The Deepest Well

by Juliette Cross

  Uriel’s clear gaze lifted from Katherine to George. “Very well. But you will bear the blame when she is awakened to a life not of her choosing.”

  “Agreed. Now do it. Before she’s gone.”

  “Lay her flat.”

  George hated to lay her on the cold ground, the grass sparse and stiff in October, but comfort was of little consequence. He arranged her on her back, her arms at her sides, the bleeding having stopped as her pulse slowed to near nothing.

  Just as George had witnessed dozens of times, he watched Uriel kneel over her, placing one palm on her chest, the other on her stomach. He began to chant one phrase over and over in a smooth, lilting rhythm.

  “Ignis caeli venite ad me.” The fire of heaven come to me.

  Uriel’s body blazed bright with inner flame as he poured his power into Katherine. Her pale, slim form lit up with golden fire as it burned away the darkness within. Her back arched and her mouth fell open in agony as the Flamma power licked its way through her veins.

  Uriel continued to chant under his breath till he released her, drawing his hands from her chest and abdomen. The ethereal flame slowly faded, leaving her body beaming with power and light. The archangel leaned forward, cupping her head in his palm, and pressed his lips to hers, giving her the kiss of power, giving her the ability to sift.

  It did not slip by George that she would easily have the power to leave him if she so chose. And forcing an eternity of servitude, fighting the ones who’d marred her soul, might be what severed her from him forever. He’d made that choice for her, unable to let her slip away into oblivion. Unable to let her go. He’d promised to protect her. And he hadn’t. He bloody well wasn’t going to let her soul be cast into Erebus to wander the vast depths of nothingness alone for an eternity.

  The archangel stood, opening his wings for flight. “You are responsible, George.” His tone was sharp and grave.

  “I know.”

  “She may not forgive you for this.”

  He stared down at the woman he loved, the flush of life filling her cheeks again. “I know.”

  With that, the angel flew upward several yards before vanishing into the ether. George took Katherine back to Thornton and dressed her in a nightgown. Her skin glowed with a golden luster as angel power coursed through her body. The sight was dazzling and beautiful. But she always had been to him.

  He lifted her hand in both of his, studying the underside of her wrist ringed with thin scars from Damas’s shackles and another jagged one from her attempt to escape this world and leave him all alone. He pressed a gentle kiss there and wondered if she’d ever know how deeply, how devotedly, how faithfully he loved her.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  A soft pillow lay under her head and warm covers wrapped her body, though she remained in the dark. Knowing she could not be in Heaven for what she’d done and convinced this wasn’t the plush and warm cushion of Hell, Katherine opened her eyes wider and recognized the outline of George in the chair beside her bed. The dying embers still glowed bright and cast his silhouette in red-orange.

  She wasn’t dead. When she pulled her arms from under the covers, she could tell by the glow of the dying fire that she wore no bandages, nor were there stitches. How was she still alive? And her body felt…good…strong. From the moment she’d been taken into the underworld, she’d felt the distinct weight of the atmosphere pressing her down, the sinful temptation and the deeds she’d done weighed on her soul even more, the boulder-like burden not leaving her when George had brought her back to earth. But now…

  She lifted off the covers, placed her bare feet to the ground, and realized she was dressed in a white nightgown. A distinct sensation slapped her hard—the heady scent of ginger spice and wood smoke wafted with a strong autumn breeze. At first, she thought there was a pot of something on the fire; then she realized there was no fire at all. Only burning coals. No window was open to let in a breeze. But she didn’t smell these things with her senses as much as feel them brush her mind. The sensation emanated from George himself, his arms and ankles crossed as he slept in a stiff position in the wingback chair at her bedside.

  A sinking reality came over her. Had he done something supernatural to her? She shuffled to the walk-in closet, pushing one dress aside after another till she found the more modern clothes he’d bought for her. Finally finding what she wanted, women’s trousers for riding, she hesitated with the hanger in her hand, remembering her days in the Black Forest on Athena.

  “I’m not there anymore,” she whispered, needing to remind herself that she was here on earth.

  She changed quickly and twisted her hair into a tight braid, then marched back through the bedroom to find George had stoked the fire and stood near the door, waiting for her. Hair tousled and face pale, he jumped and turned at the sound of her entering the room. With his shoulders slouched and his lips set in a grim line, he was the epitome of a defeated man. A defeated man who refused to accept the inevitable: that he might have won the battle, but he’d lost the war. And victory was nowhere to be found. For either of them. No amount of desperation and hope could wish back the love they once shared—a long-forgotten dream that was nothing more than ash in the wind. And now she was sure he’d done something tragic in an attempt to keep her.

  She froze at the sight of him, a maelstrom of emotions swirling inside—anger, confusion, longing…more.

  “What have you done to me, George?”

  “I saved you.”

  She laughed with disdain. “I didn’t want saving.”

  “Not yesterday, not now. But one day, you would have. One day, you’ll be glad you didn’t succeed. You would’ve ended up lost in a mindless, soulless oblivion.”

  She noted the rage riding his voice. He was angry with her. Very angry.

  “I’m afraid I’ve ended up there anyway.”

  “I know that you need time to reconcile who you were before with who you are now, but you must move forward.”

  Desperation rang in his words. Katherine feared the spark of hope in his voice was for the two of them. Their chance at a life together had vanished the moment she’d left Thornton. And now he’d saved her, only to drive a larger wedge between them. They could never be as they once were. He had to accept this fact.

  “George,” she started more gently. “There is no happily ever after here…for us. You must understand that.”

  The sag of his shoulders cut her, but she wouldn’t give him hope where there was none. She had nothing left to give. Damas had taken it all.

  “I understand,” he finally replied.

  “How did you save me? I don’t feel the same.”

  “You are now a Dominus Daemonum, a hunter of evil. Like Jude.”

  She stared for a long moment, letting the reality of what he said sink in. “I am ageless?” she asked, her brows pinched together.

  He simply nodded.

  “Why? Why would you do this to me?”

  “Do this to you?” One arm gestured wide as he said, “Do you honestly think I’d just let you go? Let you slit your wrists and leave me here? No, Katherine. No.” He shook his head, adamant and furious. “You think you have sins to pay for? Then fine. Now you can pay for them. You’ll train and become a demon hunter, expelling the evil from this earth, because it is a much better service than living in a well of pity and regret. And it is much less cowardly than killing yourself.”

  She flinched, hardened by his harsh words. Because they were offensive. And because they were true.

  She lifted her chin. “I won’t train with you.”

  “I’m aware of that. You’ll train with Jude in New Orleans. In America.”

  “George, we can never be—”

  “Don’t, Katherine.” His voice broke as he turned his back to her and paced toward the fire. He braced both hands on the mantel, his shoulders taut beneath his wh
ite dress shirt. “Don’t say it again. I’m aware what my own mistake has wrought on you.”

  “Your mistake?”

  He did not answer for some time. She couldn’t think beyond the fact he saw this as his fault. Then he turned, pain etched in every line of his face.

  “As much as I wanted to hold you in my arms, I should’ve never asked you to dance at the Weathersby ball.” He clenched his jaw and said no more.

  There was nothing more to say. That one dance had made her a target for Damas. That one dance had led her to fall in love with the most courageous and giving man she’d ever known. She didn’t know her heart could break any more. But watching him take on the weight of what had happened to her was too much to bear. She wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but it partly was. She wanted to say the blame fell all on her shoulders, but it didn’t.

  Some hurts dig too deep, finding their way into your heart and soul, opening a chasm until there is no possible way to escape unscathed. Though her body was strong and her mind was clear, Katherine still lived in the dark woods of the demon prince’s domain. Her knight had finally come for her, but he was far too late to save her.

  “If you’re ready, I’ll take you to your new home.” He held out his hand.

  Steeling herself for this final good-bye, for she knew that was what this parting would be, she met him at the mantel, memorizing the way the golden light highlighted his lovely profile. She set her hand in his. A wave of harvest spice and autumn wind wafted through her.

  “Katherine. I am sorry.” Small words with a well of emotion behind them.

  “Katherine is dead now.” She smiled as best she could. “Call me Kat.”

  Present Day

  Dear Katherine,

  I can hardly express to you how much I admire the woman you have become. You may think the sentiment patronizing, but you have stepped into your role as Dominus Daemonum with vigor and transformed into a stronger woman—more beautiful, more vibrant, more captivating than ever before. I thought you were alluring as the lady of the ball. But that is nothing compared to who you are now—a warrior with more heart and soul than ever before. The phoenix arisen more brilliant than the sun.

  The moment you walk into a room, despite the fact there are always a number of hunters accompanying us—for you seem to make sure we are never alone—I long to hold you and confess like a fool how ardently I still love you. Yes, after all this time, my feelings are not diminished. In fact, they grow stronger by the day. You were then and have always been my lady. I have never seen you any other way.

  Yours, now and always,

  George

  *Letter George wrote to Katherine. Before he burned it.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Kat sifted into the alley outside of George’s place in Chelsea, London. With hands in her brown leather trench coat, she waltzed onto the street, passing two young women dressed in their little black dresses and five-inch pumps for a night on the town.

  “Well, if Jerry is there, he can drool from the corner, because I told him it was over.”

  “You’re absolutely daft. You wore that dress for Jerry, and you know it.”

  “Yes, I did. But I invited Ben to the party.”

  “Ben! He’s in love with you. He’ll be hanging on you the whole night.”

  “Precisely, but when the clock strikes midnight, I’ll be sure to send Ben away and situate myself conveniently next to Jerry.”

  “For a New Year’s kiss.”

  “Of course.”

  “Brilliant.”

  Kat watched the pair sashay toward their car, hitting the town on New Year’s Eve. But this year promised to bring in not just a new year, but a whole new world. One where survival wasn’t a given for everyone.

  A petite brunette in jeans and a gray peacoat ushered a young boy up the whitewashed steps of the building adjacent to George’s.

  “Hurry, Mum! We’ll miss the eclipse. Dad has a new lens for my telescope.”

  “All right, Jack. Hurry along, then.” She gave Kat a sidelong glance before shutting the door.

  The street was pristine and clean as usual. Not exactly Kat’s regular stomping grounds. She preferred the dark and gritty streets of New York, where she worked the demon dens alongside her partner, Dorian. He was already rallying with other hunters, heading to the gathering on Dartmoor. Kat looked up. The full moon was a luminous orb in the starry sky. Not long before the eclipse.

  As George had requested through a text on her cell that morning, she had come to his place tonight before they were to meet the others. Tightening her no-nonsense ponytail, she straightened her trench coat, which hid the dozen multisize blades strapped to her body over the black catsuit she typically wore on night hunts, then strode up his steps into the foyer and into the elevator that led to the top floor and his seven-thousand-square-foot penthouse.

  Tonight wasn’t just any night. And George hadn’t requested a private meeting with her since…well, since she’d become a hunter. Actually, it was only recently, when Genevieve Drake—the incorruptible Vessel who would fulfill the prophecy—showed up that Kat and George had been in one another’s company for more than a minute or two in almost a century.

  Kat fiddled with the strap of the sheath holding the bowie knife at her hip. Since Genevieve had stepped into her life, George had stepped back into it as well. She didn’t know how to handle the chaos of emotions warring inside her every time she was in his presence. She’d become a good actress over the years, hiding her fear under a mask of indifference. After all, she’d spent the last ninety years dealing with demon scum and expelling them back to Hell. She’d learned the importance of hiding her emotions. But with George, she was beginning to fail. Miserably. The last time they’d met here for a rendezvous to discuss strategy, she’d arrived before Jude, Gen and the others. It was the first time Kat and George had been alone in decades.

  They treated each other with a cordial “hello.” Then she took to his wall of windows and stared at the city lights reflecting on the Thames. There was no mistaking the tension between them, filling up the room with an electric current sizzling straight to her gut.

  She felt him approach from behind, his autumn scent ensnaring her senses. A wall of heat at her back, he stood too close, but if she moved, she’d prove that his presence bothered her.

  “Katherine.” He’d never called her Kat, which was her preferred name. He refused, stubborn man. “I believe it’s time to stop punishing ourselves for a loss we cannot regain.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  He placed a gentle hand on one arm. She winced but didn’t pull away, not having had his touch for many, many years. Her body craved it like sunlight. Or air.

  “I still love you, you see,” he said gently. “I always have.”

  He wrapped one arm around her without touching her and opened his palm so she could see what he held. Within a small, sealed plastic bag lay a flattened, dried yellow flower.

  She lifted it with trembling fingers. “A cinquefoil.”

  “The cinquefoil,” he corrected. “I found it in your bedchamber in Harron House. After.”

  “You couldn’t have. Clyde had crushed it,” she said, heart hammering with the long-forgotten memory.

  “Yes. He did. But the petals were all still there. I managed to put them back together and make her whole again.”

  Kat spun to face him then, yearning to open her arms, but so afraid. Still so very afraid.

  “Damas still lives,” she reminded him. “And while he haunts this world, he’ll always haunt mine.”

  Jude and Gen had arrived at that moment, pulling them back to the reality that they were on the brink of the Great War.

  The elevator dinged and opened. Kat stepped into the glossy foyer and entered George’s home. The pianoforte at th
e entrance and the sweeping modern amenities, pristine and perfect, all the way to the crystal-clear wall of glass, the room-size balcony and the city of London glittering on the Thames beyond.

  With her stomach fluttering and her heart pounding erratically, she announced her arrival.

  “George? Kat here.”

  He strode up the long corridor from the back bedrooms, which she had never seen, dressed immaculately in full black and strapped with more deadly steel than she’d ever seen him wear. Including his favorite iron broadsword. He marched directly toward her. She stiffened and stood up straighter.

  “Katherine. Thank you for coming.”

  He sounded more businesslike than he had at their last meeting. She relaxed a fraction until he turned a look on her she hadn’t seen since the night he’d confessed his love for her in the gardens at Thornton. She swallowed hard.

  “What…what do you want?” she asked.

  He smiled—confident and smoldering. Just like that, her knees weakened. After all this time, he could still do that to her.

  “You, my lady. And after tonight, I plan to have you.”

  “George, we’ve been over this before.”

  “The last time we discussed this, you reminded me of something.”

  She couldn’t imagine what she’d reminded him of.

  “You said that Damas was still alive, and while he haunts this world, he’ll always haunt you.” He clutched the strap across his chest that held the broadsword’s scabbard against his back. “Genevieve now has the power to destroy demons. Not just to expel them back to Hell until they find a way to crawl back out, but wipe from existence.” Clenching the strap at his chest, he leaned farther into her space. “He dies tonight, Katherine. Then you must decide if you’re pushing me away because of Damas. Or because you’re still stuck down there in that dark well.”