Anathema (Causal Enchantment, #1)
Read Anathema (Causal Enchantment, #1) Online
Authors: K.A. Tucker
Tags: #vampire, #urban fantasy, #love, #mystery, #paranormal romance, #magic, #witch, #werebeast
K.A.Tucker
Copyright 2011 K.A.Tucker
All rights are reserved. No part of this book
may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means
without written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. The names,
characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s
imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be
construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead,
actual events, locales or organizations is entirely
coincidental.
Editing by Marg Gilks
Cover design by Okay Creations/Sarah
Hansen
v2
Published by K.A.Tucker
Smashwords Edition
To Lia and Sadie, for being.
To Paul, for reading a girl’s book…
twice.
To my friends and family, for their endless
support.
“
T
rust me,”
Sofie whispered, her delicate hands sliding up Nathan’s chest to
slip behind his neck.
“
And if you’re wrong … ?” Nathan
began but, unable to finish the sentence, his voice trailed
off.
“
I’m not wrong!” she
snapped.
He pulled away and moved to stand before a
nearby window, his arms crossed over his chest.
“
Let me prove it to you.” She glided
over to his side, and lifted a finger to push a stray lock of
chestnut brown hair off his forehead.
But Nathan ignored the affectionate gesture,
focused now on the bustling nightlife beyond the walls of his
chateau. Rarely did he envy humans. Tonight, though, as he watched
horse–drawn carriages roll along Paris’s cobblestone streets,
carrying passengers on their way home from frivolous celebrations
and too much wine, his jaw tightened with jealousy. Why couldn’t
his problems be so trivial?
He saw a man stumble out of a tavern and fall
to the ground in a drunken heap, directly in the path of two draft
horses, and his eyes widened. The idea of witnessing a man trampled
to death lifted his spirits. That human’s problem would rival his
own … He gripped the window frame in anticipation, watching the
beasts’ mammoth hooves trotting toward the man’s limp body, seconds
away from squashing his head as if it were a ripe melon. At the
last moment, two men grabbed the drunk by the heels and dragged him
to safety. The horses continued on, undisturbed.
Damn those
good Samaritans.
Nathan scanned the streets for another person
in a predicament worse than his own, knowing the chances were slim.
His attention landed on a young couple in the midst of a lovers’
quarrel, one that quickly escalated from shrieks and hand gestures
to a swift knee to the man’s groin. The growing crowd of spectators
around the couple erupted in laughter as the young man crumpled to
the ground, writhing in pain. Despite the situation, Nathan
chuckled, aware that his redheaded spitfire may react in the same
fashion momentarily.
Sighing heavily, Nathan dropped his eyes to the
oak tree beneath his window, its leaves a rich golden hue with the
change of season. It was to be Sofie’s burial spot.
That day couldn’t be today, though. He wasn’t
ready.
Nathan shook his head. “No … I cannot bear the
risk.”
Sofie didn’t respond immediately. When she did,
it was with the sharpness of a well–honed blade. “Fine.” The silk
layers of her evening gown rustled noisily as she stalked toward
the door.
Before she reached it, Nathan was across the
room, his hand barring her exit. “Please don’t ask it of anyone
else,” he pleaded. He knew the request was useless, though. She
stared back at him, her olive green eyes blazing in defiance, her
intentions clear. She would find someone—someone who didn’t care
whether she survived. He couldn’t allow that.
Another heavy sigh, this one in surrender.
“You’re impossible, woman,” he whispered, shutting his eyes. There
was no hint of anger in his tone.
Sofie’s throaty laughter filled the room.
Victorious, she stretched up to lay an intense kiss on his lips. A
farewell kiss, if this failed …
Taking her hands in his, he pulled her to the
center of the room where the kerosene lamp burned, the only source
of light in the spacious master bedroom.
“
No,” she protested, scowling, as he
reached for it.
“
I’m not compromising on this,” he
answered firmly.
After a second of deliberation, Sofie nodded,
relenting—knowing better than to press him further, knowing she had
won the war. She lifted her hands to pull her loose hair up off her
neck.
Nathan shut his eyes, mentally preparing
himself. He trusted her abilities. If anyone could solve this
problem, it was his Sofie.
But if she was wrong …
He opened his eyes to see Sofie’s dazzling,
confident smile. How he would do anything to see that smile for
eternity!
In one fluid motion he extinguished the lamp,
plunging the room into darkness.
Sofie’s chest heaved as she inhaled deeply,
trying to regulate her pounding heart. She had worked tirelessly
for this moment, to allow for this possibility—pushing her mind to
the brink of sanity, drawing on her skill until she’d drained every
ounce of energy.
It was finally happening.
Or was it? Anticipation turned to panic as the
seconds stretched to minutes with no signals from Nathan. She stood
in silence, her eyes searching the darkness in vain, fighting
against the urge to speak out, to plead with him. What if he had
changed his mind? What if he had left the room? What if—
Pain. All concern vanished.
Sofie regained consciousness on the bedroom
floor. The room was still absolutely dark, yet her eyes darted
wildly around, taking in every picture, every fabric pattern, every
crack in the ceiling as if sun streamed through the windows.
Exhilaration flooded through her.
With only a thought, she was on her feet and
standing in front of a mirror. She gasped at the reflection. The
eyes staring back were no longer her lackluster olive but a
mystical pale mint. Her hand flew to her neck. No puncture marks.
Not even a scratch. The only evidence was some dried blood on skin
that was now creamy and pale. A slow sigh escaped her lips as the
crushing fear of failure lifted from her chest.
It had worked.
She began giggling.
“
What in God’s name are you so happy
about?” a voice boomed. Her head whipped around. Mortimer stood in
the doorway, a look of sheer horror splayed across his face. “Do
you realize what you’ve done?” he yelled, slamming his fist against
the solid wood door. Splinters flew from the blow.
Sofie twisted her mouth in annoyance. “What are
you talking about? It worked!”
“
You call
that
success?” He
gestured to Sofie’s left, his eyebrows raised mockingly.
She turned curious eyes to follow his hand. Her
stomach dropped when she saw the body lying motionless beside the
bed. “Nathan!”
She flew across the room with inhuman speed,
dropping to her knees to clutch Nathan’s beautiful face, needing to
see his rich chocolate–brown eyes gazing adoringly at her. She
released a sharp gasp when she saw the vacuous gray of death
staring back at her.
“
I don’t understand,” she whispered,
tears welling in her eyes.
“
You have no idea what you’ve done
to us,” Mortimer answered through gritted teeth. It was obvious
that Nathan’s death was the least of his concerns.
“
S
ee you
tomorrow, Betty,” I called out to the shelter’s evening
receptionist as I passed the front desk. The plump, middle–aged
woman responded with a gentle smile and a quick nod before turning
her attention back to the homeless man standing beside
her.
I held out my hand as I stepped onto the dimly
lit sidewalk, testing for rain, expecting it. A relentless,
bone–chilling drizzle had laid siege to Portland for the month of
September—the kind of gloomy, wet weather that made a person dream
of hibernating under a heavy blanket until spring.
To my pleased surprise, my hand encountered not
a drop—no rain yet, anyway. I tucked my umbrella under my arm and
began walking toward Congress Street, a nightly ritual after
finishing my volunteer shift at the shelter. There was something
therapeutic about wandering through the city’s Art District,
admiring the hopes and dreams of local artists on display. More
importantly, it dragged out the inevitable trip home before curfew.
I was never in a rush to get back to my foster home.
Half a block up, I found a scruffy old man
lying across the sidewalk ahead of me. “Evening, Eddie!” I called,
smiling gently. Eddie split his time between the shelter and a
nearby alley. “I’ll bet Betty can find you a nice, warm bed
tonight.”
Eddie clambered to his knees with surprising
agility and, seizing the corners of my navy raincoat with his grimy
hands, began a recital of complete gibberish, his fervor increasing
exponentially as he rambled on. “Oh, chocolate pools flatter my
wretchedness. Yours is the face of an angel, complete with heaven’s
cream and a halo of spun gold. You are a goddess!”
There were random moments of lucidity with
Eddie, days where we could chat normally about trivialities like
the weather and local politics. Other days I found him perched on a
makeshift pedestal, ranting about giant beasts lurking in the
shadows. Then there were days—like today, as he made my dull brown
eyes, pallid complexion, and blonde hair sound like gifts from the
gods—when he was a whole new kind of crazy.
“
No, Eddie. I’m not your goddess,
but thanks … I’m flattered.” I gently patted his hand.
Three drops of water landed in quick succession
on my nose, then the rain began to fall.
Drat
. “Do you
need an umbrella?” I eyed the roof of Eddie’s home in the alleyway
behind him—a cardboard box cleverly shielded by the four umbrellas
I had provided for him over the last two weeks.
