The Fires of Tartarus

by Emma V. Leech

  “Why? Why was I there? What did I do to deserve that?”

  I opened my mouth to reply but couldn't find the words. You loved me was the truth, and I knew now it would send him running as far from me as he could possibly get.

  “You went there by your own free will,” I said after what seemed an eternity of silence.

  He looked at me as though I was insane. I didn't doubt the truth of it.

  He shook his head, unable to accept my words. “You said that my mind was damaged, was that why?”

  I shook my head, blinking hard and struggling to maintain my composure. “No. The madness was as a result of you being there. It wasn't why you chose to go.”

  He shook his head, pointing at me, accusation in his stance and his words. “Dis Pater put me there.”

  I nodded. “Yes,” I replied, breathing too hard. “But you knew he would. You sacrificed yourself, knowing he would send you to Tartarus.”

  “Why?” The word was a roar and the furniture in the room smashed into the walls, pushed back by the wave of his anger as I stood still, immovable, riding out the storm of his temper as it blasted past me like a furnace. “Why would I do that? It's the act of a madman!” He strode towards me, towering over me, shouting in my face. “You all look at me like I'm unhinged, like I'm fucking insane but I know I would never voluntarily sacrifice myself to an eternity of damnation, so tell me the truth, just this once!” he raged as his hand closed around my throat. “Why?”

  I looked up at him, feeling the power behind that hand, seeing the fangs that would rip into my flesh if I let him lose control, seeing the violence and need and unutterable fear in his eyes. “You know why.” My voice was barely more than a whisper after the ear-shattering noise of splintering wood hitting the walls.

  For a moment he held my gaze, and then he dropped his hand like I'd burned him and turned away from me.

  “And this is the thanks I get,” he sneered, though I could feel the tumult of his emotions no matter how hard he tried to hide them for me. “To be locked in my room like a badly behaved child while the grown ups go and talk about important things.”

  I swallowed, wondering how much I could tell him. “Ambrogio is here,” I said and wondered if I'd made a mistake as his head whipped around in astonishment. He stared at me, disbelieving at first and then finally accepting it as the truth.

  “That's why,” he murmured, almost as if I was no longer there at all. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. “I can feel him ... close by. His power burns in my blood ... He calls.”

  “What?” I asked in alarm. I ran to him and laid my hand on his arm, and he snatched it away, looking at me as though I'd branded him. “He calls to you?” I demanded, ignoring the ache in my chest at his reaction. There were more immediate concerns than my tattered heart after all.

  He looked back to me, amusement in his eyes. “Not to me. He murmurs his soft words into everyone's ear, all of us. He tells them you are not worthy, not fit to rule a family such as this.”

  I sucked in a breath, holding down panic with difficulty. “Why can't I hear him too then?” I demanded and felt a wave of pure fear as Corvus laughed.

  “Because he does not want you to hear. Because you are not truly vampire. He is as tired of this new century - of this new world - as I am. He rails against all your rules and remembers a time when we did as we pleased.”

  Terror ran over me at the echo of those words, remembering another vampire who had thought that way, another battle, more blood on my hands. Corvus had hated Tacitus more than anyone else, and he had despised his intentions. But that was then. “And what do they say, my family?” I could hear my own heart thudding in my ears and knew he could hear it too, amplifying my fear and broadcasting it loud and clear.

  He didn't answer, and I felt a rush of love towards them. They would stand with me. They would fight for me. I should never have doubted it. Not for a second. “And what about you?” I asked. “Do you think you would be happier with another in my place, in a world where you could kill when and where you wanted?”

  He snorted and looked at me with those achingly familiar eyes that could watch empires rise and fall but still didn't remember me.

  “I would go to the ends of the earth to get as far from you as possible given the choice.”

  I pushed at him, all pretence of composure shattered beyond repair, smashing my fists against his chest. “Liar!” I screamed. “You fucking coward! Liar! I went into Tartarus for you. I killed a god for you!”

  He snatched at my wrists and wrestled me down to the floor as I screamed at him in fury. Raising my knee, I rammed it hard between his legs. He gasped and grabbed at my hair in retaliation, hauling my head back, and for a moment I thought he would rip out my throat his anger was so beyond his control. I knew I should stop him, command him to his knees, see him cowed by my absolute control. But I didn't want that. I wanted his strength, needed his power. I just wanted for all of it to be with me, for me, at my side - not opposing me at every turn. I went slack as the fight went out of me. I was so tired, so fucking tired of fighting everyone and everything.

  I closed my eyes, waiting for the pain, waiting for him to give into the desire to kill me, to rid himself of the burden of loving me. Not that it would change anything in the end. I was a goddess, immortal. He could take this life and leave the family to face Ambrogio and everything that would mean, but he couldn't stop me from existing. I would still rule the Underworld. I would still be a part of his world. He could never be free of me, as I could never be free of him, because my own stubborn, stupid, masochistic heart just wouldn't give up.

  I felt a tear slide down my cheek, hot against my skin, but nothing ripped at my throat. I forced myself to open my eyes to find him watching me.

  “I don't have that choice, though, do I?” His voice was low, the anger still blazing in his eyes, anger and frustration, and suddenly his defences dropped, and I felt just how very lost and alone he truly was. I reached up and grabbed the back of his neck, pulling his mouth down to mine and kissed him. For the briefest second he was still, frozen with fear and doubt running through his veins. I felt the moment he surrendered to it, to the inevitability of fate and desire, to the weight of our joined destiny, inexorable, inescapable and doomed from the very start. There was simply no escape, not for either of us.

  Chapter 44

  It wasn't the first time he'd put his hands on me in this way, with anger as the driving emotion. He snatched at my dress, and I heard tiny beads skitter over the hard wood floor as he yanked it up and out of his way. For some idiotic reason my temper flared at his lack of care. He acted like he didn't give a damn about me, about us, about the stupid damn dress that I'd worn for him. I slapped his face, and he growled at me in fury, the sound vibrating through my body. Glaring at him, I pushed to get him off me, surprised when he actually moved without me forcing him. I got to my feet, probably not as elegantly as I hoped and looked down at him.

  His shirt was untucked and only partly buttoned, showing an expanse of muscular chest and taut abs that made my mouth dry. My gaze travelled over him, his hair long and dishevelled from our tussle, his lips red from the intensity of the kiss and his eyes black where the pupil had flooded the iris, leaving just a cool blue rim visible. Desire flooded me, a lava-like heat that made my breath catch. I reached to my side and pulled, slowly, at the little zip with his eyes tracking the movement. I slid the material down, kicking it to one side as I now found I couldn't care less about it either.

  I was still in my heels, and I looked down at him, for the first time truly enjoying my power over him, power that had nothing to do with magic or his blood in my veins. He was trying hard to rein in his emotions and get them under control, and the fact that he was failing so badly made that shared blood run hot. There was so much wanting there, so much desire. No matter how he railed against it, he was powerless in the face of it, and he knew I knew it. I felt the anger in him grow.

  “C
ome here.” There was no command in the words other than my intent, and I saw the internal war he fought. He didn't want to do as I asked, and yet he did, so badly.

  I didn't move, still standing just a couple of feet from him, watching him. The muscles in his jaw tightened, and he moved to stand up.

  “No.” I wasn't going to force him. If he did as I said, it was because he chose to obey me, and I watched as he stilled, rage simmering in his veins. “I never said you could get up.”

  An icy cold glare met mine, and there was a strained pause. I wondered if he'd do it. He stared at me as the war continued to rage behind those eyes. I could feel the heat of his anger towards me and layered beneath it an intense excitement. I bit back a smile. Well this was new.

  He closed the space between us on hands and knees, moving slowly, and looking more like a predator moving in for the kill than the least bit subservient, but he'd done what I demanded, and I revelled in his capitulation.

  “Is this what you want from me, to see me on my knees?” he growled. “Master.”

  I reached out and threaded my hand through his hair, watching as he leaned into my touch. “What do you think?” I asked. It was a real question. Did he really think I wanted to crush him, make him less than he was?

  Before he answered, I was swept up and thrown forcefully down on the bed. He ripped the shirt from over his head and covered me, pinning me down by my wrists, the weight of him familiar and crushing and everything I had dreamed and longed for.

  “I think you destroyed me a long time ago,” he said.

  I felt his words like a knife, cutting deeply into scars that had not yet healed, that perhaps never would. We were both damaged, maybe beyond repair.

  “You think it was just you who suffered?” I shouted, struggling with fury in his grasp. “You think I felt nothing, did nothing? Do you have the slightest idea?”

  “No!” he shouted back, matching my anger with his own. “I don't know. I don't know you!”

  He released my wrists and sat back, glaring at me; and I couldn't look at him. I couldn't look at the accusation in his eyes, couldn't look at him knowing he'd forgotten everything we'd been. I covered my face with my hands, struggling to keep calm. I was damned if I'd cry in front of him. The need to tell him everything he was to me, all that we had been to each other, burned through me. It was a desire so great that I was afraid to open my mouth in case the words came tumbling out. I was desperate for him to know it, all of it, but I couldn't, not yet. Not with Ambrogio at my back trying to undermine me. Maybe if I got through this I could show him. It would be a terrible risk. He would know then, know everything ... but I couldn't live like this.

  I felt the touch of a fingertip against the back of my wrist, and my breathing hitched. He took hold of my hand and lifted it away from my face. I let the other one fall, looking up at him and feeling more uncertain of him than I ever had. He'd been gentle with me before, only to laugh in my face, but there was something in his eyes that told me he wasn't laughing.

  I held my breath as he held my hand, a silent communion, a moment outside of the constant power struggle between us, an acknowledgement of a connection he didn't understand but couldn't deny.

  I blinked as something disturbed the fragility of that moment, aware of a quiet buzz of power. The faintest trace of magic drifted around us, and if we hadn't been so still, if the moment hadn't been so intimate, I would have missed it. Unwilling, I broke eye contact and glanced at my wrist.

  “Shit!”

  I pushed him to one side, surprised that he was caught off balance, and I wriggled out from under him as he cursed at me.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, but hurt male pride would have to wait, and I ignored him, too intent on following the near invisible trace of a spell I’d spotted. The trail of magic led from my wrist to the door and a fracture in the ward so tiny it would have gone unnoticed if we'd been more ... active. I swore and wrapped the tiny spell around my hand and wrist like a fine cord ... and pulled. I felt panic and fear vibrate down the line of the spell. For a moment I stilled, feeling the magic, the texture and complexity. It wasn't like mine or Cain's. Our family's magic had a very particular feel. It even smelt a little different. Aradia's was similar as a Dame Blanche but subtly different too as she was not of our blood. This was new. Mary-Grace.

  With fury I remembered her stumbling into me, grasping my wrist apparently to steady herself. The vampire had been a red herring. Taking advantage of my distraction, she'd tagged me with a spell to help Ambrogio spy on me. Well shit. All thoughts of trying to help her and protect her from the father of vampires evaporated in the heat of my anger. The sneaky little bitch.

  I snatched up a shirt that Corvus had left hanging on the back of the chair, shrugging it on as I pulled the door open. Corvus followed me, grabbing hold of my arm.

  “We're not done here,” he growled, clearly beyond furious that I was bailing on him, but I was terrified at what Mary-Grace had seen. Was Ambrogio with her, and did he know about Corvus?

  “I'm sorry.” I flung the words over my shoulder. “I have to go.”

  “Why?”

  “We're being watched,” I hissed. His face darkened further but this time not with anger for me which was a pleasant change. I went to walk through the door and then realised he was moving to following me despite the wards.

  “Stay here,” I commanded even though he couldn't do anything else.

  “Take me with you,” he demanded. “You clearly need my help.”

  “No,” I said, stung by the derision in his tone. As if I hadn't been holding my own without him all this time. I kept my voice cool as I remembered all he'd said to me since I entered his room. “No, I don't.”

  He smashed his fist into the wall beside him and chunks of plaster and stone went flying, leaving a massive hole.

  I tried to moderate my voice and my own anger, impatient to follow the spell to its creator. “It's daylight, Corvus. I don't know if this is a trap. I don't know if they know you are here, if they know who you are and ... and what you mean to me,” I added to soften the blow, wanting to give him something despite how he'd hurt me. I knew he was in pain too. “If they do, you're in danger. We both are.” I longed to reach out and close the distance between us but was afraid he'd push me away, and I was bruised enough for one night. My anger resurfaced as some of what he'd said to me drifted back to mind like an unwanted echo and made me spiteful. “For once in your life trust me to do the right thing by myself. I don't need you to be a hero. Not this time.”

  I ignored the hurt in his eyes and shut the door in his face, feeling the ward seal behind me. I spared a moment to repair the hole the little burrowing spy spell had made and then turned my attention back to the spell itself and gave another yank. There was a shriek on the other end, and I could tell she was desperately trying to disengage herself from it. But I'd been right about her lack of experience. She was panicking, and a spell like that hooked onto the creator with just as much force as it did the person you were spying on. The more she struggled, the deeper the claws of the magic would sink into her skin. She was clearly skilled with spell craft. What she'd done was incredibly complex, dealing with the fallout. However, when it went to shit ... amateur.

  With cool detachment I followed the spell to its source, hearing the quiet pad of my bare feet on the shiny wood parquet as I trod the corridors of the Château, winding the spell towards me as I went. With so many vampires in residence, the building was locked down tight, all windows and doors secured against the sun, and flames flickered along the corridors in sconces. With me and Cain in the building, we tended to short the electrics fairly often with our magic so there were always candles and lamps lit in strategic places for the non-vampire residents.

  I stood on the outside of Mary-Grace's door, feeling a ward flickering against my skin and beyond relieved that I couldn't sense any vampires within.

  “Let me in,” I said through the door with no preamble
. She knew I was there.

  There was silence, but I could feel her trembling through the connection the spell gave us.

  “OK, listen up,” I said with increasing impatience. “I can get in there but it means blowing up the damn door, and I really don't need all that mess. I'm tired and I'm already in a seriously bad mood. Make me damage my home and disturb my family, and you are so going to regret it.”

  I listened as a quiet snick sounded in the lock and saw the ward fall with a shower of bright mauve sparks as it opened. She scurried away from the door and to the far corner of the room, watching me with those big, soulful eyes. Bloody hell it was like drowning a kitten. I sighed and crooked my finger at her, and she walked forward with obvious reluctance. I grabbed at her hand and looked at the place she had set it against her pulse. You had to admire the beauty of her work.

  “Clever,” I said, and she flushed, a deep pink colour against her coffee crème skin.

  “They m-made me,” she stammered. “I didn't want to, I swear it.”

  “Made you what?”

  She swallowed. “I was to watch you, see what was said after the interview, where you went, who you saw.” She flushed a deeper shade, and I felt a little hot myself as I realised what she'd seen with Corvus.

  “He lives,” she said, and the awe in her expression was close to adulation. I cursed. What the fuck was I supposed to do now?

  “Just get this damn thing off me,” I said, waving my wrist at her. “And then ... and then we'll figure out what the hell to do next, OK?”

  The big brown eyes brightened, and she smiled at me, looking at me like I could solve all of her troubles with a wave of my hand, when I couldn't solve any of my own unless it involved killing the problem and sending it to hell. As solutions went, I was beginning to see it as the only viable answer to a whole host of situations.

  Chapter 45

  Once disentangled from Mary-Grace, I told her we would meet up later in the day. I had to sleep before I did or said something stupid out of sheer exhaustion. It was a measure of my energy levels that I didn't even consider going back to Corvus. I couldn't take anymore emotional turmoil tonight. Even I wasn't that much of a masochist.