Moonless (22 page)

62

Motive
             
 

In the morning, Sarah discovered the child sitting
on
her dining room table between breakfast settings in a new dress of cheery orange, legs swinging over the edge while she ate a scone, one greedy bite after another. She licked her fingers clean and burped, then giggled, placing a hand to her lips. “That was delicious! I might have to visit here often.”

Gleeful dark eyes turned on Sarah, a chocolate abyss that both threatened and welcomed.

Sarah gauged the girl’s ease, a demeanor which suggested superiority, but she could see through the charade. How many times had she played this very role? Pretended she held the upper hand while manipulating her counterpart?

Yes, she knew this child a great deal better than Alexia gave her due.

“We shall be glad for the company.” Sarah held herself upright, presenting herself as large and in control as any queen. She met the child’s stare with equal intensity. “Kindred causes are welcomed here.”

The child’s eyebrows lifted, a wicked sneer curling her lips. “Oh, you are good.”

Sarah gauged the compliment but couldn’t bring herself to believe it was sincere.

“Do you like games?” The girl whispered conspiratorially.

“As much as any other.”

“I despise games!” Blood-red lips pulled back. The child leapt to her feet, shoulders heaving. A gust whirled through the room, rattling picture frames and shaking bowls in their saucers.

Sarah’s fingers bit into her palms, her insides quivering, but she remained perfectly still. Focusing on the table, she felt for the obedient wood, readying to flip it over. With a warning tone, she said, “Then let us not play any games.”

The girl’s cheek twitched. “Indeed.”

Sarah swallowed.

“I will make this easy for you to understand:” Crimson lips pulled back in a snarl. “You will retrieve the weapon for me, or I will show your niece the true meaning of
playtime
.”

Ice surged through Sarah’s veins. The child continued to stare, unflinching. Sarah held her gaze, her heart stuttering. Nothing but hate occupied those eyes. Cold, hard, empty pits.

“Are we having fun yet?” The child’s eyes batted.

Sarah swallowed. “How am I to retrieve it?”

Bellezza leaned forward, her grin widening to reveal canines. “This is where the sport becomes truly interesting.”

“Tell me.”

The girl grinned. “
You
cannot reach it.”

Sarah blinked.
      

Bellezza’s eyes squeezed at the corners. “How very fortunate that Alexia can.”

63

Placated

The air tasted of death.

Kiren woke to hands looping under his arms and hefting him up. He blinked the darkness behind his eyes away and squinted as Lester grunted and set him down in a chair. Other faces ringed him in, none of which he was particularly anxious to see.

“Where is she?” he coughed out at the runner.

“Well, she ain’t here.”

The circle parted to reveal the Wilhamshire Inn. He sat on the balcony, and below, a couple men hauled a limp body out the door. Several cloaked bodies lay prostrate on the planks, all arranged in rows as though some plague had destroyed a small population which now awaited removal and burning.

He placed a hand to his forehead and winced. Dried blood came away on his palm. A crimson stain blotted the floorboards where he must have landed after . . . after what?

His stomach roiled. The sting of bile burned at the back of his throat.

He had done this.

Lester disappeared and reappeared less than a second later, shoving a pail into his lap. His stomach heaved and emptied. No matter the number of times he disgorged, the sickness remained.

He leaned in the chair, hanging his head.

The war had finally begun.

And he was to blame.

64

Scoundrel

Bellezza could be found nowhere when Alexia arrived for breakfast, but she knew better than to believe the girl was gone. She wanted something from them.

Sarah was pallid, deathly so, and quiet. She barely said two words and then retired to her room, claiming she was ill.

John arrived a day later, whiter than normal, the strange glint in his eyes a shade more vibrant. He stepped past Alexia and into Sarah’s embrace. She left them alone in the parlor.

“They’re gone,” his deep whisper carried into the hall. “So many innocents, gone.”

***

Her aunt became increasingly distant and cryptic, often consulting with John in some darkened corner. Alexia asked about these conferences, but Sarah always made some trivial excuse and sent her away.

Carriages arrived for Christmas, annoying Alexia. Didn’t they realize there were more pressing matters than a holiday—that it might not be safe for them to be in the presence of two Passionate? She kept her grumbling to a minimum as Sarah greeted her friends, including one Roger Whitaker, heir to an impressive share of the Bank of England. Although not unhandsome with his strong brow and slightly thinning hairline, he certainly held no appeal to Alexia.

“A deservingly beautiful young lady!” he cooed in a rough voice, eyes raking over her as they stood in the entry. “You shall make some young man very happy.”

She curtsied, anxious to escape his ogling.

The butler opened the door and announced the next arrival: “Lord Charles Dumont.”

She gasped, swinging around. Father entered. His eyes landed on her and widened. He’d dulled these last several weeks, or had his hair always held a tint of gray? The skin creased around his eyes in a sad sort of smile, accentuating the heavy bags beneath them.

“We will be eating soon.” Sarah bobbed in greeting. “Alexia will show you to your room so you can freshen up.”

She turned on her aunt who grinned and escaped the hall. Sarah and her plotting!

As Alexia led Father through the upper corridor, she couldn’t find any words to break the silence.

“Sarah did not tell you I was coming?” he asked.

She shook her head.

They halted before a guest chamber door. “Well,” he managed with a weak smile.

His exhaustion appeared to be more than physical strain. She worried that the blame might be hers, and she could stand it no longer. She threw her arms around his neck. “I missed you, Father.”

His arms wrapped around her. “I am sorry. I should have told you.”

How could she have even considered leaving without seeing him again? How could she consider ever existing in a world where he was not welcome? She sniffled and blinked back tears.

He released her. “You do not still hate me?”

She shook her head. “I could not hate you, but I—I do not understand.”

A silence passed between them. “Perhaps someday you will.”

***

Christmas came and went with a session of church and amiable gifts. Alexia tried to enjoy the day, but her mind kept returning to her latest dream—one where Arik stood over her, tears in his eyes. The luster of his countenance put everything and everyone to shame. Her heart broke afresh.

The New Year arrived and they gathered over the most splendid china and festive French wine. When at last the dinner ended, Alexia excused herself from the usual drawing room activities. Roger Whitaker found her in a dark hall on the second landing.

“And why is the most adorable woman in this company wandering off on her own the eve of the New Year?”

“Searching for some solace I can assure you, Mister Whitaker.” She shrank from him through a blackened doorway.

“Please, call me Roger.” He followed resolutely.

Backing into an empty room was a mistake. She swallowed. “I do not think it would be appropriate, seeing you are my senior by so many years.”

“Not so many.” He stepped closer.

Her back hit the wall. “Enough to deter my affections, sir.”

“Come now. You tease me so! I have not been able to think past your pretty little face since I stepped through that door. Am I not a man of money and influence? Let this charade of propriety end.” He leaned in drunkenly.

“It is no charade, I assure you.”

“I adore you, Alexia.” His lip pulled up in a sneer. “I adore you quite ardently.” She tried to dodge around him. He slammed her back into the wall. “And I get what I adore.”

She couldn’t draw air. This was not happening!

He grabbed her shoulders and leaned closer, his rancid breath stinging her nose. “Scream, and I will tell them a story that haunts you until your dying day.”

He pressed his mouth to hers. She gagged and lurched away. He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. Alexia squeaked and swung a fist at him. He caught her arm and locked it behind her back with an iron grip, crushing her against the wall.

He was suffocating her!

She bit his lip, drawing blood. He bit her back and yanked her hair free. She gasped and his tongue forced its way into her mouth.

Her knee came up and made contact. He groaned, crumpling over. She ran for the door. He caught her skirt and wrenched her backward. Material tore. She slammed into the wall.

Blackness.

She blinked, cheek against the floor. His hands raked over her body, eyes blazing as he pulled at her clothes. Consciousness faded in and out. She struggled to regain control, slapping his paws weakly.

This was it. She would lose everything!

No more hopes for a decent prospect.

No more innocence.

No more freedom.

No more choice.

Rage fired up from her toes. Pain tore through her brain with blinding white light.

Roger slowed. Time stilled.

She lifted a knee between them, like raising an anvil, and shoved against him with all her remaining strength.

His back arched. His shoulders rolled inward. His eyes widened as his body lifted away in slow motion.

Alexia grabbed her head. Freezing thunder ripped at her skull. Whiteness shrieked though her.

Breathe. Breathe!

She sucked in air and the blinding fury thinned. Roger’s body thudded against the floor. He groaned.

She blinked, tears rolling down her cheeks as her chest heaved. She battled to hold in the sobs that seized her lungs. She would not show her weakness, not crumble before her attacker.

She rolled onto her hands and knees and scrambled to her feet, leaning heavily on the wall for support. Clutching at her torn bodice, she hobbled out of the room and into her own chamber. She locked the door and thumped onto the floor facing the exit.

What would become of this?

Father’s retribution would be hasty and brutal. He might even kill Roger. But then what would become of him? Would he be executed, hung as a criminal? And if the reason for his violence came out, what would become of her? Everywhere she went there would be pity and shame.

She covered her face with her hands and curled in on herself.

The weeping started. She couldn’t face the barrage of possibilities, the terror. She slumped onto her bed, pressing her face into a pillow, shaking and gasping from the core of her very being. Her eyes burned, her cheeks stinging from the tears. She ached everywhere. But worse, deep down she knew this was only the beginning. Her reprieve from the storm could not last. How many other assuming men would she encounter, even after marriage? Beauty was a curse!

But there was a race whose beauty matched her own.

She sucked in a breath of fresh air.

Somewhere beyond society waited a world she’d never known, a place where lovers bonded so deeply their very lives intertwined. Surely there she would be safe—even from the Soulless.

But what did she know of that other side? Bellezza’s cruelty? A dark prison in an abandoned house? That her mother had been nothing more than a serving girl?

Her heart seized. Worst of all, Arik would be there. People who could steal memories thrived in that sphere. People who killed with a scream or by flipping a carriage waited in that realm.

What truly lay on the other side? A society constantly at war. The loss of her family. A man who would not have her, although he professed to care.

There was no good choice. She must either reconcile that she’d eventually belong to a scoundrel, or face the constant torture of knowing what she’d lost.

Emotion seeped out. It broke in waves. She cried violently, gradually calming into a worn out grief. At last, sleep.

65

Banished

Kiren knelt at her bedside, broken by the purpling bruises across her forehead and exposed arm. He drew a finger across the skin, asking the cells to mend and shrink, battling his own exhaustion and the need to wrap her in his embrace. He should have been here to protect her. Who cared that the Soulless were now attacking in broad daylight, beating their victims senseless and carrying them off to who knew where! He could keep them away from this building, but to save her from the monsters within? Everything was such a mess.

“I am sorry, Alexia.”

Her eyes fluttered open.

He stiffened.

Dreamily, her lips curled, eyes smiling.

She sat up. Kiren jerked to his feet.

Her pastel lips trembled open, brows lifting. Her eyes widened as though seeing light after weeks of stumbling in a dark cavern.

He reached for her.

Teeth snapped together, her brows crunching down. “You are not supposed to be here anymore!”

He pulled his hand back.

Tears glistened in her eyes. “I have banished you from my thoughts, which means you are no longer welcome in my dreams. Do you understand?”

Kiren could not meet her glare. Thankfully, her head returned to the pillow, eyes closing.

Had she truly banished him from her meditations? Obliterated every welcoming feeling of her heart? Or had he done that?