Wystan (23 page)

“So Astaroth won't trouble us—I mean you—anymore?”

“No, there are battles ahead.” He looked sorry that he had to tell her. “She told me to be strong, that despite our demon blood, we're in control of our own lives. We can send evil back where it belongs. In order to defeat Noem, I had to unleash part of myself I've struggled with for years. It was strong enough to live when I wasn't.”

Rhia eyed him doubtfully. Perhaps the demon had enjoyed life too much to give it up so easily. “It won't burst out at any second?”

“It's under control, sweetheart. I promise.”

“Explain the holy water.”

“Friends in high places. Or Gray places, if you will.” He looked mildly annoyed. “I owe debt after debt to the Gray Side. Seere is a prince who brought us the weapons we use. He can travel anywhere in the world and stop time when it benefits him. When Tell tipped the water tower, I held Noem and waited for the flood to take me. There was a wall of water and then it rippled like a curtain. Seere stepped through one of his portals. He bound Noem to the spot and ordered me into the portal with him. We ended up at the jail.”

Rhia blinked. “But the Gray Side doesn't choose sides.”

“They have their reasons, but they won't see the need in telling us. What we know is that Beryl's human, and her mind has been taken over by a demon called Rosemar. Seere told me her name and I think we can banish her from Beryl's body now. Her task is complete.” Wystan smiled. “She brought you here safely.”

“Why me?”

His smile widened a bit more. “Rhia and Sylvia.”

Baffled, she stared. “You mean me and Sylvie? What do our names have to do with any of this?”

“The woman who founded Rome had your names, and one of the Titans did too. You've heard of Zeus? I think you're supposed to help raise Berner to its former glory. A place where demons can blend with humans and find peace.” He sounded dead serious.

“Isn't that asking a little much from a schoolteacher and a twelve-year-old?”

“Not if you have Heckmasters standing with you.”

Rhia didn't flinch when he settled beside her and rested his hand on her knee. His hand was warm and she wanted to lean into him. She was sure he was gone forever when he was claimed by his demon side.

“I'm sure I'm not qualified to be the mother of a town.”

“If we were married, would that make it easier?” He looked away. “What I said about using you to run Eban off, it was all lies. I didn't want you to get hurt. I thought if you left, it would buy us time to destroy Noem.”

“He'd have followed us anywhere,” she whispered, closing her eyes as she tried not to relive last night's confrontation with Wystan. It was still painful. “What will you do to prove you didn't mean it?”

“You could ask Tell. He always knows the truth. Please, Rhia.”

Her name on his lips sent a shiver down her spine. Her worried mind didn't want to bend, but her body and heart were reaching for him. Wystan embraced her and when his lips met hers, she gave herself over completely.

She kissed him back, curling onto his lap. The hot rush of need for him flowed through her veins. This was Wystan without a doubt. She yearned for him and couldn't be fooled.

Drawing back, she looked into his dark-blue eyes again. “I don't want Tell to say anything about you. I want you to prove it.”

“Every day. Just tell me how.” His big hand cupped her face, fingers gentle against her skin. “What can I do to make you happy today and forever?”

“I think you mentioned marriage.” She waited for him to rescind the offer, to say he'd been teasing.

“I did.”

“And?” She hardly dared to breathe.

“If you'll be my wife, Rhia Duke, I'll spend eternity trying to please you. I'll fetch whatever you desire, give you babies, if you don't mind their heritage. Rename the town for you, if that's what you want. I'll care for you no matter what comes and I'll care for your sister too. I'll love you until the end of time.”

She wanted to say yes, to give herself over to him again, but she hesitated. “What about Astaroth? I won't watch you die again, Wystan. I can't take it.”

“I won't hunt him down unless he comes to us first. You know I can't promise we'll be safe until he's gone for good, but I won't risk your life or my own to find him. I want the peace my father dreamed of. I want it with you.” He smiled hopefully. “Please, Rhia. Be my wife.”

She rested her forehead against his. The ghost of his sister had said there were battles to come, but she couldn't turn him away. She'd meant to stay from the moment she arrived. The thought of belonging to this town, with Wystan, was so sweet, she couldn't refuse.

“I'll be your wife. As long as you promise we don't have to name our son Romulus Heckmaster. It's a bit of a mouthful.”

He sighed with relief and laughed.

“You're getting married?”

Sylvie's high-pitched cry of excitement made Rhia lift her head.

“What are you doing out here alone?” Rhia demanded.

“Beryl's right behind me. We were worried. Are you really getting married?”

“If I have your permission.” Wystan looked at Sylvie, his face serious. “Do you approve?”

Sylvie straightened, as though Wystan's request was a serious matter to consider. “If you're going to marry Rhia, we have some things to discuss about the shape of this town, Sheriff.”

Rhia laughed. “I hope you're ready for a night of negotiation.”

“Sylvie, I think this is a town holiday. Business will have to hold off until tomorrow,” Wystan said.

“Oh. Because of the demons. Well, I guess that's okay. And if you're willing to listen to my concerns, then I'm all right with you marrying Rhia. You make her happy. She gets a look like she'll float off the ground every time she thinks about you.”

Rhia smiled. Her little sister was too perceptive for her own good. But she wasn't wrong about the way Wystan made her feel.

Although they surely had problems to face, for now the smoke was dissipating, the sun had broken through and the people she loved most were safe. After all this time trying to be strong for Sylvie's sake, she had someone to share her burdens and triumphs with.

About the Author

A love of reading inspired Allison Merritt to pursue her dream of becoming an author, one who writes historical, paranormal and fantasy romances, often combining the sub-genres. She lives in a small town in the Ozark Mountains with her husband and dogs. When she's not writing or reading, she hikes in national parks and conservation areas.

Allison graduated from College of the Ozarks in Point Lookout, Missouri with a BA in mass communications which has gathered dust since Allison determined that she's better at writing fluff than hard news.

You can find her blog at
havenovelwilledit.blogspot.com
, on Facebook at
www.facebook.com/allisonmwrites
, and Twitter
@Allison_Merritt
.

To save her true love, she must sacrifice her own heart.

The Impostor

© 2012 Lily Lang

Tessa Ryder's Gift, which allows her to take the form of anyone she touches, was invaluable to the British Army's secret Omega Group. The Peninsula War is over, the Omegas are disbanded, but she's learned of a plot to exterminate them—and free Napoleon.

Desperate to warn Sebastian Montague, one of the few remaining Omegas, Tessa takes on the guise of his ex-mistress. It's the only way she can face the man she loved. The man whose memory of her was telepathically wiped—at her request.

Sebastian knows a lie when he sees one, and it doesn't take long to strip the disguise of the unfamiliar woman he believes is his assassin. But before he can use his formidable Gift for illusion to wring the truth from her, bullets fly and they are both on the run.

Surrounded by traitors and spies, Tessa and Sebastian fight to thwart the scheme to plunge England back into the darkness of war. And, as their powerful attraction brings them closer and closer, Tessa fights to protect the man she still loves more than life—by keeping the secret of their shared history buried deep in her heart.

Warning: This book contains sexy war heroes, submarines, bedrooms on fire, an evil Frenchman, and a shape-shifting heroine who will stop at nothing to protect her true love.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Impostor:

In the cool blue twilight, Tessa was sitting by his bedside, an unread book in her lap, when Sebastian finally woke.

At first, consumed by worry for her father, she did not notice, but gazed unseeingly out the windows at the great green park below. She had struck her father hard. She had intended to render him unconscious, but the sharp, sickening crack had still made the bottom drop out of her stomach.

She furled and unfurled her hands at the memory.

Sebastian's utter stillness troubled her as well. The physician that Coleman, Sebastian's butler, had sent for earlier in the day had tended to the numerous cuts and scrapes and bruises Sebastian had received in the secret chambers beneath Somerset House, but been unable to pronounce judgment on his state of unconsciousness.

Nor had Tessa expected him to produce a diagnosis. Her father's particular brand of telepathic assault had killed men before. She did not know what he had done to Sebastian. She could only hope that, as he was still breathing, Sebastian would sustain no permanent damage.

It was only as she reached to pour herself a glass of water from the pitcher at his bedside that she looked at him again. He was awake, his eyes intent as he watched her. His hair and olive skin were dark against the sharp contrast of the crisp white sheets.

She stilled, her hand dropping back into her lap and knocking the book to the floor with a crash.

Her voice, when she spoke, was hoarse and nearly inaudible.

“How do you feel?”

“Like a coach and four ran me over,” he said.

Her lips curved slightly. “I'm sorry,” she said.

“It is hardly your fault that Sevigny is a madman and a murderer.”

She gave another half smile. “I suppose not,” she said. She hesitated, uncertain of how to frame her question. “But my father… What did he… What happened?”

“He gave me back all my worst memories.”

Even in the half darkness, she could sense the intensity of his gaze as he studied her. She pretended not to notice and instead reached again for the pitcher to pour him a glass of water. She held it out to him. He took it and set it aside, reaching out to grasp her wrist instead.

She could not meet his gaze.

“He gave me back something else, Tessa,” he said. “Something that I do not think he intended to give me.”

“I don't understand.”

“While searching my mind for my worst memories,” said Sebastian, “he unlocked one that had been buried years ago—and not by me. Can you guess which memory, Tessa?”

Her head jerked, an involuntary gesture, and his eyes followed the movement.

“What do you remember?” she whispered.

“Everything,” he said.

She sat very still, her hands linked together in her lap. Her mouth trembled.

“Why, Tessa?” he asked hoarsely. “Why did he take my memories of you? Why did you do nothing to stop him?”

She looked at him. He was pale and drawn in the half light, the skin of his scar tight and puckered. He had not been handsome even before his injury, but it did not matter. She had never stopped loving him, and knew now that she never would. He had branded her for life, and she would carry this mark to her grave.

Her eyes slid shut on a spasm of pain.

“Stop him?” Tessa repeated. “Why would I stop him, when I was the one who asked him to do it?”

In the silence that followed, time seemed to cease entirely. She opened her eyes again, holding his lightless, still gaze.

“You asked it of him?” Sebastian asked finally, after a long, uncounted interval, his tone carefully measured.

She ought to leave it at that. She ought to make him believe once and for all that she did not love him, had never loved him. But the lie seemed a furtive, shameful thing, too ugly to utter, and Tessa knew she owed him, at long last, the truth—the truth of why, six years before, she had destroyed her own life, and now, she was finally beginning to realize, his as well.

“Will you listen to me?” she asked. “Will you permit me to speak, without interruptions? I know I do not deserve it, but it will make it easier for me.”

“If it will make it easier for you,” said Sebastian.

Tessa nodded, rising to her feet to stand by the window and gaze out into the dark night so she would not need to look at him.

“It was Lord Wellington,” she said at last. “He was the one who came to me, and asked me not to meet you in the chapel at the Escorial.” She swallowed. “He was the one who asked me to release you from our engagement, and your promise to marry me.”

A movement sounded faintly behind her, as though Sebastian had sat up abruptly in his bed, but he must have remembered his promise not to interrupt, for he made no other sound.

“Somehow—I do not know how—your grandfather had learned of our attachment. Apparently he was not enamored of the notion of an alliance with a little nobody like me, the daughter of an insignificant soldier. He wrote to the duke and asked him to prevent the marriage.” She sighed. “You know how ambitious Wellington is. He wouldn't have dreamed of offending a lord as powerful and wealthy as your grandfather. He went to my father. Told him that if he wanted to get anywhere in his career, he'd best persuade me to break off with you.

“My father would not agree to it. He said that if I loved you, I was to marry you. He said his career was not worth my happiness. But I was nineteen, and I believed Wellington when he said I was going to destroy your future.” How could she explain, so that he understood? “Father didn't want me to do it, but I was insistent. Because I believed there would be more for you in this world than me. Because I did not trust that, after the war, you could still love me.”

Behind her, she heard Sebastian raising himself once again to a sitting position on the bed. She did not turn to look at him. She did not think she could continue speaking if she looked at him.

“I loved you,” said Tessa. “I loved you, and I knew you couldn't marry me. You're Sebastian Montague. You're the Earl Grenville.”

He made a sound, but she rushed on, not letting him interrupt.

“But I knew you wouldn't agree to it,” she said. “You were so absolutely convinced I was worth it, leaving it all behind. As your parents had done. We would go to Italy, you told me. We would be happy.”

Her voice broke.

“But I couldn't do it, Sebastian,” she said. “I couldn't take away your future. So I thought—if my father took your memories away, if we had never known each other, if I never existed for you—then you would be free.” She gave a soft, mirthless laugh. “I was young enough to find it romantic to be a martyr to love.”

She looked out into the night. Here and there, she could see kernels of gaslight, blurred in the fog.

“I begged my father to help me. To bury your memories of me so deeply that you could never access them again. When it was—when it was over”—her eyes shut briefly at the memory—”Wellington had you sent to Paris. So there was no chance we should ever meet again. That was all. You left. Father received his promotion.”

She clasped her hands together, drawing a deep, unsteady breath. Unshed tears swelled beneath her lids, but she did not let them fall.

And then he spoke for the first time that night.

“You took away my memories,” he said. “My memories of you. My memories of
us
. All of them.”

“Yes,” she said. She should turn her head and look at him, she thought. But she could not. How could she have the strength, once she started looking at him, to ever stop again?

“How could you?” he asked, and to her astonishment, she heard his voice tremble for the first time in all the years she had known him.

She turned. “What?”

“How could you?” He was shouting at her now. He had pushed back the covers of the bed and risen to his feet. He wore only buckskin breeches, and Tessa, to her shame, could not seem to tear her eyes away from all that smooth expanse of naked male flesh.

She took a step backwards and hit the ledge of the window. “Sebastian, please—”

He crossed the room to her in two strides, taking her shoulders in her hands, forcing her to look up at him. The anguish and rage in his dark, ruined faced made her heart stop.

“You took away a part of me,” he said. “You took away the best part of me and you left me alone.”

Her breath caught, and all her own pain and helplessness and fear bubbled to the surface, so that suddenly she was on her toes, shoving at his shoulders, shouting into his face, and her voice was as loud and as furious as his.

“I left you because I loved you! I left you because I could not be the wife that you needed and deserved! Look around you, Sebastian. You live in a mansion, employ dozens of servants, attend balls with the Prince Regent himself.” She shoved, hard, and he grabbed her wrists to hold her still. Her breath came in gasps.