Shadows and Sorcery: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels

by Adkins, Heather Marie

  * * *

  Avrum stood frozen as Haven disappeared through the doors. Lysander was already by his side, saying something in French that sounded very much like a curse.

  “After the loss of Lady Caroline Beatrum,” Lysander said, “Henri’s new focus became getting revenge on Malcolm the Divine. It seems it still hasn’t left him.”

  Henri continued to shout. The room stood still, unsure how to react to his outbursts. They all watched in silent horror. Except for Alessandro, who bent over, holding his stomach, and laughing so hard that only a low wheeze could be heard from him.

  Lysander shook his head at the sight of him. “At least he seems to be enjoying himself,” he said.

  Henri went to the head table, and with one swipe of his arm, glass shattered and dinnerware spilled all over the floor. This was the monster Henri really was, the one Haven had known all along, and he had been oblivious to.

  Ignoring Lysander’s wit, Avrum said, “We have to get to Haven.”

  Keagan began to rise from the floor, his closely shaven hair now colored dark red and his expression still dazed.

  Henri’s black eyes found him, and he stopped hollering. His face changed again, as if he was remembering something at the sight of him. Then he said the one word that made Avrum’s heart stop beating.

  “Haven!”

  Every head, including Henri’s, whipped around to find the girl in the white lace dress and pearls. She was gone.

  “Where is she?” His wild eyes flashed from Avrum to Favian and then back to Keagan. “Find her!” Henri bellowed after him. “Bring her to me!”

  Keagan stumbled to the doors with his sword out of its sheath.

  Avrum pulled out his own sword and went after him, Lysander on his heels. The ballroom doors clattered behind them.

  In the foyer, Lysander jumped in front of Keagan, blocking the hallway where Haven’s scent was the strongest. Keagan looked back and forth between them with his sword held out.

  “Something tells me you aren’t following me to find the bitch and bring her back.” His lips were translucent from the loss of blood.

  Lysander bowed his head, a smirk lifting his lips. Even without a weapon, his stance promised a fight.

  “Leave her be, Keagan,” said Avrum, hoping his rank as Henri’s second would stop any struggle between them. “We will find Haven and bring her back to Henri.”

  “No, Lord Henri gave me the orders. I will drag her back by her hair if I have to,” he snapped. “You won’t outdo me this time.”

  “Well then, I suppose you will have to find a way through me,” said Lysander.

  “You are still a prisoner. And you have no sword.” Keagan swayed on his feet, the loss of blood making it difficult for him to give Lysander his full focus.

  Lysander's brow rose in mock interest.

  Keagan growled in response and swung his sword. Lysander dodged it with ease.

  “I believe your dear friend, Cornelius, would be ashamed to see you fight this way to avenge him.” Lysander laughed. “Allez, femme, I don’t even hold a sword!”

  Avrum could not understand why Lysander was taunting Keagan this way, but Keagan, now shaking with rage, lunged at Lysander again.

  Keagan was quick, much quicker than Cornelius had been and much more of a skilled fighter. Maybe even more than Lysander had anticipated. Lysander leaped out of the way of the sword, hitting into the wall. Keagan swung again, causing him to duck. He struck the stone just above his head, sending a sharp sound echoing down the hallway. Keagan struck again and again, narrowly missing Lysander with each turn.

  Lysander glanced Avrum’s way. What did he want him to do? Avrum realized this all looked too familiar. He was expecting him to go after Haven while he faced Keagan alone. Another self-sacrifice.

  This time, when Keagan attacked, Avrum’s blade met his. Both he and Lysander looked up in shock.

  “I will not let you kill my friend,” Avrum said, pushing Keagan’s sword away from Lysander.

  “Avrum―” Lysander warned.

  Keagan had already turned on him, his eyes black with hate. “Then I will kill both of you.” There was no hesitation. Keagan stepped forward, striking low and forcing Avrum back. He jabbed to his right, leaving Avurm off balance when he came again. The sword bit into his side, grazing the rib bone. Avrum stumbled, the pain slicing through him. He felt the warmth of his blood gathering at the wound and dripping down his side. This was nothing like dueling with Lysander in the attic.

  “Avrum, your footing,” Lysander shouted. “Remember your stance!”

  But as Avrum glanced down at his feet, Keagan came after him again. He blocked out of reaction, but Keagan locked their blades together. Avrum’s arms shook as Keagan pushed all his weight onto his weapon. He tried to lock his elbows, but the blades and Keagan’s menacing face were getting closer to his own.

  His knees began to buckle. He begged them to stay strong. If he went down, he would have no chance of winning this.

  “Avrum!” Lysander’s commands were the only thing keeping Avrum grounded. “Do not give in. Don’t you dare embarrass me.” After a moment, he added, “Haven needs you.”

  Avrum looked straight into Keagan’s determined eyes. Haven and Emma were depending on him. He stood up straighter, took a deep breath, and put all his strength into their still latched swords. Keagan’s brows pinched together as Avrum forced the blades to the center of their struggle.

  The Irishman’s skin glowed whiter than before, and Avrum noticed his lids droop and that his hold on their stalemate was loosening too. The blood loss was taking its toll on him, it seemed.

  “Find a weakness that you can play on,” Lysander’s instructions replayed in Avrum’s head. “The littlest of flaws can destroy the greatest of men.”

  “Now!” shouted the present Lysander.

  Avrum shoved at Keagan as hard as he could. He stumbled and fell onto his back with a hard thud.

  “The head or the heart!”

  His own heart racing, Avrum gripped the handle with both hands and plunged the sword into the center of Keagan’s chest. He let a terrifying strangled cry that made the hair on the back of Avrum’s neck stand on end.

  “Twist the sword!”

  And Avrum did, scrambling what was left of his heart. Keagan’s limbs went limp and his eyes returned to their normal color. He was dead.

  A sudden touch on his shoulder made Avrum jump. Lysander was at his side. He pulled the sword out of Keagan’s chest and handed it to him. Avrum took it with trembling hands. Then he took the one out of Keagan’s hand for himself.

  “Alright, let’s go.” Lysander stepped over Keagan as if he was nothing, but Avrum’s legs were having a difficult time moving. “Avrum...”

  The ballroom doors opening made both their heads whip around. Favian stood there with a grim look on his face. Behind him, Avrum caught a glimpse of what was left of the party. Tables were overturned, and all the shattered glass caught the light of the chandelier and sparkled. Silent Alessandro was amongst the servants picking up the remnants of dinner. Gunnar was speaking to one of the distraught musicians of the band.

  Favian glanced down at the carcass on the floor, at Avrum’s bloody weapon in his hand, and then back to them.

  “Lord Henri has left,” he told them. “He has gone after the girl himself.”

  Any ounce of hesitation or reluctance he had felt with Keagan’s death vanished. “We have to go,” he said to Lysander. “Now.”

  Lysander nodded.

  “He is unstable,” Favian warned, running a hand over his face in frustration, “and he is heading toward the grounds.”

  “Thank you,” Avrum replied. Without another thought, he and Lysander raced down the hallway toward the back doors.

  “May you reach her before he does,” Favian called after them, “or God help her.”

  12

  Haven held her skirts high above her knees, her heeled boots sinking into the deep snow with every step.
She needed to move fast, run faster, but the depth of the freshly fallen snow held her back. She glanced at Emma who was struggling to stay at her side. Bursts of frozen breath appeared and vanished before her pale lips. Her green eyes, wide with panic, stayed focused on what was straight ahead―the forest line.

  The short sword in her hand felt heavier now, her palm slippery as she clutched the handle. Then she heard it, the thing that made her world collapse.

  “Haven!”

  She could turn around and fight him, at least wound Henri enough to let Emma get away, but then what? What would become of her?

  “Emma,” she gasped against the wind, “do not stop running.”

  Her eyes snapped to her.

  “No matter what, don’t stop running!” Haven stopped suddenly, and when Emma began to slow down, she waved her on. “Go Emma. Run!”

  Emma picked up pace, her blonde head down to hide the tears streaming down her face.

  Now, it was time for Haven to face her own demon head on. She turned around, sucking in as much frigid air as her lungs would hold. Henri was taking long strides to her, and when he spotted the sword in her hands, a wicked grin transformed his face.

  He would be on her within seconds.

  “Haven,” he called to her in a song-like way, “how did you get that sword?”

  She held it with both hands in front of her, the tip pointing at him as he continued toward her. She really wished Avrum had shown her how to use it.

  It was impossible. She wasn’t going to be able to fight him. He was going to take the sword from her and drag her back to his bedroom to have her tied up. She was never going to escape him. She would be his slave forever.

  No, she would rather die than go back with him.

  Haven lifted the blade, her reflection shining back at her with fierce determination. She would rather die. The realization of what she had to do hit her. She would rather die.

  Without another thought, she flipped the sword around and plunged it into her own stomach. The sudden pain brought her to her knees. Metallic liquid rose up her throat, choking her and making her sputter and cough. The snow around her was dotted with blood―her blood, she knew―and she could feel it dripping down her chin and coating her hands. She was warm all over, tingling even. She hoped Avrum would forgive her for this, but for now she was tired. So tired.

  There was an angry shout and the sound snow crunching under boots. She looked up for the last time, her eyelids as heavy as stone. A figure hovered over her, and even though its features meshed into a blur of color and shapes, she knew it was Henri. She wished she could see the pure horror on his face, but she needed to close her eyes.

  More hot fluid hit her lips, filling her mouth and sliding down her throat. The comforting heat of it sent her deeper into sleep.

  Finally, she thought, she was free of him.

  * * *

  “Haven, no!” Avrum watched her collapse, saw Henri run to her and kneel there. He yelled again, but his voice seemed muted by the thudding of his own heart in his ears. Beyond Haven, the shadow of Emma got smaller and smaller as she neared the forest line.

  “I’ll follow the maid,” Lysander said from his side. He broke away from him, following Emma’s trail at full speed.

  The snow around Haven was stained red, the smell of blood overpowering. The raw, feral anger in him pushed at his control. His vision sharpened against the darkness, his fangs released, and his hearing intensified.

  Henri seized Haven by the arms and shook her. “Wake up!” he shouted into her pale, emotionless face. Her head whipping back and forth was the only response. “You think you can get away from me that easily? Now, wake up!”

  Any control left in Avrum vanished.

  In the next moment, he was there, at Henri’s turned back, grabbing him by the shoulders. He ripped him off Haven with a vicious growl, sending him rolling in the snow several feet away. He caught Haven’s body as it dropped with ease and laid her gently down. Pain, like nothing he had ever experienced before, sliced through him at the sight of her. Everything―her ivory gown, the ground around her, the sword that had been pulled out and tossed to the side―was soaked with blood. Her blood.

  She was gone.

  He fell to a knee. Avrum ran a trembling hand over the unscathed face. Haven’s skin had become transparent, revealing many of the veins within. Her entire supply lay in a crimson pool by Avrum’s feet.

  “Haven,” he whispered. He stared at the lifeless face as if she could somehow hear. “It wasn’t supposed to end this way. I was supposed to save you.”

  Suddenly, a hard kick to the back sent him stumbling forward. He fell face-first into the snow. He pushed himself up to his feet. Wiping the wetness from his face, he turned to see that Henri had already extracted his sword.

  Henri gave him a toothy smirk, blood painting his teeth, lips, and chin crimson. It glowed against the translucence of his skin.

  “You fool!” he yelled, spitting as he did. “I gave you everything, and you are going to turn on me?”

  After seeing nothing but control and composure from Henri, Avrum wasn’t sure if this was the same man. He pulled out his own sword, glancing toward the forest’s edge. Both Lysander and Emma were nowhere in sight. It looked like he was on his own this time.

  He stepped around Haven, his sword up and ready. His hands, though, shook around the handle. “Everything you told me was a lie,” he said.

  One black brow rose in interest. He nodded toward Avrum’s weapon. “You think you can fight me?” He chuckled.

  Avrum whirled his sword at him, but he met it without effort.

  “You do!” The amusement in his eyes reminded Avrum very much of a child. “How funny!”

  Avrum struck again, this time low. Henri blocked, just laughing.

  “I made you,” he hissed. Henri took a great step toward him. “She is a human, insignificant,” he went on, saying the word as if it was a curse. “What could she possibly mean to you?”

  Avrum ground his teeth. The power inside him swirled around like a river current.

  “You’ve developed feelings for her.”

  Avrum hated the way his laughter sounded. It was mocking, loud, and rumbling; it echoed in his ears. “She isn’t your Linna,” he shouted at him. “She never was! You’ve gone mad!”

  “She loves me,” Henri said. “She is mine.” Their swords locked again, the tips dangerously close to skin, but Henri seemed unmoved. He continued, “I chose you that night I set fire to the Brenin Farm.”

  My family... Henri had killed his family.

  Avrum's body trembled with fury. “You! You killed them!”

  “I was going to let you all die, but I saved you and brought you here. You are as ungrateful as Haven was.” Henri came at him, his sword raised. Avrum scrambled back, his boots sinking into the deep snow. He landed on his back as Henri swung again. The two weapons clashed, and Avrum felt the handle lift out of his grasp. He watched as his only protection from this monster fell feet away from him, out of his reach.

  Avrum looked up in horror as Henri’s face drained of all its humor. His black eyes locked onto Avrum’s and his nostrils flared. He raised his sword for a final time.

  Avrum held his breath. He had failed, and now, he was going to die.

  The silver blade whooshed through the air with blurring speed. Avrum squeezed his eyes shut, awaiting the sharp pain and then the eternal darkness.

  There was nothing.

  He opened his eyes after a moment to find his own terrified reflection staring back at him on the sword’s smooth face. It hovered just inches away from his nose.

  Henri remained frozen in place. His lips pulled back to expose his rage and pointed teeth. Avrum used the moment to duck out of harm’s way. When he looked up, he saw that a thin line of crimson marked Henri’s throat. It grew thicker and darker until the blood began to spill down his neck onto his white collar. Suddenly, his arms dropped. His knees buckled, and as he fell forward, his
head rolled off his shoulders.

  Haven stood in Henri’s place, the short sword that had taken her own life in her hands and dripping with new blood. Her dark hair fell in wet tendrils around her face.

  There was something terrifyingly different about that face. Her pale skin shimmered against the ivory color of her gown. Her eyes flashed from black to an arctic blue as she looked down at him. She wasn’t the Haven he knew anymore. She was like him. A vampire.

  “H-Haven?”

  Her head tilted to the side. Was she remembering her name, or was she remembering him? Both answers frightened him.

  “Haven,” he whispered again. There must have been an exchange of blood. Henri must have given her his blood, changed her over, and―

  “Haven, please.”

  Every emotion flashed across her face―anger, confusion, relief―but fear remained. Her pupils were dilated, and her breathing came out in short bursts. Her gaze dropped to the disembodied head and then back to him. “Is he―?”

  “Yes. He is,” Avrum said. “Dead.”

  Haven’s fingers loosened their grip. The sword fell from her hands, landing in the snow with a soft thud. Her red-stained hands touched her middle, and she looked down at them. “But I-I was too...”

  Avrum stood, taking her by the arms. They had lost all their warmth. “Not anymore,” he whispered. The truth was painful to say. She may be like him―forever alive and cursed―but she was not dead. Not like... He shook off the memory of her falling to the ground in the blood soaked snow.

  “I am like you?” she said, panic ringing in her voice. “No, no, no. I can’t be like you. Like him.”

  Avrum pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight. It was all he could think of doing to comfort her. She was rigid against him, her arms hanging loosely at her sides.

  “It will be alright, Haven. You are alive. We are alive and Emma’s safe...”

  “No, no, no,” she continued. “Please, no. Please!”

  Avrum stroked her back, trying his best to soothe her. “Haven,” he murmured, “you’re free from Henri.”