The Necromancer's Bride

by Kat Ross

  He was a necromancer. An Antimagus. A killer a thousand times over. The mere whisper of his name inspired fear among those who knew his reputation. Yet she had come to know a softer side. A man with a rigid sense of honor, but also kindness and decency. In truth, she’d fallen madly, hopelessly in love with him, as improbable as it seemed.

  Then he’d done something rotten and she’d done something worse, and they’d parted on very bad terms.

  Gabriel had a fiery temper and nursed grudges with greater devotion than any person Anne had ever met, but perhaps if she gave him the cross back — the one her brother stole three hundred years before, the one that started the whole mess -- he might be willing to forgive. Either way, she had to try.

  Anne’s solitary existence had suited her once, but now the world was not just a lonely place without Gabriel.

  It was insufferably boring.

  She passed the night unmolested by sprites or anything else. In the morning, she walked to the next village and made inquiries. No one had seen a man who fit her description. So Anne forged ahead, striding along the side of the road with her black parasol raised against the heat of the midday sun. She spoke to fishermen and farmers, mothers and children.

  At last, she found herself at a tavern in Sandy’s Parish at the far end of the island.

  It was a small, rough place, hardly more than a shack. She approached the barkeep, a slender dark-skinned man in his late forties, and ordered a mug of ale.

  “I’m looking for my cousin,” she said. “Dark blonde hair, medium build.” Anne smiled. “He wears it unfashionably long, tied with a black ribbon.”

  The barkeep gave her a bland smile. “I’m sorry, miss. Haven’t seen him.”

  “He speaks with a French accent.”

  He thought for a moment, his brow furrowing. “No, I don’t think so, miss. I’d remember that.”

  Anne sighed. “Thank you anyway.”

  He leaned forward and lowered his voice, his eyes flickering towards the group of white sailors who sat at a long table. “That lot is deep in their cups, miss. You might want to try elsewhere.”

  Anne’s feet hurt and it was a long journey back to Hamilton. “I’ll just have my ale first.”

  “As you please.”

  The barkeep placed the mug of tepid ale before her. He ran a rag over the counter and signaled to a boy who was rinsing glasses in a bucket. “Joseph, run along to Aunt Ida’s house. She wanted you for feeding the pigs and you know how she gets when she thinks you’re shirking.”

  The boy held his eye for a moment, then bobbed his head and scampered off.

  Anne took a seat at a corner table where she could watch the harbor. The village of Somerset sat at the far western tip of the island. If Gabriel wasn’t here, that meant she’d chosen the wrong direction. Anne wondered if she could catch a boat back to the capital. She didn’t mind walking, but she doubted Gabriel would stay in Bermuda long — if he hadn’t already left.

  She’d pried the whole story from her brother of what had happened at the Picatrix Club in London two days before she drove Gabriel away. A senior member of Gabriel’s Order of the Rose, a man named Constantin, had betrayed him in the vilest fashion, stabbing Gabriel in the back with a rare sword that should have killed him. Anne still didn’t understand why it didn’t, but revenge would be Gabriel’s first priority.

  According to Alec, Constantin was now in the service of a necromancer named Jorin Bekker. They were trying to revive the high council known as the Duzakh, which had torn itself apart in a bloody civil war two hundred years before. Constantin had Bekker’s protection and Alec said he was one of the wealthiest men in Europe, with nearly limitless resources. It all sounded like another disaster in the making.

  She looked up to find one of the sailors staring at her. She ignored him, determined to finish her ale before leaving. She felt weary and frustrated. Perhaps it had been a mistake to come here. Alec was right. She was chasing a ghost better left alone.

  But she couldn’t. Not after that letter….

  From the corner of her eye, she saw the sailor rise and approach her table. He was a big man, with a red face and a squashed nose that had clearly weathered more than one brawl.

  “Buy you a drink?” The words slurred at the edges.

  “That’s kind of you to offer, but no thank you,” she said firmly. “I’m meeting my fiancé.”

  “I don’ see a ring.” He paused, swaying above her. “Why don’ we have a chat while you wait for this phantom to appear?”

  Laughter erupted from his friends, who were watching the exchange as if a wager rested on the outcome. Anne sighed and rose to her feet. She was reaching for her valise when a hand gripped her arm.

  “Where you goin’?”

  “Back to my room.” She frowned. “Let go of me.”

  His grip didn’t slacken. “But you jus’ got here.”

  Anne glanced at the barkeep, who was drying a glass with a rag. He looked worried.

  “This is a civil establishment, sir—” he began politely.

  “Don’t get above yourself,” the sailor growled, shooting him a hostile look. “I don’t take orders from colored.”

  Anne gave the barkeep a slight shake of her head. She wouldn’t get him in trouble with a mob of drunken white men. He watched the scene with a wary expression.

  “Are none of you willing to assist a lady?” she asked the other sailors.

  Flat stares greeted this remark. Anne hadn’t really expected help, but she always gave them a fair chance.

  “No knights in shining armor here, love,” someone remarked.

  Anne nodded. “That’s a shame. As it happens, there are no ladies either.”

  The sailor grunted as she deftly pried a finger back, breaking his grip, and ground the bones of his huge, calloused hand together. He yelped in pain. Then his face went dark with rage.

  “You little bitch—”

  He reached for her again and Anne’s parasol met the juncture between his legs with a dull smack. The blow came so fast, he didn’t even have time to register surprise. He hit the floorboards with a crash, writhing soundlessly.

  Anne’s cool gaze swept across the astonished faces of his friends. “Good day, gentlemen,” she said briskly. “Try to behave yourselves.”

  The barkeep’s lips twitched in a barely suppressed smile as she picked up her valise and turned for the door.

  A man leaned against the frame.

  Her breath caught as she met Gabriel’s brown eyes.

  Chapter 2

  Anne had nearly forgotten the intensity, the unwavering focus. She squared her shoulders and searched his face for some sign. Gabriel was not smiling. He wore a wrinkled linen shirt, open at the throat, his skin brown from the sun. Snug grey trousers were tucked into a pair of dusty boots. He looked thinner than she remembered, his cheekbones sharp beneath a scruffy blonde beard.

  An arc of electricity passed between them and she was the first to break eye contact.

  Anne strode past him into the street, staring ahead as he fell into step beside her. Neither of them spoke for a long minute. She shot him a sidelong glance.

  “You might have offered to help.”

  “If you’d needed it, I would have,” he muttered.

  Anne stopped and turned to face him. “Gabriel—”

  “Not here.” He kept walking and she hurried to catch up. On the outskirts of the village, he veered towards a horse cropping weeds beneath a stand of junipers. It whickered softly at his approach.

  Gabriel laid a palm on its nose, avoiding her eye. “What are you doing in Bermuda?” he asked quietly.

  Anne set her valise down. “I arrived four days ago. I asked at the post office. They remembered you, so I knew I’d come to the right place. I walked from St. George’s.”

  Gabriel remained silent. When she’d encountered him at a remote monastery in the Carpathians, he had been the picture of a gentle, scholarly abbot. Later, when he held her captive in
Normandy, he’d revealed a volatile temper and personality that could charitably be called obsessive. He was also infinitely generous with himself. Gabriel held nothing back and demanded the same in return.

  Now she sensed something simmering beneath the surface, ready to erupt, though what it might be, she couldn’t say.

  Anne opened the latches of her suitcase and took out the cedarwood box. Gabriel eyed the box, but made no move to take it.

  “I brought you the rose cross. It was wrong of Alec to steal it from you.”

  The thin line of gold around his irises flared. “That’s why you came?”

  “No, I just—”

  “So now you are the noble prince, bringing Cinderella her sad little shoe?” His lip curled. “Well, you can keep it.”

  Anne sighed. “Gabriel—”

  “He sent you here, didn’t he? Did he think I would come after them again? Nom de dieu.” Gabriel drew a ragged breath. “Go back to London and tell Alec Lawrence he has nothing to fear from me.” And with that, he spun on his heel and stalked away.

  I’ve made a mess of things, she thought, setting the box atop her valise. Anne strode after him and caught his sleeve. Gabriel halted, his face carved from stone.

  “It’s not why I came,” she said in exasperation. “Don’t be a fool. I came because … because I wanted to see you again.”

  “Why? To finish what you started?”

  “Yes.” His jaw set. “I mean, no.” Maddening creature. “What exactly are you referring to?” she finished weakly.

  His eyes narrowed. “You did stab me, Anne.”

  “Not in the heart,” she replied defensively. A pause. “Not the second time at least.”

  The look he gave her was withering.

  A flush crept up her neck. “You wrote me a letter—”

  “In a moment of weakness,” Gabriel replied curtly. “I didn’t expect you to come here.”

  “Well, I did, so you’ll do the courtesy of hearing me out,” she said, her voice rising. “I couldn’t have leapt off that tower like you did, you great lummox, I would have cracked my skull open. And if you’d stayed for another twenty seconds, someone would be dead now. Perhaps my brother, or Vivienne. Or… or you. And I couldn’t have gone on living!”

  The hard lines of his mouth softened but she barely noticed. All the anguish of the last two months rose up in a black tide. Anne prided herself on being rational and cool-headed, but she was neither of these things where Gabriel was concerned.

  “Do you really think I would have done it if I thought there was any choice? I did it to save you, you bloody idiot.” The next words came in a monotone, dragged up from the lightless depths. “God help me, I love you with all my heart.”

  “Anne—”

  “If I could have plunged that blade into my own flesh to keep you from harm, I would have done it in a second.” Angry tears scalded her eyes. “I’ve done nothing but think of you every moment since you’ve been gone, it’s been a torment—”

  “Anne.”

  “What?” she snapped.

  His voice was frayed, nearly inaudible. “Kiss me.”

  She closed the distance in one long stride and cupped Gabriel’s face in her hands. His beard was coarse and in need of trimming. Warm breath tickled her nose as she tipped her chin up to meet his eyes.

  It was like pouring oil on a pile of smoldering embers. Anne thought her hair might catch fire from the sudden heat between them.

  Gabriel tensed at her touch, but his hand gripped the curve of her back, drawing her against him, almost unwillingly. His eyes filled with confusion and ambivalence. Anne pressed her advantage before he could change his mind, gently nipping at his lower lip. He made a helpless sound as she deepened the kiss. A hard thigh pushed between her skirts.

  “Anne,” he murmured with a note of warning, but seemed unable to finish the thought as she tugged the shirt free from his trousers, needing to feel bare flesh. His breath quickened as her fingertips brushed the muscles of his back. Her own dress felt far too tight. She could hardly draw air. Gabriel’s hand gathered the heavy material of her skirts and drew it up. Anne arched into him, drowning in that intoxicating scent of clean, half-tame male….

  “Merde.” He let her skirts fall with a long exhalation.

  “No,” she murmured. “Don’t stop….”

  He took her chin and turned it toward the sea. A group of boys in straw hats and knee-length pants stood on the beach watching them with unabashed interest.

  Gabriel cleared his throat and took a step back. “I shouldn’t have….” Spots of color burned in his cheeks. “We need to talk.”

  Anne smoothed her dress, her heart still thumping hard. Probably for the best. God only knows how “kiss me” might have ended otherwise.

  Gabriel turned his back to her as he tucked his shirt in, drawing several deep breaths before he faced her again. When he did, his expression was even grimmer. She suddenly understood that he was angry at himself for losing control. For letting her inside his defenses, even for an instant. She felt puzzled.

  Then why did he ask me to kiss him?

  Perhaps because he needed to know if there was anything left between them.

  He had his answer. And now he didn’t know what to do with it.

  Anne’s carefully rehearsed speech evaporated beneath the force of his stare. “I’m so sorry for how things ended,” she said.

  “So am I. Where are you staying?”

  “Nowhere.”

  Gabriel frowned.

  “I’ve been sleeping by the sea.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “So you have nowhere to go? The nearest hotel is in Hamilton. That’s a day away.”

  Anne lifted her chin. “I’m perfectly fine outside, thank you.” She held his gaze. “If you want me to leave, just say so. Tell me to go away and I’ll never bother you again.”

  A muscle feathered in his jaw. “I don’t want you to leave,” he said at last.

  She gave him a tentative smile, the knot in her chest easing.

  “I love you, too, Anne.” His eyes hardened, and suddenly, the wounds were right there at the surface. “But I don’t trust you.”

  She drew a sharp breath.

  “I put you in an impossible position,” Gabriel continued. “The fault for that is entirely mine. And I’m sure you stabbed me with the noblest of intentions.” A hint of bitterness crept into his voice. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you did. You gutted me, Anne. In every sense of the word. The last two months have been hell and I’m not out the other side yet.” A fractured pause. “I might never be.”

  His words scraped bone. “You’re right,” she said, her throat dry. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was so angry. And then so afraid. I should have confronted you before Vivienne came and it was too late. All I can say is that I was not myself.”

  Anne wondered if he could see the half-truth written across her face.

  Gabriel brought out the best in her — and the worst. The impulsive, savage part she’d worked so hard to eradicate. The part she’d thought might be gone forever but wasn’t. Someday she would tell him all of it, but not now. Not when any wrong word would push him further away.

  She regarded him steadily. “What shall we do, Gabriel? How can we be friends again? If there’s a way for me to make amends, you have only to name it.”

  He seemed to soften a fraction. “I need time. Can you give me that?”

  She swallowed. “Of course I can. As much as you want.”

  Anne retrieved her parasol and valise, carefully tucking the rosewood box back inside. When she stood, Gabriel was standing next to the horse, the reins in hand.

  “Come to the house,” he said. “It isn’t far. Jacob and Julian are out. You can put your things in one of the empty rooms.”

  “Who are Jacob and Julian?”

  “The surviving members of my Order.”

  She’d hoped Gabriel might be alone, but she wasn’t surprised. The Order of
the Rose was his life’s purpose. Founded in the 1600s, it hunted men who used their wealth and power to escape justice for heinous crimes. Now Anne wondered uneasily how much they knew about her.

  “I don’t want to impose on you,” she said. “Or them. I like sleeping under the stars.”

  He shook his head. “After what you did to that idiot at the tavern, it’s better you stay out of sight. I’m sure the whole village knows by now.” He paused. “And there’s more we need to discuss.”

  “Only if you’re sure it won’t cause problems?”

  “I am.” Gabriel offered her the reins. “You must be tired. I can walk.”

  Anne eyed the animal with distrust. “I prefer my own feet.”

  “Don’t you ride?” he asked in surprise.

  “Only when I have no choice.”

  In fact, Anne disliked conveyances of any sort. If she wasn’t in a hurry, she walked. If she was in a hurry, she ran, a punishing, ground-eating pace she could keep up for miles. She’d done it not long ago in the snowy forests of Romania. Fleeing from him.

  Gabriel gave her a curious, appraising look. The month they’d spent together at the Chateau de Saint-Évreux was a far cry from the real world. There were still many things neither knew about the other.

  “As you prefer,” he said.

  She strode along beside him as Gabriel led his horse up a long, winding road. The land fell away until they reached the top of a hill with a view of the sea in all directions and Anne saw a limestone manor house with black shutters and a shaded veranda. The boy from the tavern ran up to them. Gabriel gave him an affectionate pat on the head.

  “Joseph, this is Miss Lawrence.”

  “Pleased to meet you, miss,” he said with a gap-toothed smile, as if he hadn’t just seen her an hour before.

  “Likewise.” Anne returned his grin. “The barkeep did know you,” she said to Gabriel, as Joseph led the horse to a barn.

  “He’s Jacob’s cousin. He sent Joseph to fetch me when you came in asking questions.”