by Hati Bell
Ravi pulled a cigarette and matches from his pocket. “Alec Kincaid is the reason I ended up in the Catacombs. Your so-called friendship came with a high price. Apparently it was too much to ask for you to stick out your neck for me. You clearly only do that for a certain dryad. Oh, wait, I meant a phoenix.” Gold Teeth looked around nervously. Ravi saw the tension on his bouncer’s face and laughed. “But you don’t fear them, do you, brother?” he said in a mocking tone of voice. “In fact, you seek them out, trying to save your lover. Something you never fucking did for me.”
Gold Teeth picked up the body and threw it over his shoulder. He dumped it into the trunk of his car. After he’d also picked up the head and thrown it in the trunk, he got in and drove away.
“Three hundred and sixty-five days in the Catacombs,” Ravi said softly. “One day there feels like a lifetime. You owe me three hundred and sixty-five lives. I will collect them from you piece by piece. You can bloody count on that.”
***
Ravi pulled on his cigarette as he watched his former blood brother leave. Drake Kincaid, heir to the Kincaid empire, was just crossing the street. In Ravi’s former life they would have gone out on a Saturday night. The evening would have started at a cheap hamburger place. His cousin Benn would have joined them, after they had pulled him away from behind his computer. Logan would have hit on the most beautiful woman in the pub.
His hands turned into claws just thinking about what he’d lost and he thought about stabbing Drake in the back, just as he’d done to him.
Suddenly the night smelled of fire and smoke. A grin formed on his face when out of the blue three people appeared behind Drake. They were on him before Drake knew what hit him. A second later they had disappeared.
He’d almost finished his smoke when a car with tainted windows drove down the street. It stopped right before his feet. Ravi smiled when the car’s window slid down. Apparently, it was a night full of surprises.
“Mr. Sengupta. I have a proposition for you.”
There was no introduction, nor a shake of hands. His nightly visitor was confident Ravi would accept the offer. He had an idea what the dirty job–and that it would be one, he was sure–might entail. You could pull the boy from the Catacombs, but not the Catacombs from the boy. Drake Kincaid’s world would burn and he was the one who would throw gas on it and light it on fire.
He took one last pull from his smoke and threw it on the ground. “I’m all ears.”
SEVEN
During the first two days of his captivity, Drake didn’t receive a single crumb of food. Not even water or bread. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to go without food. His father used to forget to feed him more often than not when he was lying passed out on the couch. He hadn’t had a proper meal until his stepmom came into his life.
Matteo Lancaster had put him in a room that looked like a dusty basement. It was packed with wooden crates, carton boxes, cans of paint, and old furniture. The only color in the room was a pool table and a green, velvet couch across from him against the wall. He was held down by two nails in his wrists, which hurt like hell, and chains that prevented him from changing into his dragon form. The wall he was chained against smelled moldy. There were no windows and only one lamp that flickered a yellow light.
Drake knew he was in trouble and hoped that Logan and Benn had been more successful with their plans concerning Lancaster’s pupil Namaka.
On the third day of his imprisonment he was rudely awakened from his sleep when the door was thrown open and Matteo Lancaster stepped inside. His black tailored suit was speckled with burn holes and his auburn hair was singed at the tips. He carried a large blanket in his arms. A pale face and long red curls peeked from the folds. Namaka was hot on his heels.
“Bring me the syringe,” Matteo said grimly.
Namaka dashed out of the cellar while his mentor gently put the bundle in his arms on the couch.
“Kidnapping women now, are we?” Drake taunted. “My hero.”
Matteo glared at him. “You should worry more about your own hide, draconi. Today is your last chance to tell me where my promesi is.”
Drake crossed his arms before his chest and leaned against the wall. “Don’t you want to tell me which unfortunate soul you’ve decided to torment this time?” He could evade questions just as easily.
Namaka returned with a syringe in his hand. Matteo rose up, a faint smile on his lips. “I have changed my mind. Let her awaken the natural way.”
“You sure?” Drake mocked. “Keeping her sedated is probably the only way to keep a woman with you. Isn’t that the reason why you refuse to wake Amber? Because you know you don’t have a chance with her once she gets to know you?”
Namaka sputtered indignantly. “We’re not sedating Faey because—”
Matteo raised his hand and shushed the kid. “You can fish all you want, draconi, but I will not bite. Nothing can make me wake Amber before you have turned old and grey. As far as you refusing to tell me my promesi’s whereabouts, you are going to wish you had told me when you had the chance.” He walked to a crate in the corner and started to rummage in it until he pulled out a crossbow.
Drake gave him a quizzical look, but Lancaster merely smiled. He put the weapon in front of Drake, but just out of his reach, and left.
Drake studied the girl lying on the rickety couch. His chains only granted him a few feet to move around and prevented him from walking over to her. She wasn’t chained, though, so apparently she wasn’t a prisoner. Lancaster had looked at her with affection. Yet still he had put her in a cellar instead of in a guest room.
It didn’t take long before Faey started to twist and turn in her sleep. “No… not again.”
He started to feel more and more uncomfortable when the girl began to sob. When she suddenly let out an ear-piercing scream he covered his ears. It was a bone-chilling howl he had only heard once before. Amber had screamed like that, right before the end.
The blanket slid off the girl when she suddenly rose to a sitting position. Her white tee was covered in grass stains and mud. Faey had the figure of a toned fifties pin-up model. She had a heart-shaped face, freckles, and the greenest eyes that were staring blindly into the distance.
“You won’t get me this time,” she snarled at an invisible enemy.
Drake cursed when flames shot from her hands. One of the flames hit the ladder next to him and started a fire. “Take it easy,” he said, trying to calm her down, though she didn’t seem to hear him.
Faey jumped onto a crate and made crazy ass-kicking moves like a ninja. A broom and a few cans of paint were crushed under her heels.
He locked me up with a bloody phoenix.
“Vasily! I hate you! I. Hate. You!” Her yell was accompanied with another set of kicks which splintered the crate. Chips of wood flew everywhere, catching fire. The fire spread through the frayed carpet to the pool table.
He locked me up with a bloody mad phoenix.
Drake stepped aside when flames licked the pool table, right next to his feet. Trapped in his human form he once again cursed the fact that he couldn’t change into his dragon skin which was practically impervious to fire.
He kicked the pool table until it collapsed and buried the fire underneath it. The colored balls rolled everywhere and scattered into all corners of the room.
Faey’s eyes turned into fiery pools when she saw the crossbow before him. She made some weird sideways flip and stood before him in a fighting pose.
“Vasily!” she yelled again.
Who?
He ducked another punch when she started a full-on attack of kicking and hitting him. He managed to block a kick to his sternum even though his chains were definitely holding him back. All of a sudden the kicking and hitting stopped. He barely had time to catch his breath because what he saw chilled his blood. Less than ten feet away, Faey stood with a crossbow aimed at him.
“Vasily the hunter is finally the prey,” she whispered.
He
pulled at his chains. But weakened as he was by the iron holding him in his human form, he knew it was useless. “Listen, um, Faey? I’m not who you think I am.”
Her eyes had a hint of madness in them. “You have no idea how long I have waited for this moment, mudak,” she hissed and shot a dart into his thigh.
He growled from the pain and tried to stay on his feet. “Look at me, Faey! Look at my face!” Her eyes were red-rimmed, just like Benedict’s. That thought hit him like a brick. Was this how Amber would be when she woke up? Would she think him her enemy and want to kill him? He shook his head to cast that idea away. This was exactly what Lancaster had wanted when he had locked this crazy phoenix inside with him—to get in his head and mess it up.
“For twenty years you have followed me like a bloodhound and pierced me with your arrows,” Faey snapped, taking another aim with the bow. “And not once did I receive a Hallmark card saying, ‘I’m sorry.’ But then you’re not like the other Romanov brothers, are you? You only live for your cursed duty as a Hunter. I’ve seen doormats with more personality than you.”
The next arrow hit him in his other leg and he dropped to his knees. He’d stopped trying to follow her crazy monologue five minutes ago. He was now looking for a weapon. He scooted backwards and felt something beneath his leg. He wrapped his arm underneath his knee and grabbed the ball. When she aimed the crossbow once again he pulled the ball from under him and threw it at Faey’s head.
It hit her square in the face. She screamed and dropped the crossbow when her hands flew at her nose.
Drake immediately slid towards the weapon, picked it up, and slammed it against her knee. Faey collapsed like a falling tree. He pushed through the pain and pressed his knee on her throat. He pulled the arrow from the crossbow and threw the weapon to the other side of the room. “Be still or I will fucking jam this arrow in your eye.”
Faey froze. Her face was a bloody mess, but the crimson around her eyes slowly disappeared when she looked at him. “Blyat! Who are you? Where is Vasily?” Then her eyes narrowed. “Where am I?”
He relaxed his knee on her throat for a fraction. “I’m Drake. I don’t know who or where this Vasily guy is. And this place you’re stashed at is Matteo Lancaster’s basement.” He felt her relax the moment she heard Lancaster’s name.
“Get your knee off me, draconi, or I will barbecue your scaled tail.”
He hesitated for a split second and it cost him. Faey yanked the arrow from his thigh and he fell backward. Fucking hell, that hurt!
She scooted backwards until her back hit the couch.
“I’m not your enemy,” he said to placate her. “I just want to get out of here, just like you. We could help each other out instead of fighting.”
Faey reset her nose, not wincing even a bit. She pulled herself up with the arrow still in her hand. “You’re wrong, draconi. Not even I would get involved with an inferi. Matteo must have had a good reason to lock you up.”
“Like he did when he dumped you here?” Drake countered.
Something dark flashed in her eyes. “Especially when he did that,” she said softly.
Before he could react, she traced in front of him and jammed the arrow right in his stomach. He buckled over from the pain and his head shot up. “Why?”
Faey was already at the door, but she turned around. “I hate draconis almost as much as I hate the Romanov brothers.”
After those cryptic words, she left. Drake pressed his hands against his stomach and slowly felt the life drain out of him.
EIGHT
Heat. All there was was heat, like liquid gold dancing before her eyes. It hugged her like a mother her newly born baby. Followed by a soothing voice inside her head with the hint of an Italian accent.
Follow my voice, promesi, and reach out to the light. Choose life, as you did before.
Then another voice. One she recognized: Logan. “Wakey wakey, Sleeping Beauty. Your dark prince needs you. How much longer is this going to take, phoenix whisperer?”
“Will you stop asking me that? Just keep your end of the deal.”
“Namaka in exchange for a rising and shining Amber,” Logan stated.
“I will burn you to ash if you try to get out from under our deal.” The voice sounded arctic.
“I always keep my end of the deal,” Logan replied just as coldly.
“Then why did you refuse to make a dragon promise?”
“Let me think. Why did I refuse to make a promise I would have to keep even if you would fail to awaken her?” The sarcasm in his voice could cut steel. “The day I make anyone a dragon promise is the beginning of the end of Logan Stark. I have never made a promise in my life to anyone and I’d like to keep it that way.”
Amber slowly opened her eyes. Her throat was parched and beads of sweat covered her face. She shivered from the cold and then burned up. A hand stroked her back. It was only then it dawned on her that she lay on top of a bare chest. The hand slid down to her waist and rested on her hip. She felt her cheeks burn, this time it had nothing to do with the heat. She pulled away from the body next to her and looked at him. “Who are you and why are you lying half-naked in my bed?” The man, he seemed about thirty-something, had short-cropped auburn curls and serious-looking grey eyes.
“Not exactly half-naked,” he said pointedly.
It wasn’t until he sat upright and the sheets slid to his hips that she got what he meant. She swung her legs over the bed and darted out. The motion made her head spin and she would have dropped onto her knees if someone hadn’t grabbed her from behind, keeping her steady.
“Not so fast, O’Neill. You’ve been in that bed for a year. Your muscles have to adjust to moving again.”
Logan again. How did she ever forget that voice? She turned around and looked into a ridiculously handsome face. The guy who had wanted to kill her had golden strands of hair, like of an angel. Of course, she knew he was more of a devil. “You are Logan.” She winced when her voice rasped as though damaged by fire.
He gently placed her on the edge of the bed. “That’s right, beautiful. I knew you wouldn’t forget—”
She hit him right on the jaw. “I certainly haven’t! You wanted to kill me!” She grabbed hold of the edge of the bed, not wanting to do a face-plant.
“Oh.” He rubbed his jaw and looked sheepish. “So you’ve heard that, have you?”
“I heard everything!”
“My intentions were good,” he countered. “If I would end up plugged into a machine, leading a vegetative life, I’d wish for someone to pull the plug.” He gave her a radiant smile. “Besides, think of all the times I got you out of a pickle. Doesn’t that make up for a well-meant talk about putting an end to your suffering?”
It was as if a door inside her head cracked open.
She was inside a cellar with Logan. He was tied onto a wine barrel, his legs pierced with big, iron bars. A man was looming threateningly over him. His father. The scene changed. They were in a car now. He had a Mohawk. Classic rock filled the inside of his car as he told her about his first love. Then he laughed at her, but in a friendly way.
Bit by bit, like pieces of a puzzle, her memories clicked in to each other. “You let your hair grow,” she said—the first thing that came to mind.
He looked a bit surprised and combed his fingers through his long strands. “You like it,” he said, sporting a huge grin.
The mattress squeaked when the man—the naked man—got out of her bed and walked over to a chair with clothes on it. She kept her eyes on the wall until he was dressed.
After he was decent, covered up in a black suit, he came to stand before her. She focused on his grey eyes but still couldn’t remember him. Were her memories already fading? What was she, an alarm clock that kept resetting?
“We have not been formally introduced yet. I am Matteo Mundus Leonardo Lancaster, Byzantium, during Justinian the Great,” he said, making a little bow.
“We haven’t formally…?” When had the
y informally?
“The first time we spoke was when I fished you out of the water. A draconi had smacked you into the river,” he reminded her.
During an outdoor gym class. The door to her memory rushed wide open. “You were my mysterious savior.”
“I am much more than that. I am your promesi.”
Aha. “What does that mean?”
He smiled, obviously elated she had asked that question. “It means we are connected. It means I would go through fire for you. You are not just a dryad anymore, but a phoenix as well. Your body is acclimating. Give it time and all your memories will return.”
Not a dryad? A phoenix? She was bombarded with images, as if looking back to a movie of her former life. She sat in the back yard talking with a man who gave her a cup of tea. Her father? O’Neill. William O’Neill.
I’m the daughter of William O’Neill.
She slung her legs over the side of the bed and realized that she was wearing pajamas with a heart print. “Where are my clothes?”
Logan pushed some jeans and a sweater in her arms. “Get dressed, O’Neill. We have to hurry.”
Matteo frowned. “She is not going anywhere with you. This was not part of the deal.”
Logan gave him a withering look. “Our deal was that you would awaken her in exchange for your pupil’s life. Namaka’s at the Oasis, in the stockroom. Why don’t you trace over there? We didn’t make any deals about my brother who, as we speak, is enjoying your… hospitality. As soon as Jason Bourne over here has regained her memory she will wish she had helped Drake.”
There it was again: the name of the Pained Voice. Amber put her arms through the sleeve of her sweater and then felt a sting inside her heart.
Shoulder-length black hair. So black that it was almost blue. Moss-green eyes that always seemed to know where she was. She lay on the grass, in his arms. Her insides were burning like someone had lit a million pieces of fireworks that were going off. Her vision, the moment she knew she was going to die, had started. He frantically looked at her, trying to stop the unavoidable.