* * *
She truly was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him. He’d lived so much life. The historic events he had been a part of, the miracles he’d seen, none of it compared to the woman who sat across from him now. From the moment she was forced upon him, he knew that his life would never be the same. None of their lives would ever be the same again. Kalin’s heart was finally healed, and she was on an extended honeymoon of sorts with the most unlikely of husbands. The weight of the world seemed to have instantly lifted off Rhiannon’s and Achan’s shoulders.
Granted, there were some unpleasant changes, too. Judah wouldn’t speak to him. The fact that he’d let Bane slip off into the night was a wound that Judah not only wouldn’t let heal but continuously picked at so it would bleed all over again. Any time Taris made a motion to bridge the gap, he was shut down. Maybe it didn’t dawn on him that it wasn’t Taris’ place to kill Bane. Everyone else realized it, so why couldn’t he?
Then there was the tense situation between Judah and Zillah. The truth of their relationship came out in riveting waves of anger, and the end result was that Zillah wouldn’t talk to anyone. She felt betrayed by all of them, and rightfully so. Collectively, they had kept the biggest secret for a few hundred years, and for what? To spare her psyche? No, it was because Judah had asked them to, convinced that she would eventually come around on her own. It was the one aspect of this whole mess that Taris would rather live without.
A soft touch on his scarred arm brought him back.
“You look like the weight of the world is on you, babe.” Sarah’s fingers played over the thick white scars. “Wanna talk about it?”
He smiled. Damn it, he couldn’t help himself. It didn’t matter what was going on outside of their four walls, he would always have her. He glanced down and watched her trace the fifteen lines on his arm, one by one. She made all of his work seem worth it. All of the sacrifices that had been made over the years, all of the lives that were lost, could now be put to rest.
Taris rose from his seat, setting his napkin on the table. His fingers still intertwined in hers, he gently pulled her from her seat.
“Come on,” he started off toward the hallway. “You’re going to help me get rid of something.”
She didn’t protest. Instead, she skipped closer to walk next to him. The feel of her body tucking itself under his arm made his heart pound. He had always wanted to be rid of his scars one day. Sarah had already healed the emotional ones. Now he was going to show her how to lick away the physical ones, as well.
“Beautiful, isn’t it? This complete and utter mystery that is being,” he muttered as they made their way toward the bedroom door. “I always thought it was something you just worked your way through and hoped that in the end, you managed to have enough faith not to be totally damned, but it turns out that there’s more to it than just breathing.”
“You get a little fight time and some regular sex and now you’re Voltaire?” Sarah playfully elbowed him. “Okay, I’ll bite.” She stopped and laughed, running the tip of her tongue over her newly acquired fangs. “I swear, no pun intended. So what is it that’s more to life than breathing?”
Taris squeezed her tight, nuzzling a kiss in the crook of her neck as he pulled her into the door.
“There’s you.”
Epilogue
Rhiannon padded across the old floor, cup of hot tea in one hand and a bottle of Motrin in the other. Her shoulder was still giving her fits, even two weeks out from the injury. Across the great expanse of the foyer, she could hear the pounding notes of Moonlight Sonata. It wasn’t the slow, lamentable opening of the piece that most people were accustomed to. This was presto agitato. It was the final seven minutes of one of Beethoven’s most familiar works. Wholly unfamiliar to a great many people, but since the Maestro put it to sheet music, it had been a staple in their household.
And Judah only played it when his heart was twisted.
It was near impossible to imagine that he could be any more tormented than he had been for the past two centuries, but since their collective showdown with Bane and Morrigan, the emotionally agitated outpouring had reached its peak. Rather than living in a cloud of improbable hope, Judah was now breathing in a void of complete isolation. For as long as she’d known him, he had released his emotions through music. It was his outlet, and he was an absolute genius. Between her paintings and his compositions, they’d made enough money over the years to sustain them all several times over. But it was the passionate zeal with which he played this rendition that caused her heart to break.
Against her better judgment, she pushed open the conservatory door. Swirls of smoke danced in the scarce light that came from a lamp in the far corner. The barely living flames in the fireplace cast an eerie glow onto the floor that seemed to forge an orange path to Judah’s bare feet.
Rhiannon leaned against the frame of the door and watched him hammer out the notes. The muscles in his bare back were dancing wildly as his hands moved from one side of the keyboard to the other in flawless rhythm. He paused only once to take a drag off the cigarette precariously dangling out of the side of his mouth. Tilting his head back, he blew the smoke straight up into the air before gulping down the rest of what she knew was her oldest whisky. Without missing a single beat, he placed his fingers on the keyboard again and started the emotional outpour once more.
It was pointless, trying to reach out to him when he was like that. Once he retreated into his own little world, nothing could pull him out. He’d spent so many years hoping that Zillah would return to him as she once was. They’d all waited for her memories to flood back to her, for the silent prison that half of her was in to spring open, but nothing ever worked. The only sure fire way to get her to come back was for him to feed her, which he refused to do. So many times, he’d said it felt like cheating and despite the insistence from the rest of them that it wasn’t, he put his foot down and the argument was over. Though he never gave up, he eventually let the hope break him down into a shell of what he used to be. The wit and beauty he carried for the better portion of his life gradually turned into an aged cynicism that he wore on his face like bad makeup. To the outside eye, he looked to be no more than thirty-five. But Rhiannon really knew the truth. To her, he wore every month of his six hundred years like a billboard.
Now that Zillah was fully aware of the three hundred years of her life that had been systematically pushed aside by her psyche, the tension in the house was so thick it could be sliced with a knife and served for dinner. Zillah was still healing, but what little movement she did make in the house was nothing short of battle tactics. Judah did everything he possibly could to try and help, but she spurned his attempts and cursed him in French before heading back to her room, once again leaving them all hopeless and Judah broken anew.
A shiver rose up her spine as he stopped again for a moment. He brought his fingers to his mouth and ran a quick tongue over the tips. Shaking them off, he lit another cigarette and started playing again. At the apex of the piece, when the passion in the playing was at its crescendo, Judah all but threw the stool back, knocking it over onto its side before he stormed away from the piano. His feet padded across the floor to the opposite door. He threw it open and in a swift tug slammed it shut behind him.
Rhiannon made her way across the room. Tucking the Motrin under her arm, she reached down and grabbed the piano stool. As she placed it under the keyboard, she froze.
Sitting on top of the piano were the maniacal-looking boots that she knew were Bane’s. She’d seen them the night they went to get Sarah back. Covering the various metal spikes and chain-links that encased the large leather boots were streaks and smears of caked red.
But the more disturbing sight was on the keyboard. She sat down on the stool and let out a long sigh, fighting the urge to cry.
Blood. Deep, riveting smears of it, covering the ivory keys from one side to the other. Mixing amidst the back and white was proof that Judah was teeteri
ng on the edge of tortured, the likes of which she’d never seen. The bloody keyboard was his life personified.
Bloodthirsty for the second Order of the Nines book?
Take a bite out of a scene from:
Mayhem Sonata
Order of the Nines
Book #2
Coming December 2nd, 2015
Prologue
“Stop this.”
Bane thought the words made it out of his mouth, but instead they were caught behind a wall of pure, unadulterated fear. Every crack of the whip tore his insides; every stifled cry seemed to echo in his ears. Between the horrifying sounds of each lash was deep-throated laughter and the rattle of chains. More than anything, he wanted to fight this, to tear the shackles from the wall and flee, but it was too late for that now. There was a definitive line between good and evil and, devil take him, he had already crossed.
There was another sickening crack, and Bane averted his eyes from the torn flesh that was Zillah’s back. Bane wished with all of his heart that Morrigan and Roman would just kill her and be done with it. Better for her to be found dead than in the state they would leave her. Had he the courage, he would have had mercy on her and killed her during one of her arduous breaks, but he knew her too well to be the cause of her death. Watching her skin peel back from her bones twisted his stomach into stabbing knots.
“Stop this!”
Again, the words were like lead on his tongue, heavy and unable to leave his lips. For almost three days, Zillah had endured this torture, and for three days, Bane had contemplated every scenario as to how the repercussions might play out. He did what he could to help free her when they first arrived, but he’d quickly learned that, despite his good intentions, he could only further escalate her torture. Roman and Morrigan were intent on taking over, and Bane, in his naivety, thought that it was a simple matter of assuming a leadership role. With his and Taris’ father, Rheos, now dead, Taris would naturally assume an elder position, leaving his place as leader of the Nines open.
Roman and Morrigan presented their argument in a calm fashion, leading Bane to believe that succession was the path through which he could finally have all that he desired. He did not feel terribly guilty about it, of course. Taris would no longer be able to fight, so Bane assuming his spot was the only logical progression. And his wife? The union between Taris and Morrigan was arranged and their marriage was based solely on sex rather than respect. At least Morrigan respected Bane, she had said as much.
He’d had no idea they intended to burn the very soul out of the Order. The carnage they left behind was unforgiveable. The heartbreak they left in their wake would surely be their undoing. But this?
This was his penance, the punishment for his jealousy and anger and adultery.
“Stop this!”
The words came out this time, just as Roman raised his arm to bring the whip down on Zillah’s back one more time. Bane lifted his eyes to Morrigan, who was leaning against the dark stone, a booted foot keeping her balance. He tried to seek out some sort of comfort in her, but beyond her cobalt gaze, there was nothing. Instead, she gave him a smirk before casting a glance at Roman.
“I think he wants us to stop,” she said softly, unmistakable mockery in her voice.
Roman lowered the whip and wiped his face with his forearm, smearing the deep crimson speckles across his cheekbones. Behind the mask of Zillah’s blood, his green eyes burned.
“You wanted this, Bane,” Roman said. His voice was so menacing that it made Bane shiver down to his bones. “You wanted to take your brother’s place, remember? In your house, in our race, in his bed. All of this is for you. Now, why would you want me to stop? Unless you want to get her ready for another round, of course.”
Bane shook his head. “I just feel that we have lingered here far too long. The blood bond is strong within all of us and they will find us sooner rather than later.”
Roman turned slightly to look at Morrigan, who shrugged her shoulders.
“He may be correct,” she sighed. “Surely the maestro will come looking for his bride and will stop at nothing to get her back.” Morrigan looked at Zillah and snorted. “Or at least whatever pieces of her we leave behind.”
Analyzing his handiwork, Roman walked around Zillah, who hung her head. During the entire ordeal, she had not cried or begged for mercy. She did not scream or shout; she only looked up at Bane with her violet eyes, saying all that needed to be said when their gazes met.
Why? Why this?
After the first time he tried to help her, the conversation changed.
I forgive you.
“You know, my dear,” Roman said as he rounded to face Zillah, her small body nude and covered in a mangled cloak of her own blood, “I rather liked you.” He lifted her chin with the cast iron end of the whip. “It is such a shame that we had to break you, but, in our defense, you did put yourself in harm’s way. We were ready to leave, Zillah, but you—” Roman stopped and clicked his tongue, “—you had to track us down.”
“Enough,” Bane said. “They are coming.”
Roman ignored him, his eyes still fixed on Zillah. He ran a finger over her shoulder and into one of the deep cuts left by the lashing. She did not wince, but through the blood Bane could see the muscle flexing in her jaw and the tears welling in the corner of her eyes.
“Perhaps we should stay awhile and wait for your husband and the others. I wish I could have been there when Rhiannon followed the trail of her husband’s body parts. Such a strong one, that Fraser, but love made him soft, just as it has made Judah soft.” Roman dug his finger deep into Zillah’s cut, only to pull it out and stick it in his mouth. He closed his eyes and moaned as he licked her blood off of his hands.
A subtle thud in the distance made Bane’s hair stand on end. The burning in his gut and the tingling between his shoulders signaled to him that the remaining members of the Order had arrived.
And to hell with it…
“I do believe that the cavalry has arrived, Roman,” Morrigan said, making her way to the door. “We need to leave. Now.”
“Agreed,” Roman replied, but not before taking Zillah’s chin in his hands and shaking her head. “The fun must end now, my pet.” He leaned in and kissed her hard on the mouth. “I hope Judah enjoys his present.”
Roman swept out of the room, both he and Morrigan calling out for Bane to follow. Panic and anger welled in his gut. In a flash of adrenaline-fueled rage, he pulled at Zillah’s chains, but they barely budged. Crying out, he tore off his shirt and did his best to wrap it around her body.
“I did not know what they set out to do,” he said as he tied the fabric loosely around her shoulders. He did not have time to heal her, but if she bled out any more, she would surely die. There was little time left before Roman and Morrigan would come calling for him, and even less time before the wrath of Judah arrived. His lips peeled away from his teeth and he bit his wrist, opening a vein so that Zillah might live until she could be rescued.
Gently lifting her head, he opened her mouth and pressed his wrist to her lips. She did not hesitate, but took greedy pulls from him, her eyes locking with his in yet another silent, painful conversation.
I will not forget your kindness.
Holding the back of her head with his other hand, Bane touched his forehead to hers.
“I am so sorry,” he whispered. “Please, believe me when I say that I did all I could to help you. No matter what happens, remember that. Please, always remember.”
I will.
Bane pulled his wrist away, sealing the cut. He could hear the sound of fighting in the battlements above. It was only a matter of time before they discovered the secret dungeon where Zillah was kept.
“Go,” Zillah whispered through cracked lips. “Do not let them find you.”
Bane moved toward the door, but turned back just in time to see Zillah’s body begin to convulse. It was shutting down despite the blood he gave her. He knew all too well from watching
his father die that the pain was unbearable. He could not stand the thought of her suffering any longer. With regret in the pit of his stomach, he did the only decent thing he could think of: Bane picked up the heavy whip that Roman had dropped on the floor. He stepped behind Zillah—still in the throes of agony—lifted his hand, and brought the end of the whip down on her head. Her shaking ceased instantly.
In that moment, all that was good and decent within him died.
Acknowledgments
This book, and ultimately this series, would still be sitting on my hard drive were it not for Theresa Cole. You’ve been a stalwart supporter since day one and I love you every minute for it. Were it not for my mother handing me that first romance novel, I never would have wanted to be a writer, so to my gorgeous mother, I give my heartfelt love and thanks. To my sister, who—though she isn’t wild about vampire novels—encouraged this book and actually enjoyed it. I love you. To my father and my brothers, for showing me what strong, loving men really are. To my son, for giving us a reason to leave. To my stepchildren, who’ve brought the most loving kind of chaos into my life. To Samantha, Jane, Debbie, Fiona, and the lovelies at Full Fathom Five Digital, for taking a chance on me. To Pat and Julie, for loving this story when it needed to be thoroughly edited. To Jill and Sarah, for being the best movie date night buddies a gal could ever have. Milkshakes will never be the same. To the Minions, for being patient, kind, and understanding through the stormiest weather. Your loyalty is why I persevere. To my Crowley, for enlightening me as to what great paranormal television is really all about. To Patsy, because vodka. To JenSev, because whisky. To Diane, with whom I possibly share a soul. You may not realize it, but you are the greatest patron an artist could ever hope for. To my wonderful and extremely patient husband; my demon-slayer, my knight in camouflage armor. I am the weirdest person you’ve ever met. I know, you’ve told me, but through it all, you love me just the same. I thank God for you every day.
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