The End of Never
The End of Never
Book 2 of The Spitfire Series
Tammy Turner
The End of Never
© 2014 Tammy Turner. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopying, or recording, except for the inclusion in a review, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Published in the United States by BQB Publishing
(Boutique of Quality Books Publishing Company)
www.bqbpublishing.com
Printed in the United States of America
978-1-939371-14-0 (p)
978-1-939371-15-7 (e)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013951900
Book design by Robin Krauss,
www.bookformatters.com
Cover illustration by Leah Jennings
For the one, the only, Gerald L. Surface, my father.
“I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable.”
- Walt Whitman,
Song of Myself
Contents
24 Long Way to Go, Short Time to Get There
Alexandra Peyton is a good girl whose senior year of high school has gotten off to a bad start. The shy seventeen-year-old has never had a boyfriend but, when classes begin at her private prep school Collinsworth Academy, a secret admirer emerges from the shadows with shoulder-sweeping raven hair, brooding azure eyes, and a ten-foot wing span. But the thousand-year age difference might be a deal breaker for her.
Kraven, her admirer, tries to play it cool around his crush but he is too hot to handle. As the victim of an ancient curse he has had a thousand years to wait for the right girl to come along, and he is certain Alexandra is the reincarnation of his long-dead princess bride.
Before classes begin Alexandra and her best friend Taylor escape to the shore for a girls' only road trip. Sand, sea, secrets. The beachfront Peyton family estate has them all. When the girls return from Granny June's home on the South Carolina coast to their hectic, big-city lives in Atlanta, Georgia, Alexandra possesses two souvenirs. The first is a once-lost package, sent to her by her now-missing (and presumed dead) father, which contains a mysterious pendant necklace. The second is a journal filled with the ravings of her dead uncle, an army officer who wrote of meeting the devil during his service in Europe during the final days of World War II.
However, a voodoo priestess who stalks the grounds of Peyton Manor is convinced the journal will help her conjure the devil and wants the book returned at all costs. As school starts, a vicious wolf man, working for his voodoo mistress Jasmine, plots an attack on Alexandra. When her life is threatened, the immortal stranger Kraven who has vowed to protect her reveals himself and changes her life irrevocably.
A single drop of blood bubbled from beneath the thorn prick in the soft flesh of her palm. It ran down her finger to the dirt path beneath her feet.
“Hmm,” the girl sighed. She sucked at the wound before she risked another hand into the wild rose bush.
“You are perfect,” she told the flower as she plucked the red petals from their vine and raised them to her face.
Tomorrow he will be mine forever
, she thought, smothering her face in the bloom. At the audacity of the thought, she blushed, her cheeks the same shade of fiery red as the flower clutched in her palm.
The tread of her bare feet marked her path down through the dirt trail and away from the stone walls of the village and Castle Kilhaven. The girl reveled in her solitude along the path to the river. She knew that inside the fortress walls, the village was stirring sluggishly in the breaking dawn.
So many have gathered to see me wed
, she thought. She looked into the blue sky.
They hope to see meâthe mapmaker's daughter!
A mother bluebird peered at the girl from a low tree limb above her head. Nearby there was a nest of tiny, spotted eggs hidden in the green leaves. With a bow to the maiden, the mother bird leapt from the branch and soared into the sky.
The girl wished she could follow the creature's flight, and she said softly, “May I join you?”
The surging water of the nearby river drew her eyes back down to the path. She knew she was close, but she needed more blossoms for her offering. One by one, she gathered wildflowers as she walked. Her bouquet spilled from her arms in a tide of yellow and white blossoms, the hem of her dress damp from the morning dew.
Her braided hair hung to her waist, a shimmering auburn mane crowned with daisies plucked from the path. With a grin of pure joy tugging at the corners of her lips, the girl forgot the prick of the rose's thorn and skipped over the rock-strewn dirt path hurriedly toward the river, the sweet scent of honeysuckle hanging heavy in the morning air.
Satisfied with her bouquet, the girl approached the riverbank, eager to begin the ritual. On the opposite bank, a regal, wide-antlered elk sipped the cold water and lifted his head as the girl knelt across from him.
“Good morning,” the girl called gently to the striking beast. Lowering his head back to the water, he sipped more of the river. Refreshed and anxious to depart, he backed into the brush and grunted, his mighty antlers shaking back and forth.
“Goodbye,” the girl sighed as she listened to the rush of the retreating elk through the thick woods.
She rose and stepped across the smooth pebbles and gritty mud with her wildflower bouquet balanced in her arms. Her reflection rippled in the current as she stared in the clear water.
She considered that she was maneuvering along in girlish braids and bare feet.
How silly I must look
, she thought to herself and giggled, thankful to be alone as she tread slowly away from the bank. The water splashed her ankles, and she bit her lip at the icy grip of the river. A smooth, flat rock bulging from the current beckoned her to the middle of the raging stream, but the smack of the cool water against her knees kept her from venturing farther.
This is far enough
, she reasoned and closed her green eyes. She saw him then in her mind's eye. She remembered the moment well. He had bent to pick a wild purple blossom in the high grass and had offered it to her for a price.
“Be my bride,” he had said, laying a bronze medallion in her trembling palm. “Be my princess. Won't you, Iselin, my love?”
Raising the gift now with her hands, she traced the figure of a man's head joined to a dragon's body with the tips of her fingers.
His azure eyes had squinted at her in the high sun of spring's first day in the meadow. He had awaited her reply.
“I will,” she had whispered, as the prince tied a leather strap around her neck, the medallion falling to the center of her chest.
The sweet memory melted as the girl opened her eyes and stared downstream. With a shove forward, she tossed the bouquet into the water and whispered under her breath as her offering floated swiftly away in the raging current.
“Protect us,” she spoke softly as the flowers disappeared around a bend in the stream. “Protect Kilhaven.” Iselin bowed her head and wished for a long and happy life with her prince. “Forever,” she said, tears of joy spilling from her eyes. “I wish to be with him forever and ever, until our hearts stop beating.”
A single blossom clung to her bodice, its stems caught on a thread. Her fingers pulled the yellow buttercup to her face, and she nuzzled the petals against her nose, ignoring the cool water rising past her knees.
On the path to the river, a rider on the back of a black stallion slowed his steed. The horse's heavy hooves kicked impatiently at the dirt as the rider waited for the girl in the water to turn her head.
Forever
, he thought to himself.
I shall love my Iselin forever.
“Good morning, beautiful maiden,” he called to the girl as he dismounted.
Iselin drank his face in greedily. Smiling widely, she bounded for the shore and to the man's open arms.
A jagged rock under the current tripped her step, and she fell under the murky water.
“Stop this teasing,” the man called to the river.
Iselin held her breath and clawed at the rock, but the immovable stone would not release its grip. The air in her lungs burned.
Kraven!
she shouted in her head, fearful she might soon become unconscious.
“No!” the raven-haired man on the shore cried and dove into the water. Fiercely he jabbed at the current with his arms until his foot stumbled upon a floating mass.
Diving under the water, he found her and cradled his bride's head in his arms while fighting with the rock that held her foot. The rock was dislodged only by the strength of a man possessed by love. He heaved the stone aside and pulled Iselin to the surface. On the bank, he called urgently, “Wake up!” and pushed his hands against her soaking bodice.
Her chest shuddered as water heaved from her lungs. Coughing and sputtering, she clung to his strong arms. Kraven soothed the back of her head and rubbed her shivering shoulders.
In the towering trees above their heads, a flock of black crows stirred and cawed angrily as they flew into the sky. A dark shadow passed across Iselin's pale face, a tinge of pink staining her freckled cheeks. Kraven laid her down in a patch of grass for the sun to warm her trembling body. Resting his head against her chest, he listened quietly.
“Do you hear?” asked Iselin, her lips quivering as she stroked his hair.
“Yes,” he answered firmly. “You are so strong. It sounds as if your heart will leap from your chest.”
“No,” she said, raising his face to her eyes. “Listen,” Iselin pleaded and raised a finger to his lips to silence him. A faint drumbeat echoed through the forest. “Look,” she said, pointing a shaking finger to the sky.
Billows of chalky smoke wafted above the treetops.
“Don't worry,” Kraven comforted her. “Not all of our guests have arrived yet for the wedding tomorrow. No doubt my cousin Drachen, from the highlands, must be close.”
A beastly roar shook the trees.
“Let us return to the walls of Kilhaven,” Kraven said, cradling Iselin in his arms. Securing her upon the back of his black stallion, he mounted the anxious steed as another blast of beastly fury echoed through the forest.
“Home,” Kraven whispered in the horse's pricked ear. The handsome animal kicked up a spray of dirt as he sped down the path toward the castle walls.
Iselin held tight to her groom's waist. The scent of smoke stung her nose. Squeezing her arms around his body, she vowed to never leave his side.
She knew he had retrieved her just in time from the clutches of the water. She nuzzled her face in the long, raven hair falling down his back. She shivered as she thought of the contrast between the warmth of him and the cold, murky river that had just tried to swallow her body.
One day I shall save you
, she promised.