Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls)

by R. C. Matthews

  His breath hitched, and he pressed his lips to her forehead without letting go. “Thank God, you’re all right. Please, forgive me. If I could do it all over again, I would.”

  She caressed his cheek. “I know, but you must put me down before the gently bred ladies in attendance begin to faint.”

  The moment her feet connected with solid ground, she squared her shoulders and faced Josephine, drawn to her harsh breathing. “The game is over, Lady Beaufort, and you’ve lost.”

  “Well, well, well,” Josephine said with a trace of admiration resonating in her tone. “You stacked the deck, after all. But a bargain is a bargain, and it appears you both have won. I believe this calls for a toast. You must allow me to do the honors.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Josephine’s composure in the face of defeat was admirable, and set Devlin’s nerves on edge. The bitch played dirty. “Grace will move on to meet her Maker, and my soul mate shall cherish life in her body forever.”

  A shudder coursed through him. What the fuck had she meant by that statement? The gatekeeper to Hell wielded unfathomable magic and manipulated people and situations with ease. He’d played right into her hands, almost sent Grace to an early grave, and he hadn’t had a single clue.

  Josephine was mad if she thought he’d allow her to raise a toast in his honor. He gritted his teeth against the tempest raging in his gut, quelling it for Grace’s sake. She had suffered enough for one lifetime because of him. He should’ve at least anticipated Josephine’s play with the caretaker and his mother’s involvement.

  All he wanted now was to return to the scheduled events, toast his resurrection, mingle briefly with his guests, and then forget this night ever happened, in the arms of his fiancée. Through it all, Grace was a pillar of strength. He tugged her into his embrace and kissed her head, desperate to reassure himself she was truly well. To hell with propriety and the outraged mamas in attendance. Let them faint.

  “A glass of champagne?”

  Devlin glanced up. A waiter held a full tray before him. Son of a bitch. When had the waitstaff entered, and where was the gatekeeper? He spun in a circle, and his stomach clenched when he spotted her. Josephine strolled through the crowd toward the raised dais, smiling at the other guests as they accepted their toasting glasses.

  “Lord, give me strength,” Devlin said, wrapping Grace’s hand over his forearm. “What does the charlatan have planned now? Come. Lady Beaufort has almost reached the stage. I shouldn’t have left her alone for a single second.”

  “She’s a sly one,” Grace said, squeezing his arm. “But we’ve won. The worst is behind us, so have faith that all will be well.”

  He squared his shoulders and maneuvered through the crowd in pursuit of Josephine. If he hurried, they might catch her before she reached the stage. Perhaps someday he would share in Grace’s unwavering faith, but for now he preferred to rely on his instincts and reputation. His guests stepped eagerly aside, no doubt because of the formidable scowl plastered to his lips. Still, it wasn’t meant to be. Upon reaching the stage, Devlin laced his fingers through Grace’s, and they climbed the steps together, following in Josephine’s wake.

  A smug smile played on Josephine’s lips as she waited for a toasting glass. He turned his gaze to the crowd, singling out Emma as she approached, her tray laden with drinks. What was the silly chit about? She was a lady’s maid, not a footman. No wonder Hatchet was up in arms. His second mate cleared a path for her to the stage with his broad shoulders. The dark expression marring his face sent ladies and gentlemen alike scampering out of his way. Emma offered two flutes of champagne to Devlin and one to Josephine before she quickly retreated to the side stage with Hatchet close on her heels.

  Devlin placed one glass in Grace’s hand and then held up his glass to Josephine in salute. “Not used to losing?” he asked, unable to resist baiting his nemesis.

  “One shouldn’t count their winnings before the game is over,” Josephine said, puckering her lips in a maniacal sneer. “This land was mine before you were even born, and the house always wins in the long run.”

  Grace looped her arm through Devlin’s and whispered, “Let us be done with this farce, my nerves can’t hold out much longer.”

  “Don’t be nervous, my love,” he said, rubbing her arm. “There’s nothing to fear. Our nightmare is finally at an end.”

  “We shall see about that,” Josephine murmured as she turned to address the crowd.

  What was her game? His senses came alive at the threat of danger, and blood thrummed through his veins. He schooled his features and took a calming breath, controlling the urge to prematurely grab the dagger pressed against the base of his back for easy access. All he needed was one sign that she planned to break her promise and unleash her wrath. She was a vile creature, and he didn’t trust her to keep her end of the bargain. Still, he wouldn’t risk the lives of his guests unless he was certain of her intent. Deep down, he harbored a hope, albeit a small one, that Josephine would stick to their original agreement.

  Lifting her hand into the air, Josephine said, “Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your undivided attention. Hasn’t this been an exciting evening? An underwater ballroom! It’s magnificent, no?”

  The guests acknowledged their agreement with polite applause on the back of their hands.

  “It's my honor to welcome home Lord Dominick Sommerset, resurrected from the dead to reclaim his title as 8th Marquess of Covington,” she said, sweeping her hand in his direction. “But perhaps equally noteworthy is his recent engagement to Miss Eveline Mitchell. Many of you may not remember, but he rescued her from a near drowning one week before a shark attacked him. Remarkable, isn’t it?”

  Surprised murmurs rippled through the crowd. Josephine had a flair for the dramatic. And while he applauded her ability to charm a room, he wanted the evening to be over.

  He glanced at Grace, anxious to assure himself that she was still holding up under the pressure. She clutched his arm and bowed her head, her breathing ragged and uneven. Her hand trembled, and she faltered, leaning against him for support. He squeezed her close. She was exhausted, and rightfully so. The fiasco would soon be over, and then she could retire to her bed for some much-needed rest.

  “Destiny is beautiful to behold,” Josephine continued briskly, raising her champagne in the air. “A toast to the happy couple. Drink and be merry!”

  Devlin lifted his flute of champagne and nodded in appreciation toward the throng of well-wishers crowding the ballroom. He tapped the lip of the glass to Grace’s and lifted it to his mouth.

  “It’s happening again,” she whispered, choking on her words. “Rosalie’s soul … ”

  Fear seized his heart, and before he drank a single drop of champagne, Grace slapped the flute out of Devlin’s hand.

  “Don’t drink the champagne!” she shouted. “It’s poisoned!” She whirled around and glared at the side of the stage, as if she saw clearly who stood at the edge. “Why, Emma, why?”

  Devlin gaped at the shattered glass and its contents spreading across the stage. A moment of shocked silence greeted him before chaos erupted. Guests screamed and shoved their way toward the narrow exit of the ballroom. Lifting her glass to her lips, Josephine took a gulp of the liquid and stared at Devlin over the rim with a mocking grin. The bitch had dared to fuck with him again.

  He growled and attacked, driving his dagger in an upward thrust, straight through her heart. The force of his impact propelled them off the stage, and he twisted the dagger with every ounce of energy in his body as they crashed to the marble floor. Her eyes flared red, and she gawked at the line of blood seeping through her gown. Outrage trembled in her limbs as she shoved him away, displaying a disturbing amount of strength despite the dagger protruding grotesquely from her chest. Good God, what did it take to slay this monster?

  “You’re a damned fool,” she said, wrenching the knife out and holding the blade high. Blood dribbled onto her arm, and she cackled. “I
welcome death with open arms. Rosalie was my sole reason for living. Come, let us all die together. I’ve enough life in me yet to accomplish that.”

  A ferocious roar tore from her chest. The bodice of her dress ripped open, and her garments fell to the floor, giving way to her long, scaly torso and tail. She tossed the dagger aside and rose up high on her tail, spreading her arms wide in sacrifice. The guests screamed and jostled for position, shoving closer and closer to the exit.

  “Satan, my father, hear my cries for justice and grant me the strength to see my enemies fall!”

  The chandelier clattered and bounced on its chain, groaning under the pressure of her menacing stare. Shards of crystal rained down, and Devlin shielded his head as he searched the stage for Grace. She could not have gone far. Anguished cries rang in the air, and he stared blankly at the horrific scene playing out before him.

  Women and gentlemen trampled each other in their haste to escape. Hatchet stood at the ballroom exit, herding people through to the hallway with calm efficiency, forcing space for the elderly to move through first. Devlin scanned the ballroom and nodded his approval to the waitstaff, who guided more guests to the emergency exits, urging them to climb the vertical wrought-iron stairs. There were still too many people and not enough time. Let them get out, he prayed.

  Brother Anselm’s voice rose above the chaos, a beacon in the dark, and Devlin sighed in relief when he caught a glimpse of Grace’s chestnut tresses with burnished gold streaks at the monk’s side.

  “Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle!” Brother Anselm bellowed. “Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God, cast into Hell Satan, Josephine, and all the evil spirits who prowl about the manor seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.”

  Barreling through the crowd with his shoulder as a battering ram, Devlin fought his way to their side. Grace joined Brother Anselm in prayer, their unified cries for mercy clashing with the sinister energy radiating from Josephine’s pores.

  Grace’s skin glowed with heavenly light, and a burst of golden rays shot from her outstretched hands to pierce Josephine directly in the heart. The half-woman, half-serpent doubled over and roared in agony. Her red eyes flared, and she clenched her fists, shaking them toward the ceiling. As the battle between good and evil raged, the glass dome rattled, and fissures appeared in the glass panels.

  “Oh, dear God,” Devlin whispered, his eyes widening as the glass began to buckle under the pressure of the water, with more and more fissures crackling along the surface.

  “Let’s hope you can swim,” Josephine shrieked, her eyes never leaving her target.

  The ballroom erupted in a collective shout of panic. More chaos ensued. Devlin surveyed all the exits, packed with people clamoring to get out. If the glass shattered, they were doomed.

  “Josephine, cease this madness, or you’ll never see Rosalie again! I’m warning you!” Grace screamed.

  Josephine laughed louder, her body trembling. “Empty threats, my sweet! Satan welcomes my soul mate’s spirit with open arms.”

  Grace placed her hands solemnly over her heart. “As will God.”

  “Impossible,” Josephine sneered, turning her full focus to the ceiling once more.

  “So be it,” Grace said, removing Rosalie’s ring from her hair and placing it on her finger. After taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly and raised her hands to Heaven, praying, “Dear Lord, hear me in my hour of need. Show mercy on your beloved daughter, Rosalie, who was bound by Satan against her will for eternity to the gatekeeper of Hell. Rosalie resides in my heart and confesses her love for You.”

  Josephine halted, staring aghast at Grace.

  “Accept Rosalie’s pleas for forgiveness and welcome her through your heavenly gates.”

  The gatekeeper growled and slithered to Grace’s side, swirling around her. Her eyes widened. “Stop it, stop what you’re doing!”

  Clasping her hands in prayer, Grace ignored her and continued her plea. “Absolve Rosalie of her sins, take her into your bosom. This I pray to you, O Lord. Please grant my wish. Amen.”

  Devlin held his breath, mesmerized by the misty fog rising off the center of Grace’s bare chest, drifting higher and higher. He’d never seen anything so serene in his life. Even amidst the surrounding chaos, his heart felt the peace of Rosalie’s departure.

  Josephine grasped frantically at the air, her eyes wide and her mouth slack with disbelief. When the mist slipped through the glass panels, disappearing into the lake, Josephine crumbled to the ground, gasping for air. Tears poured down her cheeks as she sobbed. Blood seeped out of her wound, leaving her deathly pale. It was as if the half-woman, half-serpent had died along with her soul mate.

  Devlin sighed with relief. All would be over soon. The glass panels creaked eerily above. His gaze traveled upward, and he swallowed hard. There were thousands of cracks. How long would it hold? And if it didn’t …

  He locked his eyes on Grace and the ball gown she wore. Drenched in water, the gown would be a dead weight. He ran to her side, intent on ripping off the skirt, her modesty be damned. But Josephine coiled her serpent’s tail around his wrist and dragged him away. He twisted against her iron hold yet found himself enveloped in the serpent’s arms.

  “You’ll pay dearly for that, Eveline,” Josephine hissed. “But first, allow me to restore your sight so you can watch me squeeze the life out of your soul mate before I take him on a journey to Hell.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  As soon as the words slipped past Josephine’s lips, the world zoomed into focus, startling Grace. Devlin stood several feet away, his expression both cold and bleak. She strode to him and cradled his face, moved by the tears glistening in his crystal-blue eyes. The hairs along her neck prickled.

  “I can see you, my love,” she said, with a tremulous smile curving up the corner of her mouth. “You’re handsome, even more so than my vision.”

  Tears clogged her throat as he gathered her hands in his and kissed them tenderly. “Forgive me, Grace. I should’ve listened when you first begged me to kneel before God and repent. But I was blind. You helped me see, and I’ll die happy knowing you’ll find your place in Heaven.”

  “You’ll be there by my side,” she said, squeezing his hands. “God forgives those who pray for His guidance and open their hearts to His love.”

  He grunted and doubled over in pain. Grace’s eyes widened as her gaze fell on Josephine’s wild glare, the white bolts pulsing in her red irises. It was only then that she realized Josephine held Devlin captive in a death grip.

  “No!” Grace screamed. She whirled around, searching for someone … anyone. “Victor, help!”

  But it was an empty plea, unanswered as the noise in the ballroom vanished—the glass panels held and the guests froze—suspended in space and time at the gatekeeper’s whim. Only Josephine, Devlin, and Grace continued to breathe, to react.

  “Run, Grace, get out,” Devlin rasped.

  “No.” She strode to him. “If we die, then we’ll die together.”

  “Isn’t that sweet?” Josephine said as she threaded her fingers through Devlin’s hair and yanked hard, forcing him to look at her. “If not for your selfishness, Grace could’ve lived for eternity by my side. There are worse fates. I would’ve loved and cherished her. Restored her sight. Instead, she’ll watch you die, secure in the knowledge you’re rotting in Hell.”

  “You fucking bitch,” he spat, straining his muscles to break free of her hold.

  Bitter anger burned like acid in Grace’s veins as she watched him writhe in Josephine’s clutches. Blood trickled out of the gatekeeper’s mouth and over her chin. She wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. A sparkling light caught Grace’s eye, and she gaped at Devlin’s dagger lying within inches of his feet. If she could distract Josephine …

  “I may be a bitch,” Josephine cooed in his ear, “but I’m no
t your bitch.” She squeezed her body tighter around his, compressing out his air supply. His face contorted in pain. “I sssssmell fear. But you’re braver than Marcus Deveraux. He was a sniveling swine and begged for mercy, begged me not to kill his precious daughter.”

  “You’ll not hear me beg,” he gasped, growing red in the face.

  Josephine’s impossibly long, forked tongue slithered out to lap at the delicate skin beneath Devlin’s ear, sending a shudder of repulsion through Grace.

  “Marcus almost got his wish,” Josephine said, bracing her hands on either side of his face and forcing him to stare into her blood-red eyes as she increased the pressure around his body. “Good-bye, Rosalie, my love.”

  Grace screamed and dove for the knife, intent on bringing her enemy down, even if she must thrust the blade through Josephine’s heart. In the same moment, Devlin directed all of his energy into his upper body and smashed his head forward, slamming hard into Josephine’s forehead. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she fell limp to the floor, releasing her hold. He tore his dagger from Grace’s hands and drove it into Josephine’s temple. A last breath pulsed through her lips, and he stood, stepping cautiously away from her dead form.

  Everyone suddenly came to life and continued their frantic escape, as if time had not stopped. Devlin hauled Grace into his arms.

  “You’re safe,” she whispered. She held him at arm’s length, checking every inch of him for injuries. A tear rolled down his cheek, and she asked, “Are you injured?”

  He shook his head. “No, my love.”

  “Then why are you crying?”

  He gazed into her eyes and smiled. “Because you can still see me.”

  She blinked. And then blinked again. A sob caught in her throat as she peered around the ballroom. Guests shoved and jostled for position, trying to exit as quickly as possible. She gazed up and stared at the glass dome, awed by the light of the chandelier twinkling against the black water. She gazed down, splaying her hands across the emerald satin of her gown, bewitched by the delicate lace trim.