by Isabel Wroth
Doyle visibly shuddered, scraping his hand down his face. “That’s because your olfactory system is for shit. Black magic lingers for years, man. It leaves the smell of raw sewage and rancid blood behind.”
Reece gagged, accepting Kerrigan’s offer to splash some peppermint oil on a tissue for him.
Doyle took one as well and fetched the cooler, both lions bravely following her up to the front door. It was obnoxiously ornate, scrolling iron and glittering glass.
A whisper of sound caught her attention, and Kerrigan looked over to see a huddle of ghosts staring at her from the other side of the hedgerow.
Men and women of all races and ages, about twenty of them—all with their major arteries slashed open—stood silently staring at her with dull, expectant expressions.
She swallowed thickly, wondering if they would help her or swarm her in a malevolent rage if she reached out to speak to them.
“Kerrigan? Is something wrong?” Ilex asked, stepping into her peripheral, clearly not seeing what she was seeing.
“There’s just a lot of ghosts here. Victims of the wives.”
Doyle made a high pitched noise that did not sound like something a lion ought to make.
“Ghosts? How many? Where?”
“Don’t be a pussy,” Reece told his partner. “They can’t hurt you.”
Kerrigan didn’t think it was wise to inform Reece or Doyle that was absolutely not true. None of the ghosts were attempting to speak or to come closer, and Kerrigan wasn’t in a position to promise them any kind of help.
Maksim needed her more than they did right now, and it wasn’t her job to clean up the Silver Wives’ mess.
“I can bust it in,” Reece offered when she continued to stand there and stare, his voice thick from having stuffed two pieces of peppermint soaked tissues up his nose.
“No need,” Kerrigan muttered, her cheeks heating with shame as she reached out and curled her hand around the knob.
The lock instantly clicked, allowing her to open the doors without so much as a squeak of sound. The shifters might be able to smell the Wives’ lingering wickedness, but the mansion looked pristine.
It felt like walking into a meat locker, her breath fogging in front of her face. Her skin crawled as her boot heels clicked across the marble floors, following a path she’d taken a thousand times in her mind over the last few hours.
The iron banded door was gone, the entryway to the basement no more than a gaping black hole, like a rotten tooth that had been pulled. More ghosts waited and watched from the other end of the hallway, bloody and pale.
The last time she’d been here, she’d only seen one or two peeking around the doorframes, probably too afraid to be seen by any of the Wives. Now, they packed the place like sardines.
Her stomach was a boiling cauldron of fearful hope and raw, bitter disgust for what had been done in this place.
“Do you see any more ghosts?” Doyle asked, throwing furtive glances around.
“Lots, but they’re not interested in you,” Kerrigan murmured sadly, wondering where all their bodies were buried. “The dungeon is down there.”
“Let us go down first.” Reece pushed past her to fearlessly march into the darkness.
Doyle was hot on his heels, and with a glance up to Ilex—who looked on placidly, calm as the day was long—Kerrigan followed.
As she passed the threshold, the torches on the walls burst into flame, one after the other.
“What the fuck?” Doyle practically squealed, a good twenty feet ahead of her on the stairs, still plunged in darkness.
Kerrigan swallowed audibly, clenching and unclenching her hands as one of her most terrible fears was confirmed.
“It’s alright. The house… knows me.”
“What? Cause you’re a witch?” Reece asked, pausing at the bottom of the stairs, holding his hand up for her to wait as his predator’s eyes scanned for any signs of life.
After convincing her heart to settle back into her chest where it belonged, Kerrigan started her descent into the most hellish place she knew.
When she hit the bottom, every torch in the circular room flared to life, one after the other with a rapid fire hiss and whoosh.
It was exactly as she remembered it, minus the ritual candles and the terrible sight of Maksim hung like a piece of meat from the far wall.
“I stabbed the love of my life through the heart, right over there,” Kerrigan whispered, clutching the strap of her satchel as her feet carried her forward to the flat stone altar, momentarily taken back to that night.
“The blood sacrifice was enough to make me a member of the Silver Wives, but I technically made it official when I used some serious black magic to curse the coven. Obviously, I refused to have any affiliation, and the curse I put on them ensured they wouldn’t ever claim me as one of theirs.”
She shook off the memories and spun in a slow circle, searching the blackened corners for any sign that Maksim was here somewhere.
There were still shelves with jars of body parts; candles sat on every flat surface, putting off a faint smell of fetid burning fat. Kerrigan saw the wispy form of a ghost wearing a football jersey. He couldn’t be any older than seventeen.
He looked at her with a sad, drawn expression on his young face and pointed to what looked like a solid wall. Her heart leaped with hope when she remembered there had been an archway there in the dark. Another cell.
“Over here! He’s over here!” She shouted as she rushed forward.
“Stop!” Ilex grabbed her around the waist and jerked her back a step, bringing her back against his hard chest, surrounding her in his woodsy scent.
“There is the faintest glow of power on the floor. I don’t like the look of it.”
Kerrigan followed the direction he pointed to, and sure enough, a sickly yellow line of something was etched into the floor.
“Thanks.”
“Of course,” Ilex murmured, slowly letting her go.
She rummaged around in her satchel for a few jars and potions, along with a bone knife. Kerrigan crouched down and dipped the blade into her potions.
“This must be the same barrier Astrid and I came up against when we traveled here.”
It had to be. Which meant Maksim was back there, chained and suffering. Kerrigan knelt on the dusty, dirty floor and set the tip of her knife to the edge of the barrier, jerking her hand back when the bone immediately began to deteriorate.
“Would that have happened to your skin if you touched whatever the hell that is?” Doyle asked in astonishment.
Kerrigan nodded, pulling a few more potions and some herbs from her bag. “Probably. This might take a minute.”
She specialized in breaking curses and hex’s; this stupid barrier wasn’t going to keep her from Maksim.
“We ain’t got nowhere to be,” Reece told her.
“Take your time,” Ilex encouraged. “Be safe.”
“But hurry up if you see any more ghosts,” Doyle ordered, casting furtive glances around the gloomy dungeon.
Kerrigan poured her own concoction of nullifying powder into her hand, blowing a stream of air across her palm to spread it across the barrier.
A glowing web, the color of puss, flared to life in front of her, and she hurried to find the right thread.
It took her long enough that the powder began to lose its potency, but just in the nick of time, she found a tiny knot and lifted her hand, palm flat and hovering just above it, using her energy to shape an invisible needle that siphoned the power away from the wicked spell.
The pain came slowly, a gradual burning sensation that intensified the longer she pushed her will into the sickly yellow web.
It started with a mild irritation along her palm and quickly escalated to what she imagined a third-degree burn would be.
“Kerrigan, you’re crying. What’s wrong?” Reece squatted beside her, his blond hair falling over his shoulders in frothy waves.
She shook her head and grit
ted her teeth, sure if she let go now, it would only make the web that much stronger. The more it hurt, the more the web weakened.
“I’m fine. Almost there.”
Trickles of cold sweat rolled down her spine; her hand felt like it was coated in acid now, her stomach threatening to revolt if it didn’t stop soon.
Kerrigan’s eyes pinched shut, her body swaying back and forth as she struggled to hold on.
The final thread snapped free with an audible pop, but not before delivering one last blow: a fiery slap right to Kerrigan’s exposed face that knocked her sideways into Reece’s arms.
Unprepared, they both went sprawling to the ground, and seconds later, she had three concerned men leaning over her, asking her if she was okay.
Doyle helped her sit up, watching her with laser focus when she cradled her burning hand to her chest, wiping the sweat off her brow with the other.
Kerrigan nodded with the intent to say she’d live, but the scrape of chains on stone and a deep groan that sounded like someone trying to say her name made her freeze in place.
She couldn’t see inside the pitch-black hole, but even cracked and dry, she would recognize Maksim’s voice anywhere. “He’s alive! Maksim, it’s Kerrigan. I’m here!”
She scrambled to her feet, rushing forward, without a care for her safety, toward the metal bars stretched across the arched opening.
Again, she was caught around the waist and hauled back just before her fingers could close around the bars.
“Don’t,” Doyle rasped, cinching his arm around her tighter when she struggled. “Don’t get any closer.”
“What the hell is wrong with you? Let me go!” Kerrigan slapped at his arm, kicking her feet when Doyle actually lifted her up to move her back a step.
Reece stepped into her line of sight, his tanned skin pale and tight as he stared into the darkness and then looked at her with wide, hollow eyes.
“Kerrigan… the thing that’s in there… honey, it’s bad. It’s really bad.”
“I swear to the Goddess, if you don’t let me go right now, I’ll see to it there’s a ghost mouth breathing at the end of your bed for the rest of your life!”
She twisted and thrashed, but Doyle’s arm might as well have been a steel beam.
Reece opened his mouth to say something, but the chains scraped again, and Maksim made a huge effort to speak.
“Kerry…gan—”
Her lip wobbled to hear how raw and dry his beautiful voice sounded; tears spilled down her cheeks.
“I’m here, Maksim. I’m right here.”
“Don’t… come… N’safe.”
Ilex had thus far been silent, peering into the darkness with his lips pinched tightly together, his eyes narrowed to slits.
“Kerrigan, do you recall what we discussed this morning about desiccation?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her entire body quaking with a flood of adrenaline and emotion.
“What’s happened to your… to Maksim, is worse than I could have possibly imagined.”
“What are you saying?” Kerrigan hiccupped, still trying to pry Doyle’s arm from around her.
Ilex took a breath as though bracing himself, nodding toward the shadowy recesses of Maksim’s cell.
“The blood we brought will not be enough. He needs living blood from several donors, and whoever we procure to feed him is unlikely to survive the experience.”
“No, Maksim isn’t like that. He wouldn’t—”
Ilex cut Kerrigan’s vehement protest short with a gentle wave of his hand.
“Kerrigan, no matter how gentle a being you have known him to be, he is still a vampire. A predator. A starving, emaciated predator in untold pain. The moment someone with a beating heart and a body filled with blood is within reach, he will not have the strength to control himself.”
She heard what he was trying to tell her, but she didn’t care. Kerrigan wasn’t leaving this basement without Maksim, and no one was going to die.
“He doesn’t have to. I can come up with something. I brought supplies; I know so many spells that I can use to help—”
“Sweet girl,” Ilex sighed. “You have exhausted yourself. Your magic is not strong enough to hold him right now. You do not understand—”
The pain in her hand was nothing compared to the searing burn of anger that lit up her insides.
“No, you don’t understand. He’s in there, suffering because of me. He’s been in there for the last twelve years because I left him. I will do whatever I have to today to get him out, and nothing you say is going to stop me. You said you came to help me, so stop giving me doom and gloom and help me!”
“Or—Orph…ee-us.” Maksim wheezed, the sound like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together.
In a very bird-like manner, Ilex tilted his head to the side.
“Orpheus? What is, Orpheus?”
“It’s a Greek myth about a man whose woman died and went to hell,” Doyle said from behind her. “He did everything in his power to get her out, even went to hell himself to get her spirit. The guy in charge down there said fine, Orpheus could have his woman, Eurydice, and if they made it out, she’d be alive and well again, but there were conditions.
“Orpheus had to lead the way up out of hell, but he couldn’t look back. He couldn’t look at Eurydice, and she didn’t make a sound all the way up along the path. He freaked out that he was being tricked, so, two feet from the door, he turned around to look. She’d been with him the whole way, but because he couldn’t take not knowing, Eurydice was yanked back to hell, lost to Orpheus forever.”
Reece gave his buddy a look that was both shocked and amused. “You read? That’s so… cute.”
“Fuck you, dude.”
An oversimplified explanation of a tragic tale, but good enough to get the gist. Kerrigan’s breath hitched on a sob, but his message was clear.
“He’s being ridiculous, but what he means is, he doesn’t want me to look at him.”
“Sweetheart, trust me, you don’t want to see him like this,” Reece told her with a shake of his head.
The laugh Kerrigan gave was harsh and ugly. “The last time I saw you, Maksim, I’d just pushed a knife through your chest. I held you in my arms, your blood soaking my clothes, and watched you wither away until you were nothing but a skeletal husk. There is nothing that could possibly be worse than that. Nothing. This is my fault, and I’m going to fix it.”
Maksim gave a rattling groan, a deep, pain-filled sound, and Kerrigan found the end of her patience.
“I’ll pony up a vein,” Doyle offered, Reece was quick to make the same offer.
Ilex sighed and dragged his hand down his face, his palm scraping against the scar on his face.
“I hesitated to say this because no doubt it was meant to be intensely emasculating, but Maksim has no fangs to make a smooth puncture. Whatever is put near his mouth, he will bite and tear into like a rabid dog.”
“What kind of ice-cold bitch would rip out a vampire’s fangs? Might as well just cut his dick off!” Reece guffawed incredulously.
In response, Maksim gave what might have been a laugh.
Kerrigan dashed the tears from her cheeks and blew out a steadying breath. “Vivica Price was responsible for pulling his teeth. I can fix it later. Doyle, I promise not to make a run for the bars. Please let me go.”
Doyle obeyed, but it was clear from the stubborn look on his face he wasn’t quite ready to trust her.
If she made one move toward the cell, Kerrigan was sure he’d snatch her right back up. She went to her knees again and rummaged through her bag, not looking up when Ilex crouched beside her.
“I have not offered my blood, because it would only cause him more pain. I am Fae; my blood would be like sipping on sunshine to him.”
Kerrigan nodded. “It’s fine. I just need a minute to think.”
“There is something else I can offer,” Ilex said hesitantly, rubbing his hand across his jaw while he stared sightless
ly at the dirt floor. “But, I fear it will upset Juliet.”
The jars in her hands rattled at the hesitant way Ilex spoke. Kerrigan looked up at him with wide eyes, her head cocked to the side.
“I wasn’t aware you and Juliet were involved.”
Ilex’s cheeks reddened slightly. “We are not.”
“But you want to be?” Kerrigan pressed. Ilex said nothing, but the silence spoke volumes. “Okay, what’s this something else you can offer that would upset Juliet?”
Ilex’s tongue worked across his teeth, a muscle in his jaw flexed right before he twitched his head toward the cell.
“I can take his blood-lust into myself and channel it into another kind of lust.” Kerrigan’s brows slid slowly up, and his cheeks reddened further.
“Whoever I summon to me will have no control of themselves; they will be forced to bend to my will. It is a form of violation that I do not believe Juliet could forgive.”
“Jules has a major soft spot for her sisters, Ilex,” Reece announced. The thunderous look Ilex shot him in response to calling Juliet by an affectionate nickname made the hair on Kerrigan’s arms prickle.
It didn’t seem to bother Reece, because he fished his cell-phone out of his pocket and held it up.
“Call her, tell her what’s going on, and I guarantee you she’ll be down for whatever.”
“While you call her, I can round up some women who’ll be more than willing to enjoy some time with a Green Man,” Doyle added helpfully.
Ilex gave Doyle a dubious look. “What kind of women?”
“There’s a werewolf pack not that far away; they’re all women and love to party. Upside, they’re only fertile for their fated mates, so there’s no risk of them getting pregnant. Even with your uber fairy sperm.”
Ilex nodded, a flash of relief crossing his features that told Kerrigan one of the reasons he hesitated to offer—aside from the knowledge he would be forcing women to come to him and answer the power of his green magic—was unintentional pregnancy.
It also told Kerrigan that Ilex was serious about whatever feelings he had for Juliet.
Without a word, Ilex held his hand out to Reece, and Reece handed him a ringing phone. It didn’t take but a few moments for Juliet to pick up, and Kerrigan held her breath.