Authors: Crystal Collier
She gasped but couldn’t fill her lungs. He thought caring for her was a mistake?
He
had
known her before, she saw it clearly now. He had cared for her before. Perhaps she’d even loved him in return, but she couldn’t feel that way anymore.
She wouldn’t! Not for a man who could callously toss her aside.
Gagging on her own emotions, she swallowed. “It is all a lie—this, who we are, what we have. It is a lie!”
He gripped her shoulders and shook her, hissing through his teeth, “Nothing has ever been more real.”
She glared, the speckled cobalt of his gaze blurring through angry tears. “It may once have been, but you destroyed it long ago!” Her hand flexed.
He caught her cheek. “Alexia, for—”
Smack!
His head jerked to the side. Her fingers stung. She glanced at them, trembling, the skin bright red from impact. A pink outline emblazoned itself across Arik’s jaw.
She jolted from before him and ran for her bedroom door. She yanked it open. “After you have stolen my memories, I hope your suffering is intolerable, for I will
never
let you into my heart again!” She slammed the door shut.
53
Complications
Kiren trudged blindly into the night. He had done it—what was right, what he should have done months ago. So why could he not breathe? Every step sent a fresh stab of pain to his heart—every step away from her.
“You will not take a companion after all?”
He froze. A silhouette towered against the tree line, ten feet away. The mild stench of rotted flesh churned his stomach.
John.
Kiren bit down. “You are mistaken in your assumptions.”
The behemoth’s head shook and he chuckled. “Enjoy your time away. I know I shall.” He strode past.
Kiren’s fingers bit into his palms. So they were playing a game: Lure him away with a prospect of ending the war, or protect Alexia. He pulled a hand through his hair. If anything happened to her . . .
He glanced back at the retreating giant. Who would he choose—Alexia and his own beating heart, or the rest of the Passionate?
Checkmate.
He cursed.
54
Empty Things
Alexia rolled over and covered her tear-stained face as sunlight washed through the room. Her chest ached from the wracking sobs and pillow-silenced screams. Her palms had scabbed over from the slicing of her nails. Her limbs trembled from a sleepless night and the certainty she would never slumber peacefully again.
How could she ever have loved him?
More importantly, how could she quit loving him?
Perhaps she’d experienced the dream all these years as a warning. Perhaps he had as well. But betrayed or not, the truth of his loss left her hollow—gutted like an animal that awaited stuffing for some nobleman’s mantle. She may as well be dead already.
Somewhere in the night she had found rational thought: Her life was a simple thing to offer, but his? He healed people. He took away pain. He lived to bless others. Asking him to make the ultimate sacrifice, it was the most selfish thing she could do. She hated herself for wishing it upon him. But some small part of her wanted him to suffer, wanted him to bleed for opening her eyes and stealing true happiness away.
Eventually she clambered out of bed. It seemed easier to be up and doing something than sitting and thinking. She organized her sundries. She washed. She kicked about piles of things she’d disheveled in her evening frenzy. She dressed. She did her hair. She pulled on some slippers. She played with her mother’s impossible gift.
At last, she stood before the door, daring herself to face the backdrop of last night.
Turmoil rolled over her. She dropped to the floor and curled up, unable to see beyond the sodden folds of her skirt.
She had to go out eventually. Sarah would worry.
She lay despondently next to the crevice between floorboards and door, listening to servants scuttle by. The rhythm of their feet echoed like the trampling of her hopes—like they’d been tossed in a winepress and stomped ‘til nothing but empty, mutilated skins remained. The dregs of happiness had been consumed. She would never have more.
Sarah laughed from somewhere downstairs.
Alexia pushed herself up.
Had Arik changed his mind? Could he be sitting with her aunt even now?
The very slight chance motivated her through the door. The hall looked alarmingly different in the daylight, enough to warrant venturing beyond. She treaded anxiously down the stairs and toward the dining room.
Sarah talked, talked happily. The prospect of Arik’s presence heightened her pace. She hurried into the room and stopped dead.
John Radcliffe.
55
Emptier
Her heart dropped to her feet. John caressed Sarah’s fingers, dark eyes dancing upon her aunt’s face. Alexia swallowed back bile. It might have been a sentimental moment indeed, if not for the hunger ravishing his deceptive exterior. The docile lamb leaning against a lion who intended to rip out her throat.
“Sarah?”
She glanced up. Her flush deepened. “Look who has come to visit!”
Alexia gave him a private glare to which he returned a smug grin. She had to get her aunt away from him. “Arik is gone.”
“What?” Sarah tore herself free from John. “He has left the grounds? Are you certain? For good?”
Alexia nodded.
Sarah stormed up the stairs, and Alexia gave John a mocking curtsey before following.
“He could not even be bothered to say a farewell or
thank you for your hospitality
?” Her aunt thrust the door open and paused, eyes darting around the abandoned chamber. She whirled on her niece. “What happened?”
Alexia drifted in and took a seat on the bed, numb.
“I heard raised voices.” Sarah sat next to her. “Did he take advantage of you?”
Alexia’s cheeks burned. “Sarah!”
She leaned in, searching her niece’s face. “There is no shame between us.”
Alexia scowled. “No.”
Her near-sister tapped an impatient rhythm with her toe. “When I found you yesterday he could not keep his hands off.”
Alexia closed her eyes, barricading her emotions deep within her chest. “That was yesterday.”
“Oh, Lex.” Her aunt placed an arm around her. They sat in silence, Alexia trying desperately not to think, afraid the emotional geyser would erupt and drown her in its floods.
Her aunt placed a kiss on her cheek and excused herself. “John is waiting for me.”
Alexia rose. And gasped. A parchment peeked from beneath the edge of a vase. She snatched up the paper, hands shaking as she unfolded it.
Dearest Alexia,
This should be the happiest day of my life, but it cannot be. I have written this letter a thousand times, imagining how it would be to hold you as I whisper the truth in your ear, but the perils of our happiness are too great to number. Stay out of harm’s way. Lie if you have to, run when necessary. Always keep Sarah in your sights. Be safe and know that by merely existing, you have made me a better man.
She tore the note to pieces and covered her face, tears erupting.
***
Alexia’s weeping eventually dried into a silent numbness. It was with that numbness she rose in the morning, and with that numbness she lay down at night, unable to dream.
56
The Lion
John stepped from behind a tree in the chilly garden.
Alexia gasped, eyes flashing about for anyone else. A brick wall blocked them from the house, powdered in snow. Bushes hedged either side and leafless branches arced above, locking them in a secluded, wintery tunnel of shadow.
She glared, calculating the distance to the house, gauging if she could outrun him. The only thing worse than her emptiness would be perpetuating it forever.
“I am not here to harm you.”
She backed away. “No? Just to damn my soul to your eternal hunger?”
He followed her, brows lowering. She stumbled faster.
“Stop!” He grabbed her shoulder, fingers biting through her coat. His eyes slammed shut, head bent, air hissing between his teeth.
She squeaked. “Let me go!”
“Stop running.” Heat seeped through her coat from his hand, his crimson-cored eyes burning into her. “It makes the hunger worse.”
She stood perfectly still.
He let her go and straightened up, draping her in his shadow. “I knew you could be reasonable.”
She scowled.
He grinned his winning smile, the one that reminded her why Sarah liked him, why she had liked him, why she could be so happy for her aunt if she hadn’t learned the truth.
“I will not hurt you, Alexia.”
She glared, rubbing her shoulder. “No?”
His head tilted as he considered her movement. “I am not evil, nor am I a mindless animal—as
he
would have you believe.”
Arik’s warning came resounding back: how the Soulless would work to win her over. She crossed her arms. “A man is defined by his actions.”
He chuckled. “How many moonless nights have I known your dear Sarah? And is she whole?”
The blood drained from her face. It was true. But it didn’t matter. The devil would feed you a thousand truths in order to make you believe one lie.
“Before you condemn all the unfortunate sufferers of this curse, allow me the chance to enlighten you.”
“Because I can believe anything you say.”
He laughed.
Her fists tightened. How dare he be likeable? How dare he be easy going or kind? How dare he be here when she had no other source of information?
“Shall we walk?” He gestured and took a step. She hesitated, but couldn’t fight her curiosity. How long had she been aching to know more about the Soulless? She would be careful—not giving any information about herself or Arik and learning what she could.
John smirked as she fell into step beside him. She grimaced and kept her eyes straight ahead.
He cleared his throat. “In the year twelve-hundred, according to the king’s new calendar, twenty-three of the purest Passionate inhabited this world. But not knowing whom to trust, thirteen gave their souls to a madman. Thirteen were lost.”
“Lost?” she echoed.
“Drained. We don’t know precisely what occurred, but I assume you understand the result?”
She caught a glimpse of crimson in his eyes and gave him more distance.
“Since that time they have wandered hungrily, seeking what was taken without knowing where to find it, dragging others into their personal hell as they strive in vain for control.” He exhaled. “I was one of these.”
“The thirteen?”
He huffed. “Their choice of victim.” His brows furrowed. “I resided in a small community with my, my family . . .”
It struck her as odd that this giant should have a
family
—or any kind of sentimental attachment for that matter.
He rubbed a hand over his forehead. “But you do not want to hear about that.” He coughed, and continued quickly. “There are degrees of Soulless, degrees to which a being has been drained. I escaped, mercifully, with most of myself intact—but I still would not advise crossing paths with me on a moonless night.”
She shivered.
He glanced down at her. “As a physician, I have been seeking a remedy. You see, we are naturally drawn to negative emotions—depression, anger, fear. However, what happens when we are exposed to the opposite extremes?”
She shook her head.
“I have been exploring this possibility, and your sister is assisting me.”
“Aunt,” she corrected.
“Sister,” he affirmed even more solidly. “She is one of the Passionate.”
She looked away. “So you prey on Sarah?”
“No.” He stopped.
Alexia turned back uneasily.
“I thrive and re-grow on the love she offers me—but do not think my affections are simply a ploy. I care very deeply for Sarah.”
Her cheeks warmed.
“If I may continue?” He motioned. She turned forward. “There is something we refer to as being
touched
. Did he enlighten you?”
She wouldn’t validate his obvious conclusion. And she needed to tread carefully here, to avoid putting Arik—and others—in more danger.
He sighed. “We choose mates only once in this life. See, when the bond is made, it is unbreakable.”
Unbreakable?
She swallowed. “And how is that bond made?”
“Touch, intimate in nature, usually of the sexual variety.”
Her entire face burned like a bonfire.
“Once touched, our kind will never be free until their partner is dead, and usually the union is powerful enough that should one member meet their demise, it will claim the lives of both.”
Arik’s words returned with force:
Your death will kill me . . .
She kept her chin up, crushing the revelatory emotions the same way she’d suppressed every passion for weeks now. If Arik had known this all along, why hadn’t he said something?
“I know you have been touched, Alexia.”
Stopping again, she faced John.
“The link is reflected in your countenance. You have the same
glow
, for lack of a better term.” He leaned in. “Your lives are connected on a core level. See, this is why dear Sarah does me so much good. She brings to me the life that beats within her own breast, and I take on a part of her. It heals the wounds that were.”
“And what becomes
of
her?” She crossed her arms.
“That is what you must understand. Love is limitless. It grows eternal. So long as I am linked with her, the strength of it will sustain us both.”
She scowled. Poison. He spoke only what she wanted to hear. “Unless you touch her on a moonless night.”
“I have been searching for a mate longer than you have been alive. Do you not think I have safety precautions in place?”
She wanted to smack his smug face.
“Sarah is the one.”
“Until you ruin her.”
The corners of his mouth pinched. “I will not let her go.”
Her fingers bit into her sore palms. “Have you
touched
her?”
“No.” He straightened up. “And I will not until I have her hand.”
She blinked. He had honorable intentions?
He chuckled. “Do you truly think so ill of me?”
She didn’t answer.
John’s head shook. “You are right. I am undeserving of her, but she needs me. You have no idea how low she has been, do you?”
Sarah had been sad? She tried to take that into consideration, but it didn’t sit right.
He clapped both hands together in front of him. “Slipping into severe moods, including depression, will draw the most dangerous Soulless to you. Sarah has been happy while I have been present, has she not?”
She couldn’t deny it.
“I help her, she helps me. Fair trade.”
Alexia scrutinized him a long moment. “Does she know what you are?”
He nodded. “It is as much her decision as mine.”
She turned her back to him, hating that everything he said made sense, everything except—“You are wrong, John.”
“Is that so?”
“I was never touched—not like you say.” At least not that she remembered.
He studied her. “I cannot see how that is possible. Are you certain he is not withholding some vital truth of which you are unaware?”
She huffed. Like the innumerable memories he’d stolen from her? No, he wasn’t withholding anything. Not about this.
“Completely,” she vowed.
He laughed. “Is your relationship really so superficial? If he loves you, he will not hide the truth.”
“Then perhaps he does not love me.”