The Witching Hour (The Grim Reaper Saga (Urban Fantasy Romance)) (23 page)

Eve looked. Sunshine was creeping under the blinds. Daylight already? That was the problem with the spirit world, what felt like one or two minutes could actually be five or six hours in real time. It was part of the reason why she hated entering that world. It was just so draining.

She walked to the window and drew up the blinds. Startling bright light poured into the room, nothing but blue skies as far as the eye could see.

Crushed, she stepped back. She’d hoped to go to Cian’s as soon as possible and try to explain, make things right and really give this thing--whatever it was--a chance. She frowned, now she’d have to wait all day.

“It’s seven o’ clock,” Tamryn wailed, sleepiness threading her voice. “We have really got to do that more often or we’re gonna lose our touch altogether. Goddess, I can’t believe we stayed with the spirits so long.”

Celeste shook her head, blond hair curling around her face. “I’ve got to open shop in like the next ten minutes. Look, Tam, I still feel fine, so I’ll run first shift. You can relieve me at two. Sound good?”

“What about me?” Eve asked.

“You think we’re gonna make you work after what you just found out.” Celeste gave a wicked smile, green eyes shining bright. “You can have today off, tomorrow too, if you know... things start to get hot and heavy.”

“Oh brother,” she chuckled. “I swear you guys must think I’m some sort of nympho.”

“Umm, yeah.” Celeste gave her a duh look, then shrugged. “Look dolls, this has been fun and all, but I gotta run. And, Eve, since I’m sure you’ll be in hiding most of the night tonight and probably even tomorrow,” she grinned wickedly, “don’t forget the gathering, okay?”

Trust Celeste to go into mother mode. The girl could go from teasing to serious so fast it gave you whiplash.

“The gathering.” She frowned and glanced toward the calendar hanging on her wall. “Ohmygoddess, that totally slipped my mind. Yeah, for sure, I’ll be there.”

“Good. Well then. Kissy, kissy and all that jazz, and Tamryn remember to wake up please. Cause if you don’t I’ll turn you into a dung beetle.” With a finger wave, Celeste was out the door.

Tamryn turned back around, bloodshot eyes wide with humor. “There is something seriously wrong with that woman. You think we’re really related?”

“’Fraid so.”

“Yikes.” She shook her head and shuddered, her lips curled into a crescent shaped smile. “Anyway, all right if I crash here? I’m just wasted, and if I gotta go relieve the Queen B, then I’ll need all the rest I can get.”

“Fine by me. Just pull out the couch bed. I’m going to bed too.”

“Mmmhmm. Yeah, okay. No doubt thinking about that handsome hunk of a vampire.” She bit her lip, a grin spreading across her face. “Word of advice. Make sure to pull the door all the way shut if you’re gonna play with Blue Thunder, little loud.”

“My goddess, Tam! You’re as nuts as Celeste.” Eve marched back to her room. Exhaustion crept into her vision, her sister’s tinkling laughter trailed behind.

The fact that she’d been thinking about doing just that was what embarrassed most.

What would life be without her sisters?

Frenzy stood, exhausted--heart beat slowing down from the frenetic thumps of earlier. So many souls in one small area, he’d been bombarded with the fiery rush of shifting to reaper throughout the entire night.

His arm ached with a deep throb in the very tissue of his muscle. What the hell had they been doing to call so many spirits to them?

He growled and flexed his hand, now fleshy and hopefully for good this time. Never before had he been forced to shift so often. Regardless that the souls were no longer tied to bodies, being around them brought out the death in him, and the ire.

“Witches.”

The creak of shifting floorboards and patter of movements that had gone late into the morning hours suddenly stopped. He narrowed his eyes, giving them a second, seeing if it was truly over.

He grabbed a hold of the brass bed knob and closed his eyes. Instead of three, two steady pulses reverberated through his eardrums. One sister had left. 

The heartbeats slowed into the gentle cadence of deep sleep. With a swipe of his hand he drew out some of his essence and covered himself in stealth, then opened a portal between his bedroom to Eve’s.

Rosebud lips parted in a tiny gap. Black lashes fanned against the perfect paleness of skin. One leg wrapped around a body pillow stuck out the corner of a purple velvet blanket.

The blinds were closed, but couldn’t contain the sun filtering between cracks. He walked forward and stopped just at the edge of the bed. Did she know how close to death she lay? Was there any awareness in mortals that each second was precious? That life could so easily be snuffed out?

The thought that the next step, next breath might be the last crippled mortals.

Frenzy pulled the leather glove off his still fleshy hand. He wasn’t to harm Eve physically. Fine. There were other ways to hurt and he was master at them.

Lashes fluttered against her cheek like a moth’s wing. She was entering the first REM cycle. There would be no waking up now. He smiled and walked around toward the head of the bed and hung his hand inches from her forehead, so close her body heat seeped into his palm.

The point today was not to harm bodily, but emotionally. Leave her scarred and scared. Draw her into despair, panic. Break her will and leave her numb.

“Sleep. Sleep,” he chanted, filling her mind with memories drawn from his own. They were the nightmares of an immortal.

Bodies, diseased and wasted. Children, infants staring into the great void, mouths opened in a soundless scream as their village burned to a cinder behind them. Flies buzzing around heads. Rotten stench of decay heavy in the air.

She whimpered, tossing her head.

The Great War. Witches staked at the cross, guts and intestines drawn from still breathing victims. Humans shaking their pitchforks, swords and daggers held tight in their fists. Faces of women and men--blue bloods and laymen alike--twisted into masks of hatred, contempt.

Her breath grew labored, chest heaving up and down. The room grew heavy with the sharp crack of agony. Tangible pain tore at his face, chest, and back. He frowned. Pressure drew against his skull like the sharp rake of claws.

His gaze flicked toward Eve. She moaned, twisting the sheets between her fists. Of course. It made sense now.

Cian would never fall for anything less extraordinary than him. This woman was more than witch. Her emotions were a corporeal force.

He slammed more into her. Fury from his past crept into his vision, fragmenting her thoughts with anguish, his anguish. Memories of his fourteenth century Middle English beauty. Adrianna. His beautiful Adrianna, beaten, raped and tortured.

Mahogany rich hair covered in blood. Throat slit, jugular vein exposed and spouting scarlet--drowning in her blood and him helpless to prevent it.

Eve’s pain ripped into him and he accepted its twisting, knifing ache. He growled, remembering and throwing it all at her.

Mud and dirt caked on Adrianna’s royal blue gown. Fingers bleeding. Nails torn off in her struggle to escape. Gasping for air when there was none to take in.

Left for dead on the side of a muddy road like so much garbage, and all because she’d rejected the advances of the Duke for his.

Hate boiled inside him like a festering wound. The infection of his soul spewed over.

The gown he’d bought for her, shredded beyond repair, exposing her long, lean crimson stained thighs.

Eve cried out, they were low desperate cries. Tears rolled down the corners of her eyes.

“Hell,” he snarled and ran from the room, from the memories. The sounds of Eve’s whimpering ripped into his back.

His nostrils flared, the murky haze of madness crept into his vision. Opening the portal with a swipe of his hand he made ready to step through when the sound of rustling sheets caught his attention.

He turned. On the couch and curled into a ball lay a petite redhead, hair much like his own. But where his was pure fire, hers was a deep blood red. One hand lay tucked under her chin. She had fragile elegant features. He drew from Curtis’ memories, searching for the name of the sister.

Violet eyes. Redhead.

Tamryn.

Whimpers and moans spilled from the other room. With one final glance, he left.

***

Eve sat at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of tea going on one hour now. She couldn’t shake the dream from her head. Three hours after lying down she’d woken with the sounds of screams and battle cries thundering in her head.

She stared without seeing at the wall and bit her lip until it throbbed like the beat of her pulse. The babies lying broken. Women fallen to their knees wailing and screaming in absolute heartache. Fire eating the huts, destroying memories.

She winced and took a sip of her lukewarm drink. The nightmare had been so real, vivid and terrifying, to the point that she could recall scent--unwashed bodies, sickly sweet smell of blood. Sulfur odor of ash and fire. Crushed grass and horse sweat. Her hands shook and she dropped them to her lap with a heavy sigh.

An admitted history buff, she devoured books dealing with war and the ruin of empires. But she’d never before suffered like this. Her dreams had never been so fertile or realistic.

And the woman. Dead, raped. The horror she’d been through trapped in the eternal stillness of her gaze.

She swallowed hard around the lump in her throat and looked away, blinking. Bringing much needed relief to the grit locked behind her eyes.

“Well I’m a memory.” Tamryn walked out the bathroom, dressed in one of Eve’s old scarlet and black baby doll dresses. She looked down and then up. “You don’t mind do you? Cel, would kill me if I relieve her late.”

“No.” She waved her hand, stood and walked toward the kitchen sink, pouring out the rest of her tea.

Tamryn grabbed her arm and turned her around, eyes narrowed and searching. “Eve, you okay?”

She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Fine. Didn’t get much sleep. Just tired.”

“You sure?”

Her lips twitched into a half smile. “Yeah, but you’d better go before Cel starts hounding me trying to figure out where you are.”

Tamryn frowned, doubt glittering in her eyes. She didn’t believe her. That much was evident. But she didn’t push it either, just shrugged and walked to the door. “It’s okay, Eve. Sometimes it’s better to keep things to yourself. Won’t pry. Don’t forget the gathering,” she reminded her again.

“I won’t.” She shook her head.

“Good. See you tomorrow and give that hunk of yours an extra nibble for me.” She winked and slid out the door.

 She smiled, but didn’t feel it, and walked toward her window. The sun was still hours from setting.  

 Night. Finally. Eve threw on a pair of faded blue jeans, a black turtleneck, tucked her keys and wallet into her pocket and ran out the door.

She only hoped he’d be willing to listen. She raced down the flight of stairs.

Please God.

So consumed was she by thoughts of talking to Cian that she barely noticed Curtis until it was almost too late. She came to a screeching halt, nearly running over Samhain in her haste. He reached out, his hands gripping her by the shoulders and holding her steady.

Her heart thumped loudly in her ears. “Oh my gosh, that was too close.” She gave a weak laugh, grabbing her chest. “You seem to be saving me an awful lot lately, sorry ‘bout that, Curtis.”

“Ah,” he shrugged her off, “no worries. You seem to have a lot on your mind.”

She nodded, shifting from foot to foot. Antsy to go. What if he was already gone for the day? Doing whatever the heck vampires did at this time of day. It was getting late.

“Yeah, I do.”

His warm gaze stared into her own. She was getting ready to turn away when she caught a flicker of color burning in his eyes. Startled, her heart tripped in her chest. Had she seen what she thought she’d seen or only an illusion of light dancing inside them? She blinked, but all she found was a sea of deep brown. There had been something, she was sure of it.