Death's Redemption (The Eternal Lovers Series) (28 page)

Not ready to let her go, but knowing she’d want to see it for herself, he helped her sit up. Her face was a mass of scratches. She should have healed quickly because of the blood she’d drunk from him not even an hour ago. But the shadow had taken so much from her. Her skin was ashen, her hair limp.

“What are those glowing things all over the floor?” she whispered, cutting off his inspection of her.

Frowning, he looked to where she pointed, and his bony hand immediately throbbed. She must have sensed it, because she glanced down at it where it rested on the crook of her elbow. There were at least ten glowing golden blobs.

“Those are the souls it had trapped within it,” he said softly.

She sucked in a sharp breath. “My…my gran and mum?”

Rubbing his brow, knowing he’d have to attend to those souls soon, he nodded. “I’m sure they’re there.”

Scooting back on her knees, she crawled over to one of the orbs and stared down at it longingly. “Which ones, Frenzy?”

Every muscle in his body ached as he slowly worked his way to his feet. Coming to rest beside her, he kneeled, resting his arms on his lap. “Do you really want to know?”

Turning to him, eyes so wide and earnest, he couldn’t refrain from tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Wanting to touch her so badly, to wrap her in his arms and hold on to her for eternity.

She nodded and locked her small hand around his wrist. “Aye.”

Smiling, because he loved her brogue, loved when he’d see the sparkle of excitement dance in her eyes, loved when she moaned and breathed his name…in short, he loved everything about this woman.

“Then come here,” he ordered, holding out his bony hand for hers.

She didn’t hesitate, simply slipped her hand into his and together they reached into the first orb.

A memory surfaced of a chubby, freckle-faced child as she danced through a field of sunflowers. A woman in a sundress stood on the curve of the hill, shading her eyes with a loving look tugging on her full, plump lips.

“Mila, you’ll ruin your dress,” the woman admonished with a smile in her words.

The beautiful little girl twirled in the field, holding her arms out to her side as she skipped back to her mother. “I love you, Mum,” the little girl whispered as she jumped into her arms and planted a big, wet kiss onto the corner of her mum’s cheek.

The woman laughed and hugged her tighter. “As I will always love you, my wild little hellion.”

The image faded, but continued to echo with the glow and warmth of so much love. Mila sobbed and Frenzy tugged her into his side.

“Does she know I’m here?” she hiccupped, peering into Frenzy’s eyes with hope shining in her own.

Patting her back, he kissed her head. “Souls know, love. They know.”

Giving him a weepy smile, she nodded. “She said good-bye, didn’t she?”

Swallowing the tears clogging his own throat, he nodded.

Running her fingers lovingly across the orb one final time, she nodded. “Take them home, Frenzy.”

Standing, bringing her up with him, he was hesitant to let her go even though he knew the danger was passed.

“Do you want to come with me?” he asked.

“I can go?”

Nuzzling the side of her face, inhaling her heady scent deep into his lungs, he poured out his heart. “Mila, I’ve never loved
anyone
,” he stressed, “the way I love you. I’ve never split my soul with another. We can only do that once. When a reaper finds his mate, his true mate, he is bonded to her for an eternity. You are all I want, all I’ll ever want. When the shadow showed me Adrianna, I did not stay in the vision because I loved her. I stayed because I was telling her good-bye. I let her go.”

Her tiny little sobs pierced his heart. Her nails dug into his back and it was a sharp, sizzling pain, but it also felt good. Because he was alive and so was she, and that was all he wanted.

“I love you, Frenzy. More than my own life. More than anything.”

Rubbing his knuckles along her cheekbone, he shook his head. “I wish you hadn’t traded yourself to the queen. I’m so sorry, Mila. Fifteen years of servitude—”

“Is nothing when you have an eternity,” she finished for him, liquid amber eyes hypnotizing him. “I would do it all over again to make sure I never lose you. I’ve fought alone for so long. I’m tired. I don’t want to be alone anymore. I just want you, Frenzy.”

Heart so full it felt it might burst from his chest, he took her lips in a slow lingering kiss. When they finally came up for air, she laughed.

“I’m finally home, Frenzy. No matter where I go or who I’m with, as long as you’re there, I’m home.”

They didn’t speak again until after they’d taken the souls to their afterlife. The final soul was actually the remnants of Mila the shadow had managed to suck out before being destroyed. It’d slipped back into her body with the happy joy of a puppy greeting her master.

In the cabin they made slow, beautiful love. Their eyes speaking louder than any words about their bond and affection. Pledging themselves to each other eternally.

Later, as the moon was full in the sky and they lay entwined in one another’s arms, they talked about the night. About the death of the shadow.

“You know, the only thing that keeps bothering me,” he said, “is why it didn’t work when I tried to use it on her.”

Mila chuckled, trailing her fingers along the ridges of his abdomen. “Maybe there are some mysteries in life that’ll never be explained.”

It might have bothered him, if it mattered. But Mila was right, there were some things in life that well enough was well enough.

“I love you, woman,” he growled, rolling on top of her, letting her feel the hardness of his body once again.

Her eyes widened and her sultry laugh filled all the empty places in his soul. “I love you too, death. Forever and ever and ever…”

W
ell, we must say, sister”—Clarion turned a wide smile onto Lise—“you have done well with death. Already we feel the balance of good and evil aligning. The world is returning to what it once was. The threat of war recedes more and more each day.”

Lise nodded. “Death only needed a little nudge. That is all.”

“But I do wonder”—Clarion’s fat raven-colored curls bobbed around her oval face attractively—“why the box did not work for Frenzy. I am curious, if he is not.”

Lise shrugged. “The answer was in the wood itself. Decades ago when I gave the box to the queen, I’d sealed a drop of seer blood into the tree the box had been hewn from. In fact, I’d sealed Mila’s blood into it.”

Clarion frowned. “You traveled time, then?”

Lise merely lifted a brow, a smug little smile lacing the corners of her lips. “It was the only way to ensure the queen could not destroy the creature herself.”

Clarion’s laughter echoed through the pearlescent chamber. “Oh, sister, that was too clever. If the queen had been able to do away with her creation, then she would never have worked out a deal with the lovely vampire hybrid.”

“Exactly. She would have killed the shadow and taken Mila herself. At least like this she was forced to work out a deal, one that I could seal and ensure would never be broken. After fifteen years Mila will be free and out from under the thumb of that wretched queen, and she and her redheaded beau will live happily ever after.”

Clarion clapped her hands. Lise really was quite clever when she wanted to be.

Nodding, she turned to go.

“Wait, sister, you’ve only just arrived. Leaving already?”

“Club X will not run itself, sister dear.” And with a wink she returned back to the land she loved. Being a fate was fun, but her true calling was living among the wild and the wicked. Lise had found her home and she’d fight the devil himself to keep
it
, and her children, safe.

“Round two goes to me, Queenie,” she whispered into the night, laughing when an unmistakable growl of annoyance sprang from The Morrigan’s lips.

This fight was far from over, and Lise had never had so much fun…

Marie Hall has always had a dangerous fascination for creatures that go bump in the night. And mermaids. And, of course, faeries. Trolls. Unicorns. Shapeshifters. Vampires. Scottish brogues. Kilts. Beefy arms. Ummm…bad boys! Especially the sexy ones. Which is probably why she married one.

On top of that, she’s a confirmed foodie; she nearly went to culinary school and then figured out she could save a ton of money if she just watched food shows religiously. She’s a self-proclaimed master chef, certified deep-sea dolphin trainer, finder of leprechauns’ gold at the end of the rainbow, and rumor has it she keeps the troll king locked away in her basement. All of which is untrue (except for the cooking part—she loves cooking); however, she does have an incredibly active imagination and loves to share her crazy thoughts with the world!

If you want to see what new creations she’s got up her sleeve, check out her blog:

www.MarieHallWrites.blogspot.com

E
ve Philips gripped her husband’s arm tighter as they walked across the sidewalk to the mall entrance. She hadn’t felt good this morning; she’d been haunted by bad dreams all night long. Dreams of blood and violence and gore. She’d screamed herself awake, clinging to her husband with a vague unsettling feeling. But as dreams often do, the intensity of it faded until now all that was left was a lingering echo of it and an annoying headache.

It was almost Christmas, and she and her husband had a shopping date planned. She refused to wuss out now over some stupid dreams. Still, the unease of this morning lingered in the darkest corners of her mind. Usually she could just shake these things. Maybe it was just the old, burned coffee the java shack had served her this morning. Either way, she really wanted to stop stressing about it. There were too many other real things to worry about.

Like the fact that in three days her coven would be required to vote on the fate of a werewolf who’d been caught stabbing his human wife. No matter that his wife had tried to kill him first with the aid of a warlock’s spell. Humans demanded the supernatural folk—or “supers,” as they preferred to be called—governed themselves as swiftly and brutally as possible, especially when the crime involved one of their own. That was the life of a witch, especially one who chose to live in a city in as much turmoil as San Francisco. Still, there was no other place in the world she’d rather be.

By congressional act, California had granted the first and only place that the
others
could come out of hiding and live as they truly were. Werewolves no longer had to hide in tunnels, vampires could roam the streets freely at night, and witches could practice their craft without fear of retribution by the normals. That was ten years ago, and she’d never looked back.

Not to say that it was one big love fest. A snake could shed its skin several times in a lifetime, but that would never change its true essence. In the end a snake would always remain a snake. Just as a vampire could not help but feed, or a werewolf would go mad by light of the full moon.

Having so many volatile and sometimes dangerous groups in such close proximity practically begged for the violence to occur.

But she accepted it and moved on, because freedom was worth any price. Glancing around, she inhaled the sharp nip of the wind. It was a cloudless, gray day. The type that made her want to curl up in front of a roaring fire with a steaming cup of chamomile, cocooned against her husband’s body.

She didn’t notice the small rut in the road and stepped down hard. Muddy water splashed up her leg. A large black gob of goo landed square on her bloodred pumps.

“Damn it!”

Michael glanced down. One side of his mouth curled into a half-formed grin. She growled and picked up a dead leaf to scrape off the nasty mixture.

“I don’t even want to know what that was.” He laughed.

Eve stood and glared at her husband’s smiling face. Turning her nose in the air, she dropped the leaf with disgust and walked away.

“Honey.” He grabbed her hand and chuckled. “You gotta admit…it was pretty funny.”

“Ha-ha. I’m just howling with laughter.” She pointed a finger to her deadpan face. “This is me in hysterics.”

Michael hugged her and slowly she smiled, never really that mad to begin with, but loving to be a little dramatic all the same.

“Why does that only ever happen to me?”

“Because you’re just so cute, the goddess had to give you some sort of flaw.”

She nailed him with a glare and then sighed with exasperation when he refused to look at her. Michael refused to be ruffled today.

The mall was appropriately decorated: a large Christmas tree sat guard to the entrance, festive lights hung swag from one light post to the next, and there was, of course, the melee of people shoving against her at a constant, repetitive pace with barely an apology to be gained. She sighed. To say she had a love-hate relationship with the holidays was putting it mildly.

But Michael had been acting secretive all day, alluding to some great gift she’d find under the tree come Yule. In truth, her husband’s enthusiasm for life was contagious. She wouldn’t miss the annual last-minute shopping for the world, though she’d never tell him that.

“Michael,” she grumbled, “let’s go home. It’s freezing. My feet hurt, and…” She paused, trying to think of the next excuse to come up with.

He only smiled as expected. “Love you, shrew.”

She rolled her eyes, trying desperately not to snort with laughter.

Then, as if the weather felt some need to remind her just how cold it was—and that she had no freaking business being out in the first place—she was blasted with a sweep of frigid air up her trench coat.

She shivered. “Stupid weatherman. I should hex his ass. He said temperatures of sixty.”

Michael’s lips twitched. “When are you gonna learn that
were
don’t know his ass from his head? The man’s worthless. Call a toad a toad and a bad weatherman a bad weatherman. Period.”

She nodded. “Hear, hear.”

Ten minutes later Eve fingered a delicate gold-and-emerald butterfly brooch. “Baby, do you think Tamryn would like this?”

He glanced up from browsing at a case of black pearl necklaces she’d considered buying for her sister. “Sure. I guess.”

She laughed. “‘I guess’? The standard male answer for everything, right? Why do I even bother?” She caught the heavily made-up clerk’s eye and nodded.

The blonde glided over in a sea of expensive perfume and sent a blatantly lustful smile in Michael’s direction. Eve hid her laughter under a pursed lip and raised brow. “The butterfly,” she prompted and handed the lady a fifty.

Michael grinned and encircled Eve’s waist from behind, laying his head on her shoulder. A soft lock of his doe-brown hair brushed the side of her neck. She swept the hair aside and sighed.

“You just love it when that happens, don’t you?”

“What?” he asked in a rush of innocence.

“‘What?’” she mimicked. “You’re too gorgeous for your own good.”

Throaty laughter spilled from his lips as he swayed with her in time to the strains of “Jingle Bell Rock” floating through the overcrowded department store.

Eve snuggled deeper into his arms.

Michael nuzzled the side of her neck.

Her whole body tightened up in reaction to his touch. Even after five years of marriage he still had the power to make her heart flutter and her knees tremble.

“Michael,” she whispered.

“Hmm?” He placed a gentle kiss on the nape of her neck.

Goose bumps skimmed along her forearms. “I’m ovulating.”

He went still for a split second then nipped her earlobe. His large hand framed her stomach. “Let’s go make babies, then.”

Her lip twitched, and she wiggled her bottom against him. Michael growled low in his throat and pinned her arms to her sides, holding her still. “Eve,” he warned.

She turned and draped her arms over his neck. “What?”

He dragged her closer, a mischievous twinkle in his emerald-green eyes. “Imp. You’re lucky I’m wearing a coat long enough…”

“Excuse me.” A strained voice interrupted them.

She turned. The sales clerk held her purchase and change in one hand. Her narrowed eyes and curled lip were too much for Eve to ignore.

Taking the bag, and without missing a beat, Eve leaned forward just enough to part her button-down shirt at the collar, causing her pentagram to swing free from between her breasts. “He ain’t on the market, babe.”

The clerk, obviously human, turned deathly white. No human liked to tangle with the dark arts. And though that wasn’t what Eve did by any means, the blonde didn’t know it, and Eve sure as heck wasn’t going to correct her assumption. Judging by the reaction, the threat had done its job.

With a smile and a jaunty wave, she turned on her heel and marched off.

Michael held out his arm. “What in the world did you say to her, Eve?” She didn’t miss the tinge of humor lacing his voice.

She just grinned. “What? And give you a bigger head than you’ve already got? I don’t think so.”

He chuckled and grabbed her hand in his, caressing her knuckle with the pad of his thumb. Laughter glittered in his eyes. Then he became serious and turned her face to look directly at him. “I love you.”

The way he said it made her shiver. One of those freaky moments in time that made her wonder if there was some sort of sixth sense involved. Then she thought of the dream again and the visions of death.

Her smile slipped for a millisecond. She always tried to be aware of the signs and the environment around her. What if she was being purposefully ignorant? Ignoring the obvious? What if that dream really was a warning?

Don’t make more out of this than what it is. Everything’s fine.

Pushing the neurotic fears to the back of her mind, she gave him a crooked smile. “I know, Mikey. And I thank the goddess every day for you.”

Cian waited within shadow just outside the entrance to the mall; the mortals he’d been sent to harvest should appear soon. Keeping his back to the crowd, he stood in such a way so that he had a clear view of the door as pedestrians filed and in out of the busy shopping plaza.

Using his essence, he transformed himself into an ordinary guy, hardly worth a second glance. Through all the years of using this guise, he’d never once been remembered. Right now, he needed people to look past him, not see the peculiarities that branded him not quite human. Unfortunately he couldn’t go fully invisible until the harvest time came upon him.

His hair turned a drab brown, short and barely reaching his collar, his eyes much the same color. The process happened so fast, no one even had time to react at all.

Staring at his gloved hand, he waited for the next step of his transformation to take place. He didn’t have to wait long. A shock, like a burst of flame, ran down his arm and into his hand, turning him from man to monster. Fire traveled his veins, making him grunt with a momentary flash of pain. He hissed and snatched off his left glove, making sure he was well within shadow. The day was so drab and gray that unless he did something obvious, like flash the crowd, no one would turn his way.

He clenched his hand, studying the bones of his fingers. For an outsider, to look at the transformation would seem surreal. Above the wrist he was man—flesh and blood. But when the change overcame him, and it was time to harvest souls, the hand turned to a design of the macabre. The flesh, muscle, and tendon literally faded from sight.

Human depictions always had the grim reapers wearing the traditional black cowl with a sickle in their skeletal grip. In truth, reapers were as normal as man. You could pass them on the street, commenting on their remarkable beauty, little knowing that beneath the white smile and ever-present gloves lurked the killer of legend.

A small, noisy crowd of humans walked toward him. Shoving his hand into his pocket, he leaned against the wall and waited; it wouldn’t be much longer now.

After centuries of doing this job, he’d learned patience, the art of stealth, and the endless waiting game of death. For such a vital and intricate part of life, the actual moment of death could be unbelievably boring.

Several minutes later, an electrical rush of power surged through his body when a couple walked out. A man and a raven-haired witch. He felt her power ripple through the air like a powerful ocean current. The man, though, exhibited no energy, which meant he was fully mortal. The man grabbed the witch around the waist, pulling her close for a quick embrace.

Cian’s pulse pounded when she smiled. It was a good smile, the kind that made him want to return it, to see her do it again just so he could have the enjoyment of gazing on that kind of radiant and rare pure joy.

The man hopped in front of her and grabbed her hands, toying with her fingers. Her laughter was a rich, lilting sound, deep and throaty, hot and sexy, and for the first time in his life, Cian wondered what it might be like to have a woman look at him that way. He envied mortals in some ways, specifically the way they could enjoy life, short as it was, and how they loved one another. He couldn’t think of anyone who’d look so happy to see him.

Those thoughts were jerked from him as the final phase of his transformation washed through his body. A charge, like static energy, traveled through his pores, his blood, and in seconds he’d gone completely invisible. Only able to be seen by those straddling the line between life and death, he strolled purposefully toward the car garage.

Today’s scenario would be no different than the thousands of others he’d seen through the years. He could see it in his mind, like an image on a television screen. A carload of teenagers barreling through the garage, the interior of the car heavily laced with the thick stench of cannabis. The driver was laughing, blaring the Ozzy tune “Crazy Train,” unaware that soon he’d be indicted for two counts of vehicular homicide.

Cian often wondered at times like these why the humans couldn’t feel it. The end of their lifeline, the disturbance in the air, death; for him it was like the blast of trumpets, loud and hard to ignore.

Turning his attention back to the couple, he waited. The man popped open the trunk of a green sedan, laid down his packages, and flashed the witch a smile. She stood by the hood of the car, her midnight curls blowing in the stiff wind.

The faint rumble of an approaching engine echoed eerily through the garage. The vibrations traveled through the soles of his feet.
Soon. It’ll all be over soon.

For a crazy second he wanted to scream at them.
Move. Get out of the way.
But he held his tongue. He wouldn’t interfere; that was the single most important rule of the reaper. His skeletal hand twitched, and he yanked it out of his pocket. No mistakes.

The car made a sharp left around a concrete post in the garage and swerved headlong toward the couple with a loud, echoing cry of rubber.

For Cian the scene was agonizingly slow, each detail sharp and clear, as if it were taking minutes, though in truth it would be done within seven seconds.