sun were nearly gone, orange rays barely visible over the ridge of the mountain in the distance. Soon, the full moon would rise to take its place.