Keepers of Eternity

by kimberly

  Too bad he'd come nowhere near satisfying himself.

  There was a strange emptiness inside, the nagging feeling that something was incomplete. He frowned, forehead crinkling in thought. He knew she was confused by his refusal to grant her a more complete fulfillment. It was obvious she wanted him, had begged him to take her. And, he was damned sure tempted to fully claim her. Several times he'd nearly lost all restraint, coming close to giving into her hungry lips and searching hands.

  We are bonded in blood, he reminded himself. Take her fully and we will be mated for life. He was soon to leave Blackthorne, and he'd vowed not to leave her alive. Now, he was not so sure--of his plan or his motives. This new turmoil was confusing him, and he was reluctant to reveal the depth of his feelings.

  You were not supposed to fall in love, he chided. He shook his head. What was he thinking? Love was a thing that did not exist in his world. Yet he was drawn to this woman, his attraction going past common lust. Ashleigh Reynolds and women like her fulfilled his physical need, but Julienne… She touched him in a way no woman ever could, not even Nisidia.

  He'd never before taken a Blackthorne woman. Breaking that rule would force him to examine the decision he'd made to destroy what he'd created, including the sentinels who'd served him for centuries. Julienne was an innocent. She had been taken away by Cassandra in an attempt to save her daughter from the fate she'd been born to. He had been content to let them both escape, bearing Cassandra no malice. Anlese, however, had had other plans. She'd wanted her granddaughter returned home, wanted the Blackthorne legacy to survive. The old woman envisioned her granddaughter as a leader of the mortal people--one who would guide and help protect their world from the Sclydian invasion that was certain to occur. Was it not right for mortals to have a chance to defend their planet, their very race? He'd once believed so, enough to turn against his own. Why not pursue the battle anew? The thought intrigued him.

  You do not have to destroy her. Leave here and let her lead her people. It was a plan that was almost desirable.

  Except she carried his blood, and he knew too well the spells a sorcerer could weave over a victim if given a few drops of blood. He'd been forced to abandon an entire legacy and seek exile in the mortal world to escape the hold Xavier had over him through the flesh of the child he'd sired with Nisidia. Xavier owned his soul. He could not take the risk a second time.

  Come Samhain, his enemies would most certainly seek Julienne out, try to use her to get to him. His was already a soul in bondage. In a way, hers was, too. Would it not be more merciful to spare her the torments of the darkside forces?

  He sighed. Too many questions ran through his restless mind. October thirty-first was only three weeks away. Twenty-one days to decide Julienne's fate.

  Reaching out, Morgan stroked her hair away from her scarred cheek. She stirred, murmuring sleepily, but did not awaken. Around him, in private, she'd abandoned the heavy makeup, finally becoming comfortable with the disfigurement--hardly as bad as she imagined. How well he knew this woman who'd become his lover. He'd listened to the stories of her childhood, of being dragged from one nondescript place to another, so many they'd blurred together in her mind. She'd told how she'd been left to sit outside the many apartments and rooming houses as Cassandra made love to or was beaten by her latest lover. She remembered covering her ears to shut out the ugly sounds, all the while wishing she were dead. She'd thought dying would be better than seeing her mother battered, emotionally and physically. Morgan listened because it was easier than talking, listened because she needed to finally speak of the events hidden in the back of her mind for years, her own wounds that had never quite healed. Listening, however, may have been a mistake. Listening had made him care. It almost hurt to be near her, yet, when he was away from her the ache of emptiness was almost an unendurable thing. When he held Julienne, he could feel the pulse of his blood in her veins, the heat of her body warming his own cold core. She was his completion, the half he had always been missing.

  A rustling beside him brought his mind back to the present.

  Yawning, Julienne rolled over onto her back. Throwing her arms wide, she stretched and sat up. The blankets covering her body fell to reveal her nudity. Her sleep-warmed skin smelled of rich cocoa butter, the scent of the soap she'd bathed herself in the night before. The pink tips of her nipples rose to attention under the cool caress of warm flesh meeting cold air. Making no attempt to cover her breasts, she regarded him through half-lidded eyes, their depths a deep sparkling green.

  "Hmmm, morning," she greeted through a tumble of hair, her voice husky from slumber. "Did you stay all night?" She offered him her lips, giving a devilish tilt of her head.

  "Yes." Reaching out to stroke her bare shoulder, Morgan kissed her, savoring the taste of her lush lips. Breaking away, he let his gaze travel to the torn nightgown at the foot of the bed, remembering how he'd ripped the confection off her with one swift motion of his hands. Her eyes had glittered with a savage passion as he assumed command of her body, his tongue rasping against her sensitive nipples when he'd lowered her to the bed. She'd writhed beneath his touch, pleading with him in ragged, shameless words.

  With a seductive come-hither glance, she lifted the blanket, giving him a flash of soft white thigh. "Wouldn't you have been more comfortable under here, with me?"

  Sitting up, he reached for his cigarettes and lighter on the bedside table. "Get too comfortable and I will not want to leave," he grated, fighting the lump that suddenly seemed to have lodged in his throat. Might as well be blunt. No beating around the bush. The time had come to tell her some ugly truths.

  Julienne's face immediately tightened, lips thinning. She fixed him with a scathing look but quickly extinguished it, replacing it with a studied indifference. It was clear this was something she hadn't wanted to think about. She'd been careful to make no demands of him, to simply enjoy what he was willing to give. She knew he would be leaving in a few more weeks, and he'd indicated no change in his plans, nor had he spoken of his destination.

  "Then you are going?"

  "End of October," he affirmed, exhaling the smoke.

  "You've never said where," she commented, her eyes searching his, holding the hope he'd say the words Ashleigh had longed to hear, that she could go with him or that he could be talked into staying. He gave her no hope of either, keeping his expression noncommittal.

  Lighting a cigarette, he took a deep draw off its unfiltered tip. "I am returning to Sclyd."

  "Sclyd?" Wonderingly, she repeated it, wrapping her tongue around the odd, unfamiliar word. She settled back on her pillows, pulling the blankets around her body. "Where you come from?"

  "Yes." His frown came and went. He must be careful to display no emotion.

  Her eyes narrowed with thought. She spoke at last, quietly, aggressively. "Tell me about it."

  Morgan considered the rising smoke of his cigarette, as gray and filmy as the mists blanketing the Sclydian dimension. Did he really want to return to a land ravaged by war, stripped as bare and bleached as a skeleton under the hot desert sun? He sighed and gave his head a toss to clear his hair off his forehead.

  "I suppose you could say Sclyd is a vast phenomenon existing on the edge of human rationality. It is an anomaly of the impossible, the realm of the occult. Creatures that follow the forbidden learnings thrive within its shadows of manipulation and deceit. Over a millennium ago, I inherited a legacy that sent me into a supernatural existence."

  A gaping pause filled the room, the void between mortal and immortal a huge one. He took another draw off his cigarette. The burn on the back of his throat felt good. Satisfying. No wonder self-torture was so desirable.

  Her mouth fell open. She appeared dazed, unable to comprehend his words. She raised her eyes to look into his. "Are there many like you?" she questioned, intoxicated by his mesmerizing words. "Worshippers of the occult?"

  "There are hundreds." Cigarette dangling from one corner of his mouth, he rose restl
essly from the bed. Walking to the French doors, he threw them open to the morning. The air was cool and light, the scent of sweet grass and damp leaves mingling pleasantly. A brisk wind teased his skin, bracing and clean, whisking away the cigarette smoke. Clouds rolled across the mottled face of the sky. Leave this place and he would be leaving behind what had become comfortable, familiar.

  You have grown soft, lazy, he told himself. The creature comforts of this world have seduced you. Where is the old fire to seek adventure, the lust for the kill? He felt tension knot his shoulders, the tightness traveling through his neck, into his skull. Admit it. You have grown tired and, despite this body, old.

  "Morgan?" Julienne prodded, breaking his silence, prompting him to finish. "There are hundreds, you said."

  Feeling his cigarette singe his fingers, he snuffed the embers with thumb and forefinger, hardly noticing the burn. He flicked the butt outside and leaned against the doorframe. Chin tucked down, he glanced at her from under a fringe across his brow.

  "Every kind of entity your worst nightmare could conjure exists somewhere in the dimensions," he continued. His words had a hollow ring, even to his own ears. "They skulk in the safe cloak of human disbelief, keep their worship to the mysteries of the night even as they reach forth to snatch the unlucky wanderer from the path of life, for sacrifice is their existence. Not always is your life in the balance. Body, mind, and soul, the occult will demand all from you and take for itself what you will not offer. One way or another, you can be a victim of the lies if you are not wary."

  There was an appreciable pause. Julienne's eyes remained fixed on his face. "You're really upsetting me, on several levels." Her hands clasped across her body. She was not cold. She was afraid, fear incised deeply in her features.

  Morgan shrugged, but said nothing. He felt suddenly annoyed. There were things he should not have to explain to her, things she should never have become aware of. Why had Anlese wanted to bring her back? Could the old woman not realize it was too late to try and save Blackthorne?

  As for Julienne, what the hell could he say? Excuse me for blowing a hole in your preconceived notions of the tiny little world around you? Play with fire and you are going to get burned? Look for truth and you are going to find it brutal and ugly?

  "From what you say, hell is alive and thriving." Her fingers kept interlacing, then relaxing. She was clearly trying to understand--and believe--his words. How incredible, how unreasonable, they must sound to her untutored ears.

  "It is," he put in casually, brushing away his dark bangs with a casual sweep of his hand. "The allure of immortality is hard to resist, but the price is steep. Even if you live forever and a day, death will catch you on the third. Immortality is easy to obtain. Eternity is impossible."

  Her somber stare found his. "And did you fall to the allure?" She searched his face, and he knew she was wondering if he would tell the truth.

  Shutting the doors, he returned to the bed, sat at its foot and settled back against the bedpost for support. He rubbed burning eyes, wishing this day had not begun. It was disintegrating steadily from bad to worse. The truth was coming out, ugly, stinging him with its intensity. He hated thinking of the painful events that had revealed to him he was not wholly human, nor would his legacy be denied. He would never forget his mother's death, the creaking of the rope against the wooden beam, her swollen face, protruding tongue.

  He searched the canopy over Julienne's bed for a long moment, his throat working with suppressed pain, jaws clenched tightly, aching with the horrible, searing memory. No matter how much time had passed, he would never forget the sights and sounds of her death.

  She chose the wrong child. The choice had driven his mother to the deepest of all despairs. For that she felt she must die. The scars on his wrists, too, were an unsuccessful rectifying of her mistake.

  "For me, there was no allure," he admitted, drawing in a deep breath. "Though I was born mortal, my origins were steeped in witchcraft. The occult merely reached forth and reclaimed its own."

  Julienne smiled, somewhat sorrowfully, taking a moment to consider his remark. "If there are such creatures, then why don't they overrun the world if they have this power?"

  Morgan offered a faint smile. "Ah, but they have. And, come Samhain, they will again." He retreated into silence.

  She breathed, trembling, "Why did you leave, and why are you going back now?"

  "I left because I am an outlaw on the darkside." He did not say the bounty on his head was a high one.

  It was her turn to shake her head. "Why doesn't that surprise me?" she commented wryly. She motioned for the second cigarette he lit. He handed it to her without a word.

  "Care to say why?" She released a stream of smoke, coughing lightly. The unfiltered exotics were a little too strong for her, but, like a seasoned smoker, she soldiered on, refusing to put it out.

  Closing his eyes, welcoming the brief darkness, he sighed a martyr's lament, tormented by the very memories of his suffering. "Because I renounced legacy and left the occult," he explained. "In my world, that is a crime, punishable by death."

  She frowned as she digested his words. The tip of her cigarette glowed a furious red as she puffed. "So, by returning, will you be facing execution?"

  He checked her question with an impatient gesture. He did not want to think about what his return to Sclyd would entail. It would be painful. "Probably."

  Snuffing her cigarette in the ashtray on the bed table, she returned his gaze earnestly. "Then why go back?"

  He folded his arms across his chest. "Because if I do not return to Sclyd, they will come after me. My exile in this world is about to come to its end." He fell silent, looking into the distance beyond the wall. The more Julienne learned, the more dangerous she became. Her psychic sense, though untrained, was a strong one. He was aware of the dreams that plagued her, ones that afforded her glimpses into the past, and the future. If she learned to use her knowledge, she would be a powerful woman.

  "Exile?" she prompted, dragging him back to unpleasant reality.

  "Yes." His thoughts vacillated in the last moments before he decided to reply. "You see, I chose to seek sanctuary in the mortal realm when the three worlds went out of alignment during a celestial shifting of the dimensions."

  Her expression grew stony with worry. "You said they'd be coming on Samhain. What's that?"

  Morgan ran his hands through his hair, messing it further, hardly doing damage to the uncertain style. "The Feast of the Dead. Halloween. On that day in this year, the heavens will alter, returning the three worlds to their alignment. The portals of travel will be unsealed, allowing Sclydian entities back into this realm."

  "In other words, all hell is about to break loose?" Her voice was tight, terse. She wasn't happy to be hearing these words.

  There was a silence; and when he finally spoke, his tones were gruff with weariness, anger and an even deeper pain he could not begin to define. "If it were only hell, it might be a bearable thing for your people."

  Her gaze scraped his face. "What do you mean, your people?

  "Sclyd is dying," he said bluntly. "The mortal realm has always been the hunting grounds for the entities to renew their resources. For over two hundred and fifty years, they have been cut off from this world."

  Julienne's jaw dropped open with involuntary shock and dread. Realizing the repercussions of his words, she closed her eyes. "Oh, Jesus. That means they'll be eager to invade us for what they can get."

  "Exactly. And with their coming, the old wars will start anew."

  "The old wars?"

  "We have been fighting this same battle since, literally, the beginning of time," he explained. "Spawned of the supernatural, these wars have been inspired by twisted ambitions and rivalries among the entities. Spanning seven centuries, the last war grew to proportions that once threatened to engulf the entire planet and destroy forever the great civilizations of all three worlds."

  Julienne swallowed hard, obviously up
set. "And you were a part of that war?"

  "I once fought for the freedom of your kind," he admitted slowly, couching his words carefully, not wanting to reveal all. "I had a personal stake in winning, as I came into my full legacy then. I even turned against a former ally to encompass my own destructive power."

  Shaken, not knowing how to digest his blunt words, she asked, "Are you going back to fight?"

  Morgan closed his eyes, swearing silently. Why continue to tell her more? It would do no good. Still, having gone this far, he felt he should tell her the truth. "No, I am not taking up sword again. That part is over for me. Forever. I am going back because my soul is in bondage. I will have no rest until I reclaim my freedom."

  Anger sparked in the depths of her eyes, trapping him in a searing stare. She was picking up the facts faster than he liked. "Then you're going to leave Earth open to invasion?"

  "I can hardly stop it, Julienne," he answered, feeling both stricken and, oddly, ashamed. He knew what her perceptions were turning toward, that he was a coward, unwilling to fight. "This is a happening preordained since the creation of time, the beginning of the Laa my Folley, the Armageddon throughout the three worlds."

  Her jaw hardened and her eyes held snapping green sparks. Some kind of awesome upheaval seemed to be taking place inside her mind. Her anger was palpable, a raging animal threatening to unleash itself on him. "Selfish. Self-centered!" she snapped, squaring her shoulders. "That's why my mother despised you. Didn't she, Morgan? She knew this, too, am I right?"

  He refused to let her words bait him. "Yes," he admitted. "Cassandra knew."