Eternity's Awakening (The Vein Chronicles Book 3)

by Anne Malcom

  “Well, he’s off the hook because I was the one doing the proposing after last night,” I said. “Plus, he gave me enough orgasms to add up to Harry Winston, so he’s safe for the interim.” I winked.

  She grinned, shaking her head. “So I’m thinking I’m to thank for this little engagement, considering all the sex probably contributed to you feeling happy enough to do something as lame as getting married.”

  I glared. “It’s not lame. I get to drink as much as I like while wearing a designer dress, have lots of sex and maybe kill some people while dripping in diamonds.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That’s a Tuesday night for you.”

  “Well this one is going to be all about me,” I huffed.

  “That’s any given day,” she continued.

  “Are you going to be so completely annoying that I’ll have to give the bitch of honor title to the witch in the cage instead of you?” I hissed.

  She glanced through the glass, her eyes moving away from the twinkle that held gentle teasing to something darker. “Well, unless you want your wedding to be the last one before the end of the world commences, I’m thinking you’re going to have to stick with me.”

  I pretended to think. “Ah, so tempting,” I mused.

  Then I focused on her, the way her face seemed to flicker for less than a second. She had been wearing her fabulous homeless-chic makeup when I walked in: smudged eyeliner, pale skin, a smear of bright red lipstick on full lips, shiny mussed hair. But that flicker showed much of the same, except the darkness under her eyes was due to lack of sleep, not lack of precision with an eyeliner pencil. Her pale face was drawn and gray, her eyes holding something regarding despair. But that was only for less than a second.

  I surmised that she must be wearing the witch version of top-notch makeup—a glamor. She was trying to hide the toll the witch—and I was guessing the separation from the wolf—was doing to her. Hide it from me, maybe. Most likely hide it from herself. I didn’t call her on it because it would’ve been a shitty thing to do, and even though I was a shitty vampire, I considered myself a great friend.

  Plus, I’d been through a version of this, and I’d had to deal with it my own way. I went on a killing spree; she was doing her thing.

  Whatever worked.

  If she stayed like that for much longer, though, I was going to make sure her wedding outfit consisted of a wolf fur throw.

  “I’ll stick with you for now,” I continued.

  She grinned. “Good choice. That means I get to plan the most kickass bachelorette party this side of the underworld.” She paused, thinking. “You know what would be more kickass? If we had it in the actual underworld.”

  I nodded. “Partying with the most depraved and tortured souls and demons to boot? Count me in.”

  She grinned, tapping on her keyboard. “When’s the big day?”

  I bit my lip. “Well, considering we all might die tomorrow, or even the next day, tomorrow is looking to be the big night—you know, before we all die, of course.”

  Sophie stopped tapping and gaped at me. “Tomorrow?” she all but shrieked.

  “Well, tomorrow night, if we want to get specific. I’m not having a wedding in the daytime. I’m not British,” I sneered. “But yeah, no time like the present.”

  Sophie looked at me like I’d grown another head, this one with bad hair and buck teeth. “A wedding—your wedding—cannot be planned and executed in a mere day,” she said. “We’ve got people to insult by not inviting them. Caterers to scare with the request of blood instead of champagne, and most importantly, a dress to buy.” She gaped at me. “Don’t tell me you’re going off the rack,” she declared in horror.

  I shivered. “Gods, no. I already had a certain French designer on standby. He had all my measurements, and I promised him a hefty payday if he delivered the most fabulous dress I’ve ever laid eyes on by midday tomorrow.” I paused. “I may have threatened a couple of family members to add incentive.”

  Sophie nodded. “Naturally.” She continued to stare. “But you’re that serious? Tomorrow? A marriage? After…?”

  “After only recently finding out the human I married and carried guilt over murdering for five hundred years had actually played me and is the head of the rebellion and has promised to kill everyone I know and love?” I finished for her.

  She nodded again. “That very prick.”

  My stomach swirled as it did with the mere thought of him, with the memories, with the realization that I’d let his false memory control me for almost my entire existence. Hatred burned hot. I swallowed it.

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” I paused. “I’m considering it our honeymoon to take a trip to murder the asshole. His head can be on our mantelpiece as my wedding gift to Thorne.”

  I thought on it for a long while, what I would do to Jonathan. How I was going to make sure that I killed him before he could bring me—and more importantly, anyone connected to me—pain.

  An idea teased at the corner of my mind, so reckless and crazy it made me grin. Thorne would be furious. Most likely so would Rick. Hence the reason I was planning another stop after I left my witch.

  My smile died on my mouth when I looked at Sophie, like really looked at her. Pain that was too deep to hide saturated her entire form.

  Pain from the wolf.

  “It’s a thing, isn’t it?” I asked, my voice grave.

  Sophie made an effort to school her features. “The Kardashions having significant power over global fashion trends? I’m afraid so,” her voice was just as grave.

  I narrowed my eyes. “No, witch, you and the wolf,” I hissed. My skin prickled when the mere mention of him made her flinch. “You love him,” I said. “And really love him. Like all those stupid movies.”

  Like I loved Thorne, was what I didn’t say.

  I didn’t need to say it.

  Sophie regarded me. “I don’t fucking want to!” she yelled. “I don’t want to love him. I don’t want to love anyone. Because that gives people power. It gives you weakness.”

  I nodded. “Yep,” I agreed, thinking of my beating heart. Thinking of the man that it beat for.

  “Yep?” she hissed. “Yep, is all you have in response to this? You’re not going to yell at me, disown me for falling in love with a creature you hate more than Crocs on adults?”

  I sighed. “What’s the point, Sophie?” I asked. “I may be able to do something about the Croc situation, blow up factories, threaten humans on the street… but with you loving a werewolf?’ I shrugged. “It’s done. I can’t change it. I sure as shit don’t like it. But you don’t either. You don’t like loving someone.” My mind flickered to Thorne, as it always did. “It’s not an enjoyable experience, having your heart ripped from your chest cavity and seeing it belong to someone else. Especially when the whole fucking world is trying to kill you.” I stared at my witch. “If there was a choice to be made in the matter, no one would love anyone. Because the big secret that Hollywood tries to distract us from is that love is fucking miserable. And it hurts. A lot. Especially when you’re betrayed.”

  I was silent for a long while, thinking of a betrayal of my own, one I was yet to forgive Thorne for. Not because he wasn’t sorry, but because it could happen again. He could ruin me. Without lifting a finger against me.

  “What do I do, Isla?” Sophie near croaked, her voice as weak and vulnerable as I’d ever heard it. “I want to stay mad at him for-fucking-ever.”

  I smiled. “The thing about being immortal, is that for-fucking-ever is actually a fucking long time. Now, I’ll be the first to support you trying it, because that means I’ll have the wolf out of my sight and I’m less likely to kill him, but that also means my favorite witch will be miserable for-fucking-ever.” I raised my brow. “And that’s not acceptable.” I paused again. “Is it, what you have with him, a forever thing?”

  Sophie’s eyes didn’t leave mine. She opened her mouth to answer, but then closed it again. I’m sure she wanted to deny it
, brush it off, polish that shield that she’d convinced herself was indestructible, but her body didn’t let her. Instead, she only nodded.

  I clenched my fists, wanting to plow them through the wolf’s heart for hurting my girl, but that gesture would hurt Sophie more than anything else.

  “I miss when it was just you and me, causing civil wars, whoring ourselves around and just generally being badasses,” Sophie said finally.

  “I miss it too,” I said, though not entirely believing I could miss a life without Thorne. “But the good news is, we’ll always be badasses, and I’m sure we’ll be causing plenty more civil wars, you know, if we survive this one. The whoring ourselves out thing? Dust now that we’ve been ruined for all men.”

  Sophie was quiet for a long time, as if she’d noted the slight shake to my voice, how my jaunty smile was a little bit off. As if she knew that I saw the sorrow and pain that blanketed her, the anger that surrounded her, and the longing for the wolf who had hurt her, despite everything.

  That’s what women did, after all. Pretended they weren’t bleeding from the inside out when men crushed their hearts. Looked great while doing it. Continued to kick ass through the pain. I hadn’t given human women enough credit until recently. Now I considered them stronger than most supernatural males. In spirit, at least. Because no male, human or immortal, would’ve been able to stand under the weight of the hurt Sophie and I carried with us.

  And we stood, we strutted, we slayed.

  And we’d continue to do that until the end of time.

  Or until some lucky male killed us while we were too busy trying to guard our hearts.

  Whichever came first.

  Chapter 12

  “Ah, Dante, you’ve really done some work on the place since the last time I was here,” I said, sitting in the chair that was reserved for me. Dante kept taking down the signs I put up, but word got around when I started ripping limbs off creatures who thought they could sit there.

  Even now, at the busiest hour of the early morning, with the place packed, my seat was empty.

  That’s how you made sure you always had a spot in a crowded bar: dismember people until they got the message.

  Dante raised his brow. “The last time you were here, you knocked half the place down in a riot, burned the other half down and almost died at the hands of a demon.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Horns of a demon,” I corrected. “You need to get the specifics right.”

  He shook his head and a drink was placed in front of me. He knew better than to keep me waiting.

  “Business is good,” I commented.

  He glanced around. Vampires, demons, werewolves were all having the time of their deaths. Only about one third of them were looking at me sideways, most likely trying to figure out if it was worth starting a fight with the traitor—as some people called me.

  I didn’t mind that, as long as it followed with ‘the one with the great ass and better tits.’

  “War makes people thirsty,” Dante said.

  I nodded, downing my own drink and savoring the burn. “Your daddy picked a side yet?” I asked. Having Hades on our side would be great for numbers.

  And it would also mean I would have to do less work and still get all the credit, so win-win. Then again, it wasn’t the best idea to owe the king of Hell a favor. Isn’t that what got us here in the first place?

  Dante regarded me, leaning his elbows on the bar. “We don’t take sides, Isla. You know this. Win or lose, there’re still souls to claim. We have no loyalty.” Flames danced in his eyes.

  I tilted my head to the side. “Oh really? Is that why you carried me out of your flaming bar and fought against the rebel faction attacking it?” I decided to tell him about the demons in Ambrogio’s lair in a more private environment since we were keeping it hush-hush that I’d killed the father of our race. But obviously Dante didn’t know demons were getting in on the action too.

  The air grew hotter. “We don’t take sides. That doesn’t mean we can’t have friends,” he conceded.

  “I thought having friends was precisely that, taking sides,” I replied, sipping the drink he put in front of me. “In this little circle of Hell, someone’s always on one side of a fight—it’s a recreational hazard of immortality.” I glanced around the room. “At least 80 percent of this room in on the other side of the fight to me.”

  I returned my eyes to the hot—in both senses of the word—demon. “And I’m not talking about on the side of the rebellion, though who knows? It’s getting a little too popular for my liking, just like that tiny sunglasses trend. No, I’m talking about just being in conflict with me as a vampire. All jealous, mostly.” I glanced around again. “A couple because I cut off some limbs and exploded their homes, but mostly jealousy.” I narrowed my eyes. “So, since you’re already on a side by being my friend, how about you fight against a faction trying to take over the world, you know, to help your friend out?”

  He shook his head with a smirk, pushing off the bar and sauntering off to serve a werewolf who had been glaring at me all night. Wasn’t surprising. But he couldn’t try to kill me now that we had that awesome little truce. It wasn’t exactly ironclad, but Rick had seemed happy enough when I told him we had wolves on our side.

  As happy as he could be these days, at least.

  “Is that a yes?” I called after Dante, reaching over the bar and snatching a bottle.

  He didn’t answer, so I was left pouting, alone with my thoughts, and that was not a good place to be. A budding bride should be excited about the upcoming nuptials, and I kind of was, though it was hard to be so when the shadow of Jonathan was hanging over my head.

  Luckily a hulking Scotsman threw the demon off the seat beside me and plonked himself down, snatching the bottle I’d just stolen and swigging.

  “Hey!” I cried, snatching it back. He’d already drained half the bottle in one swallow. “Steal your own,” I hissed.

  Duncan grinned, then leaned over the bar in much the same way I had and grabbed two bottles. The palms of his hands steamed as he did so, matching up with Dante’s glare from the other side of the bar. He got weird about us stealing booze. It was technically his fault for not serving us quickly enough. What did he expect us to do, sober up? Unthinkable.

  “Jay-sus, he’s got a range on him,” Duncan muttered, not letting go of the bottles until they were safely in front of him.

  Since his hands were a blackened and blistered mess, I helpfully grabbed a shot glass for each of us, not at all perturbed by Dante’s glare.

  “Bring it on, Hellboy,” I invited with a smile.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t burn my hands like Duncan’s, which I thought was plain rude. He didn’t even know I was in the midst of my Awakening, he just didn’t hurt me because I was a girl.

  “Sexist pig,” I muttered, pouring out of my bottle since Duncan’s were steaming hot. “Not burning my hands for stealing just because I’m a woman.”

  Duncan took his shot, grinning. “Nah, I think it’s ’cause he fancies you,” he said.

  I took my own. “No, when he fancied me, he would’ve burned me to a crisp. It was foreplay for us.” I winked at Duncan. “So I’m out and you’re in, it seems.”

  He chuckled, warm and throaty and attractive. Because it was genuine. And I must’ve been getting soft, but it was nice to hear something as simple as a crazy Scottish vampire assassin chuckling over demon foreplay in the midst of this shitstorm.

  “Don’t fuck demons, lassie,” he muttered.

  I raised my brow. “But men aren’t ruled out?”

  He shrugged. “As long as there’s a woman in there somewhere.”

  I smiled. “Ah, but I’m thinking there’s a particular woman in general you’d like to be having a threesome, or maybe even a twosome, with,” I teased.

  He poured another shot and glanced down at Dante. “Guinness, barkeep, before the war is over if you like.” His face reddened as he got his answer from Dante, heat radiat
ing from his body.

  I smiled wider. “You really don’t know how to get a drink, do you?” I glanced to Dante. “Darling, if you don’t pour the crazy Scotsman a beer in the next five seconds, I’ll be forced to accidentally on purpose start the end of the world right here, right now,” I called sweetly.

  Foam spilled onto the counter from where Dante slammed the glass down.

  I winked at him. “I forgive you.”

  He glared. “For what? You’re the one who should be asking for forgiveness.”

  “I don’t ask for forgiveness. It’s counterproductive to my aim in life—being awesome,” I replied. “But I do forgive you for not immediately wanting to join the cool kids in the apocalypse.” I jerked my head at Duncan. “I have another thing to ask you to join in on that’s almost like the apocalypse—my wedding.”

  Both men gaped at me, Duncan’s Guinness paused halfway to his mouth. You know you’ve shocked a Scot when you stop them from drinking any form of alcohol.

  “Married?” Dante spluttered. “You? And the slayer?”

  I nodded. “I thought since this whole end of the world thing may or may not be to do with us getting it on, and it says that we’ll either end the world or save it, a wedding could help the cause. Plus, I get to have a party.” I shrugged. My voice was light and sarcastic, managing to hide the sudden case of cold feet I was dealing with despite the heat from Dante.

  “So, you feel like coming?” I asked them both. “It could be the last party before the end of the world.”

  “It could be the party that ends the world,” Dante muttered.

  I grinned. “So you’ll come?”

  He sighed. “Of course I’ll fucking come.”

  “And you’ll supply the booze?” I continued.

  He rolled his eyes.

  That was a yes.

  “For free?”

  Another sigh. “You’d just steal it if I said no, wouldn’t you?”

  I nodded cheerfully.

  He walked away, muttering to himself.