“Forgive me.” He
shuddered again, crushed her to him. “I thought I did what was best. I found
I could not live without you. I died that day, as well.”
She laid a finger
against his lips, soothing their hurt. “Shh. There is nothing to forgive.
You resurrected my heart with your kiss. I love you, Raphael, with every beat
of my heart, with every breath I take.”
THE END
Coming in January, a never before released romance
novel: Heart of Darkness by Jaide Fox, a paranormal/fantasy romance:
Chapter One
Bolting into an
upright position, Isabeau Hart's ears perked up as she listened to the sounds
of the night around her. The fingers of her left hand automatically wrapped
around the onyx, gold encircled ring, which bound the index finger of her right
hand. She clung to the golden circle with a fierce need, seeking unconscious
comfort from one of the last remaining items that had once belonged to her
mother.
She licked her
lips as she analyzed the different sounds in an attempt to discover what had
awoken her, but could discern nothing in the silence outside of the ale house
in which she was staying. Her ears were literally pricked up as she attempted
to sift through the noises of the other inhabitants, but she could hear
nothing.
Something must
have caused her to awaken though....
Realizing that
she hadn't taken in a breath of air for the last few moments, she gulped and attempted
to once more, calm her breathing. Slowly, she inhaled and exhaled then sank
back down on to the cot beneath her. She thought of the feather bed that had
once sucked her into its comfort and the pleasant sleeping chamber that had
been hers since birth and longed for it with an ache that had tears stinging
against the sensitive flesh of her eyelids.
Perhaps it wasn't
the superficial comforts of home she missed, but the security of her parents'
love and care, which had forever cushioned her from the harsher aspects of
life.
Isabeau sighed as
she realized that perhaps that cushion had caused the last four years alone to
be even more difficult, but still, she could not and would never regret the
secure upbringing she'd been fortunate to have.
Wriggling against
the cot that was a makeshift bed for the night, she grimaced as the wooden
spine seemed to scrape each nodule of bone that sat along the slender expanse
of her back. In comparison to the down mattress she had once slept upon, it
was akin to torture, but after four solid nights of sleeping on the loamy
ground of varying woods throughout the realm, it was a welcome change. It was
no wonder she was so fatigued, when night after night amongst the scurrying
insects and rodents kept her from the deep slumber she needed after covering so
much distance throughout the day!
Although Isabeau
was once more lying against the cot, she hadn't relaxed. Her senses were such
that very little disturbed her, so when something did, when it actually woke her
up from a deep slumber, she knew to trust her instincts. Over the last years
alone, they had been her sole defense and she had come to rely upon them.
Whilst at this moment in time, she could hear no particular reason to be
agitated, her senses and instincts rarely lied.
Something was out
there.
Waiting silently
for her.
Isabeau lifted a
tired arm and scrubbed her fiery red hair back from her forehead. Using her
thumb and index finger, she rubbed her eyes and tried to evaluate what her next
move should be.
Was it safer to
remain here until daylight?
Or sneak out now
and attempt to dissolve into the woods and forests that surrounded this quiet
village?
Biting her lip,
she realized that she was tempted to stay here and hide away for a few hours
longer, but as the skin at the back of her nape persistently tingled, Isabeau
knew that she had to move. A part of her longed for the blessed relief of
sleep, but that tenacious tingling had her on edge and as far from the arms of
Morpheus as was physically possible.
Suffering from a
severe lack of sleep as she was, Isabeau's movements were slow and dulled and
her reactions were not exactly swift as she climbed from the cot and stood
beside it. Her shining violet eyes were dazed with somnolence.
Rising to her
feet, she stifled a groan as her bones settled and she swept her hands along
the length of her skirt to free it from the dust and lint that it had collected
during her slumber. Isabeau gathered her few possessions, a square swatch of
material which acted as a carrying bag when gathered together and currently
contained a stale hunk of bread and a block of cheese.
She had soon
learned that any possessions she wished to keep had to stay on her person. The
six guineas she had were sewn into the skirts of her petticoats. A miniature
painting of her beloved mama and papa were tucked down the bodice of her
chemise and the ring they'd bestowed upon her, never left her finger. In
company, she often hid her right hand in her skirts so as not to attract
attention to it. For even though she could change her appearance at will, for
some reason, the ring stayed no matter what form she took.
Having gathered
all her things together, Isabeau quietly crept out of the ale house in which
she had paid over the odds to sleep in a single chamber. It seemed a shame to
depart so early in the night and a waste of good money to boot, but she had
little choice. Her instincts were screaming at her and to ignore them could
mean...
She pursed her
lips together and closed her eyes to deny what she knew to be fact. That
whoever had murdered her parents, whoever had set their house alight and
allowed them to burn to their deaths, was now on her tail and had been for the
last four years.
Exhaling roughly,
Isabeau grimly exited the ale house as silently as she possibly could. The
less attention she garnered the better. For even though it was the early hours
of the night, her senses told her that of the twenty inhabitants, at least five
of them were in a state of wakefulness. Any abrupt and strange noises could
bring about an investigation on their parts and that would never do. For the
last few years, discretion had been her watchword and she was certain, that
that was the reason for her continued safety.
How she knew
there were twenty people staying in the inn and how she knew that five of them
were awake, was simply one of those things that she had soon learned to
accept. It was added to the fact that if she was injured, she could heal
herself. And if she wanted to, then she could change her appearance.
Her abilities
were a mystery to her but with the life she led, they were her only security.
Without them, she would more than likely have died days after her parents'
death. Sixteen, she had been. Old enough to be wed in the eyes of the law,
but she had been raised differently than other girls. She had been a young
sixteen and the aftermath of losing her parents had been the most difficult
time of her life.
To this day, she
was unsure as to how she'd coped. How she had survived. She could believe
that she was, just that, a survivor. Someone, who despite the odds, despite
the fact that everything was against her, wanted to live and would do anything
physically and magically possible to do so.
The ring ...was
something she kept close at all times as it was her mother's. A part of her
was unsure of its power, yet another part was certain that something inside her
soul triggered its magic. Once, a few terrible months after the death of her
mama and papa, a beggar had attempted to rip it from her hand. As soon as the
gold and onyx had touched the man's flesh, terrible screams had escaped his
throat and he had grabbed his hand back and nursed it against his chest, like a
mother would a suckling babe. He had soon run off and left her to herself.
That experience
made her believe that while the ring reacted in unnerving and miraculous ways
whilst sat upon her hand, it couldn't on another's.
What that made
her, she didn't know.
A part of her
wondered if that was why she was constantly running from place to place.
Attempting to outrun the knowledge of what she actually was.
Perhaps she was
wrong, perchance her constant flight from danger was for some other reason, but
the simple villagers of her home town had never treated witches with any
kindness. There were documented papers, which explored the dunking of
countless, simple women and the burning of supposedly evil sorceresses, who
were in league with the devil.
Mayhap, the
villagers had been behind her parents' deaths and she simply had to count
herself blessed that she had not been in the house that day. Had been sent out
on an errand for a ribbon for one of her mother's new hats.
Or conceivably,
it was something more sinister and something that was completely beyond her
cognizance.
Again, and not
for the first time, she wished that her mother had explained these...talents to
her. Isabeau wished that she wasn't so in the dark as to what she was able to
do. But it was simply a waste of time to wish for things that were impossible
and Isabeau had no other choice but to wait to learn all that she could do.
Patience was not,
however, one of her virtues.
Closing the door
to the ale house as gently as she could, Isabeau sighed out in relief as she
finally entered the yard. A horse neighed and she froze at the sound, but
relaxed moments later as she realized that it came from the inn's own stables.
Not from men
seeking her.
The heels of her
worn boots clipped and clattered against the cobbled, stone floor and the
slight sound rang out loudly in the courtyard. It wasn't enough to cause any
alarm to the inhabitants of the inn, but it instantly betrayed her position and
opened her to danger from those who were hunting her.
If anyone
was
hunting her, that was.
It was feasible
that lack of sleep had her so highly strung that she saw ghouls and goblins,
here where there were none to see.
Resolutely, she
continued on her way and when she finally exited the yard and walked down the country
lane, she praised the Goddess for the moon. While it lit her path, it was not
so bright as to highlight her whereabouts.
Beside her, in
the tight thoroughfare, were hedgerows which were taller than even her. They
also blanketed her position and for the moment, she knew she was safe.
Opening her mind,
as Isabeau had learned to do, she slowly changed her appearance in the darkened
protection of the rough track. Slowly, her long, dark red hair turned into
straggles of lank, greasy gray. The violet eyes that garnered her attention no
matter the situation and had to be constantly repressed with glamor, developed
into watery blue orbs that added decades to her real age. They added a down
trodden, weariness to her appearance that added to the authenticity of her
disguise.
The smooth and
tanned skin of a youthful young woman became wrinkled and sun damaged. A mole
popped out on her chin and she grimaced as she felt the slight growth of two,
three, four hairs pop out of the fleshy mound. She licked her lips to wet the
dry flesh and realized that the soft and gentle pout of her mouth had become a
hard thin line.
With the tip of
her tongue, she prodded a strange mark on her lip and realized that it was a
scar. Using her fingers, she delineated the scar and realized that it cut
across both of her lips and along her chin and down her jaw.
The petite and
curvy figure became skinny and lanky. The ragged clothes became even more
ragged and drowned her now thinner frame. With her costume complete, she
exhaled in relief, feeling almost like the tortoise, who could pop into its
shell whenever it felt endangered.
Her glamor was
her shell and no matter how many times she used the gift of hiding and
disguising the true Isabeau, it always surprised her when her appearance
changed and so thoroughly.
It was simply a
case of wishing to change her appearance and her talents prevailed. Isabeau
never knew how she would change or how she would look, she only had the
security of knowing that she would certainly not look like Isabeau Hart! And
living in constant fear for her life as she did, that was an important talent
indeed.
The lane came to
a sudden cessation and she had to crinkle her eyes to see into the distance.
Clouds roamed across the sky, leaving her little light by which to see, and she
realized that she would have to take pot luck as to which direction to take.