HER SWEETEST DOWNFALL (Paranormal Romance / Fantasy Novella) (Forever Girl Series - a Journal)

by Hamilton, Rebecca

  “I am not sure I want to give any Cruor that kind of power,” she said, thinking of her mother’s stories once more. Visions of her father’s dead body flashed through her mind, and a realization hit her stomach with a sudden cold. Sharp, triangular scabs on her father’s jugular. It’d been them, hadn’t it? Not a robbery. That’s why nothing had been missing. “And then what? I become one of them—what purpose is there?”

  “Then we will find a way to get you into the Maltorim, where you will wait for a girl.”

  “Right. A girl, then. Will any girl do, or might ye have someone particular in mind? I am sure I can round up something for ye without all this trouble.”

  “You know full well what I mean. You will know the girl when you see her, and only you will know.”

  The more he spoke, the more impossible this task appeared. And that is when it occurred to her: She was considering the transformation—more so than she like to would admit. But how much of that was resignation or disbelief? The whole ordeal still carried the haze of a dream. And here she was with a man she was oddly drawn to and at the same time should probably be trying to escape.

  “When would this occur?” she asked finally.

  Ethan shook his head. “I can’t answer that.”

  “Can’t?” Ophelia throat pinched and tears stung in her eyes. “Or won’t?”

  His eyes searched hers, and a trembling started at her core. He didn’t respond.

  “Will ye come with me?” she asked quietly.

  His gaze lowered. “I have to do what I’m called for. I need to know you will do the same.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and replayed everything through her mind once more. Her parents would never want this. Never. But, at the same time, wouldn’t they be proud if they knew she’d sacrificed herself to save many? That was what she admired in Ethan, even if his selflessness stood between anything they might have between them.

  “I will do my best,” she promised. But still she was unsure she could go through with it.

  With that, Ethan stood to tend the fire, his back to her as silence recaptured the room.

  From Damascus to Georgia,1808

  Night crept over Damascus. After treating the rapidly warming serpent mark with more Cruor blood, Ophelia spun toward the open door. Ethan sat between the frame, his strong shoulders resting back, his face turned to the field where a small red fox burrowed in the dirt. The night breeze wisped through his hair. She set the blankets on the end of the bed and walked over.

  “Is it far?” she asked.

  “No.” He cleared his throat but didn’t look up at her. “Sorry. For a human, it’s very far, but it won’t be for us.”

  Ophelia bunched her fingers together in front of her stomach. “Same as we got ‘ere then?”

  “Yes.”

  She stepped around, outside, and kneeled in the grass across from him, resting her hands in her lap. “Ethan, if something is wrong . . . ”

  “I’d tell you,” he replied, lifting his gaze from a long piece of grass he’d been slipping between his fingers. Moonlight paled his tan complexion and darkened the shade of his jaw, making him appear more defeated than he had hours ago. “The Cruor I mentioned earlier is in the Americas. She’s not expecting us.”

  “But I thought—”

  “Please trust me.” He stood and dusted off his pants, then leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb.

  She tried for a smile and busied herself attempting to prop up a wildflower that was wilting among the yellow grass.

  When she looked up, Ethan’s expression was gentle. His gaze moved from the small flower to her eyes. There was a brief moment where she wondered if he, like Lady Karina, found her bright, ice-blue eyes alarming. But his express was soft, and her fears quickly melted. He walked behind her, crouched down, and covered her hand with his, his fingertips touching the flower. It revived before her very eyes, and Ophelia leaned her head against Ethan’s shoulder as she stared at the flower in awe.

  “Beautiful,” she whispered, wishing she had been destined to be one of the Ankou—to be one of the elementals who revived life and put an end to evil, rather than bring death.

  She told him as much.

  He sat back, and she turned around to face him. He was standing now, holding his hand out to her.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  He took her hand and they fell through darkness just as they had when he’d taken her to the cabin. When she could see again, her stomach suddenly jolted. She hunched forward, heaving, but this time she did not vomit. She held her midsection until the feeling passed, then dried the moisture from her eyes.

  Ethan smoothed his hand across her shoulder blades. “Traveling will get easier with time. By your third or fourth time you shouldn’t feel anything.”

  “Why does this keep happening?” she demanded. She could hardly think straight.

  “When we travel this way, we are in the in-between. You are suspended from such things as time and space and then thrust immediately back into it. Your system is forced to catch up instantly on arrival. If not for the magic the Ankou are granted, it could kill you.”

  Ophelia sighed, nodding. “Where are we?”

  Ethan turned her toward a small house and pressed his fingers to his lips.

  He led her along the outer walls of the house until they reached a window. Inside, a man and a woman held each other, crying. Ophelia peered around the room, trying to make sense of what she was searching for. She found her answer on the floor. A young man sat, collapsed to his knees, covered in blood.

  “What ‘appened?” Ophelia whispered.

  “The young man just watched his comrades kill his sister.” Ethan’s voice was tight and his tone clipped. “He was unable to act to save her. He’s returned home to tell their parents.”

  Ophelia backed away, shaking her head. When Ethan approached, she pounded her fist against his chest. “Why would ye show me such a thing?”

  Ethan didn’t move, even as Ophelia tried once again to push him away. “The young girl who lost her life was a dual-breed. She was only killed because of what she is, and for no greater reason. This . . . this is what we’re fighting for. It is not that I want you in harm’s way, or that I wish for you to become a creature you detest. If I could do this for you, protect you from your calling, I would. But I cannot let my feelings for you sway our responsibility. I am confident you are capable, that you can do this to save the innocents in this world.”

  Though Ophelia tried, she could not summon a response. She covered her mouth with hand, her entire body trembling. Could she live with herself, knowing all this, if she didn’t try to help?

  They walked away from the house silently and stopped when they reached a small brook. Ethan leaned in to whisper against her ear. “We are destined for good. Remember that life sometimes must run its course, and all things must one day die. Some of us sooner than others.”

  She nodded quietly, lifting her lashes until her gaze met his. He kept his attention steady on her as her hand slipped gently into his, and her heart pattered quicker in response. He pulled her to him as though she were weightless, as though the earth had reversed its gravity.

  His other hand came to rest on the small of her back, and he tilted his face, his nose grazing hers. “This—” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “This isn’t good for either of us.”

  “I don’t care,” she said, staring at his lips as her free hand slid up to the firm curve of his shoulder. “Ethan . . . ”

  She should not trust these feelings. She’d never been a good judge of character, and for that knowledge she’d always stayed away from men. Yet in Ethan’s arms, Ophelia felt small in size but tremendous in devotion.

  He closed his eyes and breathed. “You smell like rain and strawberries.”

  She inhaled slowly, taking in his own familiar scent of cloves. Their bodies swayed in a way that made her wonder if her legs had gone numb, and it felt as though his touch alone held her up.


  Ethan swept his thumb over the bridge over her nose, tracing her freckles from there and across her cheekbones. His tender gaze focused on hers. “I’m going to kiss you now . . . if that’s all right.”

  Ethan’s words hung in the air as her thoughts rushed by. No one had ever asked her permission before. While staying with Lady Karina, she’d had to fight off a few vile men who expected quite a bit more from the maids than Ophelia was willing to offer. Lady Karina’s brother had been one of them.

  Stupid girl, he’d said when she rejected him. You’d only be so lucky.

  “Ophelia?”

  “Yes,” she said, but her reply came too late.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  He smiled down at her then, and the world around them shifted. The air vibrated, creating a haze of images, and then there was total darkness and the feeling they were falling. Falling through space, falling together.

  They came out of the darkness just a few feet away from the woods. The air tasted of dirt and pine, and the night birds chirped from somewhere above. A queasiness washed through her, making her shiver, and she grabbed her stomach.

  “Welcome to Savannah,” Ethan said. He grabbed her at the elbow, helping to keep her steady.

  The nausea passed more quickly this time than the times before and, relieved, she smiled at Ethan. In the dark, she could barely make out the smile he gave in return, but she knew it was not one of happiness.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He glanced into the woods behind her. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

  “What do ye mean? We must.” He’d spent all that time convincing her, and now, as she made peace with the idea—as much as she could—he expressed doubts? “Ye said there was no other way.”

  “We’ll find one.”

  Ophelia stepped back, crossing her arms. “What aren’t ye telling me?”

  He closed the distance between them once more. “Forgive me, Ophelia. I can’t do this to you. I thought I could, but I would forever regret putting you in such danger. There is no one less deserving of such a bleak future.”

  “Where is the man of such devotion who was with me only hours ago? The man so willing of sacrifice?”

  “You cannot compare sacrificing oneself to sacrificing another.”

  “Don’t tell me the cause is now lost on ye. This is not about me alone; there are thousands of dual-breeds facing execution.”

  “Or it could be your life that is lost. Perhaps . . . ” He closed his eyes a long moment before opening them again. “Perhaps I was devoted to the wrong things.”

  “Ye don’t believe that,” Ophelia said sharply. “Why is this coming up now? Ye said this Cruor would be receptive.”

  “She will be. Eventually . . . ” His gaze refocused on her. “I don’t exactly know her, only what my guardian told me of her when explaining what my calling would entail. I was told she would be receptive if she would hear what I have to say first.”

  “If?”

  “Before she kills us. A chance I cannot take with you.”

  Ophelia searched his eyes, finding nothing more than the empty weight of hopelessness. How could she put her own, single life above everyone else’s? For once, she understood where Ethan had been coming from. She needed to do this for her mother. She needed to do this for . . . everyone.

  “We must, mustn’t we?” she asked, but it wasn’t really a question. This wasn’t a matter of fate anymore.

  “Everyone has a choice,” he said gravely. “You still believe that, do you not?”

  “I do,” she said. “And this one is mine.”

  Breathing in a focused breath, she turned away and walked toward the trail into the woods. She couldn’t very well go back to Lady Karina’s estate now. She couldn’t turn away from what had been done to her mother. Maybe her father had been right. She could be more than a servant.

  Ethan’s heavy boots crunched the branches along the trail behind her. Moonlight pierced through the winter-bare canopy above. The patchy night sky provided just enough light for Ophelia to make her way along the path, but she knew from her mother’s stories that the light of the moon was as bright as the sun to Ethan. Neither said another word until they reached a break in the path.

  “Her camp is on the other side of the clearing,” Ethan said.

  “She’s turned anyone before?”

  Ethan’s expression darkened. “No.”

  Ophelia gave a resolute nod. “Well, that certainly is good to know. What do we do now?”

  “Stay behind me. It’s best I approach her first.”

  The bushes rustled behind them, and Ophelia spun around. A petite girl, not much older than sixteen, stood on the path only a couple of feet away. Her oil-black hair tumbled around her shoulders. Moonlight glinted off the dark locks that framed her face. Her pale skin did not have the healthy glow of a well-fed Cruor. Instead, it was more alabaster white, pasty and nearly translucent. Only her cornflower blue eyes held any sign of life.

  She snapped out her fangs and hissed, crouching down.

  Ophelia gasped and stepped back, Ethan taking a protective stance in front of her.

  “Sara?” he asked, edging Ophelia further away.

  In a blur of movement, the girl was standing inches from him, her face level with his chest, but her gaze locked on his eyes. “Don’t. Call. Me. Sara.”

  He retreated another step, nearly tripping over Ophelia. Her elbow grazed a tree behind her, and she grabbed Ethan’s shoulder to catch her balance.

  In another flash of movement, Ophelia found herself pinned to the ground in the clearing. Damn to hell the inhuman speed of the Cruor. The Cruor-girl held Ophelia’s wrists against the ground so tightly that her nails dug into her flesh. A bead of sweat rolled from her hair-line, cool against the heat of the serpent’s mark. Ophelia pushed, but the girl didn’t budge. She tried to twist away, but the girl’s surprising weight kept Ophelia in place.

  Ethan broke through the trees into the clearing. He scanned the area until his gaze landed on Ophelia with fear and realization. “Sara, wait!”

  The Cruor screamed, snapping her attention to Ethan.

  Ophelia took the moment of distraction to shove her arms forward with all her might. The girl tumbled off of her, and Ethan pounced on her before she could rise, pinning her to the ground just as she had held Ophelia in place.

  “We’re here to give you something,” he said.

  Their figures blurred, and then the Cruor had the upper hand once more. She sat straddled over Ethan, her tiny hand wrapped around his neck. Her fingernails dug deep, sinking into his skin.

  Ophelia stepped forward. “Leave ‘im alone.”

  “You came to my home,” the girl said. “You do not tell me what to do.”

  “The man ye are about to kill can give ye the ability to walk in the sun.”

  “Impossible.”

  Ethan struggled under her grasp.

  “Possible,” he croaked.

  “Lenore,” the Cruor said. “My name is Lenore now.” She released her grasp on Ethan’s neck, and replaced the space on his throat with her boot. “Tell me why you are here.”

  Ophelia strode over. “Ye want to walk in the sun, it is ‘is blood and magic ye need.”

  Lenore smirked, and swung her gaze toward Ophelia. “If I want his blood, I can just take it.”

  “It won’t do ye any good if ‘e doesn’t give it to ye willingly,” Ophelia said, remembering her mother’s stories of the magic of the Ankou.

  Lenore narrowed her eyes. “And why would he want to do that?”

  “‘e doesn’t, I’ll tell ye that. We need a bit of ‘elp ourselves.”

  “You want to trade with one of the Cruor?” Lenore quirked one eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

  “If you are willing to trade with one of the Ankou,” Ethan said.

  The moon glinted in his eyes, and Ophelia, coming undone by her stress, hid her smile with her hand. The Ankou, h
er mother had always said, could be a bit mischievous.

  Lenore stood and allowed Ethan up from the ground. “I will keep the girl until your magic is proven.”

  Ethan glared at her. “No.”

  “No?” Lenore asked. “Then I will take both your lives now.”

  “And you will have gained nothing for it.”

  “I smell your desperation.” Lenore sneered. “You need me more than I need you.”

  “Then stay with us,” he offered. “You will have the protection of our home from the sun and easy accessibility to us if we are not true to our word.”

  “What do you want?”

  “We need you to turn Ophelia.”

  Lenore laughed. She turned away, tilted her head toward the night sky, and laughed again. She flopped down into the grass, her laughter continuing to roll through her until blood dotted the corners of her eyes. “You couldn’t possible mean this!”

  The whole ordeal was unsettling.

  Lenore inhaled deeply and sharpened her gaze on Ophelia.

  “Sit,” she said. “Tell me what brings you here. I love a good story.”

  They did, and soon an agreement was made. They would execute a ritual to transfer some of the Ankou’s magic to Lenore. She would stay with them until morning, and if their promise held good, she would turn Ophelia.

  Having returned to Damascus, 1808

  After returning to Ethan’s cabin, Lenore ventured into the nearby village and lured a man back to their secluded field. Ophelia watched in horror as the Cruor-girl drained the poor man of his life.

  Ethan eased her away from the curtain and guided her over to the fire. He tried to talk to her, but the agonized face of the dying young man burned into Ophelia’s memory as she stared at the flames.

  Shortly thereafter, Lenore strolled in with blood staining her mouth, cheeks, and chin.

  “‘ow could ye?” Ophelia demanded.

  “What?” Lenore asked. Her eyes were brighter now, her skin no longer translucent but instead the smooth pallor of porcelain. “A girl’s got to eat.”

  ***

  One of the final herbs needed to perform the sunlight magic grew in a large stretch of forest in Denmark, and because Ophelia didn’t trust Lenore, she joined Ethan when he ventured out to collect the ingredient.