The Witching Hour (The Grim Reaper Saga (Urban Fantasy Romance)) (34 page)

That would be his penance.

***

Eve flew through her door, throwing her purse on the ground and calling out his name. There was only silence. Hope died inside her. As she’d suspected he was gone, not a trace of him remained. Her nostrils flared and she ran to her phone. She might still be able to reach him.

The thought crossed her mind to just go to his house, but if he’d seen who was at the door would he have answered? Probably not. At least with a phone call he was more likely to pick up.

She closed her eyes. If he turned her away, or even refused to listen then it was all her fault and there would be no anger. The things he’d said, the malicious words he’d thrown had cut her to the quick, until Lise made her recognize her prejudices for what they were. Disgusting, awful truth.

Fear of the unknown, a hatred for all things fae had kept her from listening with her heart and look where it had gotten her. Anxiety constricted her chest, twisting her stomach in on itself.

“Damn it, Eve. Damn it.” She picked up the phone and walked to her kitchen table, sitting down and staring at the white headset like it would suddenly sprout fangs and snap her head off.

What made her sick the most was that deep down she’d suspected he harbored a secret. Being so comfortable around food, not leaving her side until the very last moment--sun creeping over the horizon--and those gloves, it all added up. Those ever present gloves. If she’d opened her eyes instead of refusing to see the truth, she’d have known him not to be a vampire. But she’d pretended not to notice, imagined it wasn’t there and in so doing had made it all the harder for him to come clean.

The things she’d said. She groaned. Words could never be taken back. The power of words was that they were always there, always a reminder in the back of your mind. You could forgive, but not forget.

She didn’t mean it. It’d been the shock of finding out who he really was.

You didn’t throw the shield up in time.
She gasped, remembering now. Just minutes before she and Michael were knocked to the ground she’d seen him. Cian standing behind her in the mirror.

Now she remembered the gorgeous man with great sadness in his eyes. That nagging feeling like she’d seen him once before had been right. Even then, married to Michael as she was, she’d been intrigued. Her heart instinctively reaching out to his.

He’d been there to take her that night. Which could mean only one thing. He’d saved not just her, but Michael as well. And the next day, the car accident... she’d been in such a pain fogged haze she could remember very little of it. But for her to have survived the types of injuries she’d sustained. It had to have been him.  

She’d hurt him, cut him to the bone. Bile rose in her throat. She was nothing but a judgmental coward.  

Eve picked up the phone, staring at the numbers scrawled across the slip of paper Lise had given her. She ground her jaw and dialed.

It rang once.

Twice.

After the fifth ring she finally admitted defeat. Either he wouldn’t pick up, or he was gone, back to his home in fairy. Numb, she sat the phone down, shame eating away at her as a huge lump formed in her throat. All of this was her fault. Every bit of it.

A hollow void swept through her. Lise had called her a fool and she was. Hot tears gathered at the corners of her ears. She huffed at them, refusing to let them fall. She’d cried enough.

“You make your bed, you lie in it,” her voice cracked. These were the consequences of her actions, and she was woman enough to accept that.

Heaviness coiled around her heart, a tightening that left her breathless. The sadness of their parting left her bereft and in more pain than she’d ever known before. Anguish splintered her soul in two.

One fat tear fell and then another and then another. She threw her head into her hands and wept hot, bitter tears. Great choking sobs wracked her lungs and she cried until there was nothing left.

Like a pressure valve releasing its pent up energy, she felt drained. No longer was there an overwhelming despair so much as a sickening throb of a broken heart.

Mouth tasting of cotton and head pounding like a rhino had stomped on it; she reached out and grabbed the only drink at hand. Not even aware of what she was grabbing, just knowing she needed to quench her parched throat.

The tea she’d sat aside earlier.

She chugged down the entire drink, grimacing at the bitter, slightly astringent taste it left on her tongue.

Eve smacked her lips. They were beginning to go numb. What was this? She frowned and stared into the bottom of the cup. Tiny yellow flecks dotted the styrofoam’s rim. The numbness spread down her throat and her stomach gave a violent heave.

Blinking in shock, she grabbed her gut and moaned.

Fiery claws shred her apart from the inside. Panic spread its wings. Poison. She’d been poisoned. How? When?

She gasped for breath, choking on the air itself. Fire filled her lungs as she fought desperately for breath. She opened her mouth in a soundless scream of agony.

Veins burst inside her eyes with the fighting need for breath. Her body trembled and her muscles spasmed. Contracting as hard as a rock.

She shot to her feet. Whimpering. Moaning. Limbs refusing to work right. She tripped over her chair, landing face first on the cold floor. The flesh of her chin ripped open on contact. Warm blood oozed from the wound.

Then the convulsions started.

Absolute fear swept down her spine. Aware and conscious of it all.

Her body went rigid. No air in her lungs. Fire breathing down her skull. Heart beating out of control. Blackness sweeping in. Then a thought. In death she’d find solace from her despair.

With one last pitiful gasp, her heart stopped.

***

Cian passed his hand along the tree. The golden quickening surrounded him as he stepped through the entrance to the sithen.

The sylph’s angelic voices greeted him. He inhaled the sharp nature infused winds of his lands. The inspiration he usually found from being on fae soil now gone. He shoved his hands into his pockets, heart and soul shattered. Red madness crept into his vision.

His nostrils flared. The oppressive pain began to fill him. It was tangible, choking the air from his lungs.

Find the Queen. Plead her case. End this misery. That was his mantra and he repeated it over and over, running faster and faster toward the Queen. Toward his death.

It no longer mattered what the Queen chose to do to him. Strip him, flog him... none of it made a difference. Not anymore.

Pressure built inside his skull, he winced, trying to ignore it. He licked his lips and scrambled over the knoll.

He had time. Not much. But if he could reach the Queen before a reaper could orchestrate her death, then her fate could be averted. He had time. He ran faster.

The twisted spiraling steeple of the Queen’s castle stood just over the next hill. So close.

But the fragile control was ripped asunder as a flash of volcanic heat exploded inside his head. He fell to his knees, clutching his stomach. Pain licking at his flesh. Heart threatening to punch a hole his chest. Arcing back and throwing his arms out to his side he became engulfed by the inferno.

Shards of jagged ice tore down his spine. Limbs turned numb and heavy. Then a flash of darkness and he fell forward.

The scent of crushed grass wafted under his nose.

“Eve,” he gasped, knowing it was her. The awareness of her death ripped through every inch of his body.  

A roar of anguish tore through the fabric of his soul and out his mouth. He shot to his feet. Nature went still. The sylph’s silent as the beast inside him came fully alive.

Misery encased him like a shroud and he welcomed it, giving into the madness. She was dead... his beautiful witch.

Huge green eyes peeked at him from around the bend of an oak. A tree elf shook like a sapling in the wind. Didn’t matter what it was. Morality. Right or wrong. Innocent or no. He lost all ability to reason. He wanted death. Something to hurt as bad as he did.

He ran. Arms outstretched, ready to grab the elf by the neck and rip it in two.

The elf screamed, long blond mane whipping behind her in her haste to run away.

A violent clap of thunder rocked in his ears and lightning consumed him, blinding his vision. Something powerful, intangible, picked him up and when next he blinked he was within the royal throne room.

Maniacal laughter filled the chamber with macabre echoes that chilled his blood. The sound prickled along his flesh. He twirled, disoriented and full of fury.

Then he saw the Queen, lascivious smirk on her blood red lips. She stood from her throne and sashayed toward him. The black, strapless gown tapered to her body, glittering with the stars from the heavens. The shadowy fabric opened at the juncture between her breasts and formed a v all the way down to her navel.

To her side stood Dagda, his anger whipped through the room like thorny barbs. His dark face set into a grim mask. Remorse and pity shone in his hawk like eyes.

“What have you done?” Cian growled, taking a menacing step forward.

She arched an obsidian brow, ivory perfection of her face twisting into a sneer. “Me! Nothing that shouldn’t have been done a long time ago. Ineptitude really disgusts me.”

There was no remorse in her eyes. Just a smile of victory. She didn’t care. Eve had meant nothing to her.

With a roar, he rushed her, footsteps echoing like gunfire. The Morrigan flicked her wrist and invisible chains pulled him to the ground, forcing him prostrate. All breath left on impact as he landed on the cold marble with a loud oomph. He struggled, howling and clawing to reach her. She stood mere inches from him, her gown swishing in front of his eyes. If he could just stretch a little bit farther.

Fingers reached out and grabbed nothing but air. His futile attempt only brought on another bout of laughter from her.

“You know,” The Morrigan knelt in front of him, light blue of her eyes sparkling, “it would seem you grew attached to this mortal. But of course that’s impossible, right?” She cocked her head, tapping her finger against her chin.

He snarled and snapped. Wanting nothing more than to grab her by the neck and rip out the veins.

“Oh ho!” Her eyes widened with delight. “You fell in love. How deliciously ironic. Touching, and strangely pathetic.” She grabbed his chin, her nails pushing down into the flesh.

With one last wicked smirk she threw his head aside and faced her King. “Well what do you know, Dagda, I’ve won.” The Morrigan sighed as if she were talking of a schoolgirl crush, rather than the death of a mortal. To her it was all the same. He wanted to strangle the Goddess for her inhumanity.

No wonder Eve feared the fae. How could she not when the majority felt and acted just like the Queen? A bloodthirsty and self-involved race.

“Chaos,” Dagda snapped, “gloating does not become you.”

“But you’re wrong there. I think I want to savor this moment.” With a satisfied smile she nodded. “Frenzy, to me”

The same flash of lightning that had carted him to the Queen’s chamber flared through the room, bringing with it Frenzy.

His eyes widened then narrowed. Hands fisting into balls by his side.

This was a different Frenzy. He was in guise. His sea of red hair replaced by tight white curls. Ivory skin now a dark brown.

“No. No. No,” he groaned. He couldn’t believe his eyes. The Morrigan had brought Frenzy to her, and here was Curtis standing in front of him, and he wasn’t getting any sense or vibe of death. There was nothing. No internal static or recognition of Frenzy. It was as if this man were mortal.

Frenzy turned to look at him, black eyes devoid of emotion and grabbed onto a silver pendant hanging around his neck. “I did what I had to.”

All feeling fled. Emptiness swooped down inside him, crowding his thoughts, his mind. But one incessant though kept pounding through.
This was how she got through. This was it.

The Queen slipped her arm around Frenzy’s back, never taking her gaze from Cian’s. “And I am so proud of you.”

She smiled and tipped the reaper’s face toward hers. Frenzy closed his eyes, a bitter twist to his lips.

Cian could only stare, shattered and disgusted. His body trembling with the need to scream, to rip his clothes off, cut off his hair, sit in rags and grieve for what he’d lost.

“There’s just one last thing to do, then.” She snapped her fingers and Eve’s lifeless body appeared by her feet.

“No!” he wailed, heart jolting painfully. The blue mask of death upon her face. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t rip his gaze from Eve. That long black hair he loved so much lay limp and partially concealing one corner of her face. Her eyes were open, the whites bloodshot. The light that had once shined so bright in her golden gaze was now gone. Rosebud lips parted into a perfect ‘o’.

Heat crept into his eyes.

The Morrigan stepped over Eve with a tiny sniff.

He trembled. His beauty. His dark rose, broken and lifeless. But he wouldn’t give the Queen the pleasure of witnessing his pain.

“Cian,” she snapped, the force of her anger reverberated through the room, slamming against flesh like a physical blow. He shot his gaze to her face. The façade of calm was gone. The Morrigan was in full fury. Eyes a feral shade of red, brows lowered and mouth set into a razor thin line. “Now you will finish what I sent you to do in the first place.”

She flicked her wrists and her mental control over Cian snapped. He launched himself at Eve’s prone body and cradled her to his chest, rocking them back and forth. She was nothing but dead weight in his arms.

The bluish mist of her soul seeped from out her pores. Ready to be harvested. A pulse of fire shot down his arm. He snatched his hand back seconds before it turned skeletal. “I won’t do it,” he growled, defying her and flicked his wrist. The gloves once again covered his hands. Keeping her safe. He would never hurt Eve again.

“Chaos! There is no need to torture him.” Gold dust showered down from the walls and ceilings with the thunderous boom of Dagda’s voice.