by kimberly
"You should not have come tonight," he rumbled angrily, his voice betraying his displeasure.
Taken aback by the lash in his tone, she stammered, "I--I had to." Eyes searching his, longing for some signs of tenderness from him, she pressed on, "You weren't even going to say goodbye, were you?"
He gazed at her in silence for a moment, his face composed into a mask of unshakable calm. "No."
"How can you say that?" she demanded, as if not believing his words. "After all we have been through together, you'd just leave me?"
He tossed his head arrogantly, clearing his wild hair off his pale forehead. "You think because I have fucked you that I have feelings for you?" There was a spark of cruelty deep in his dark eyes, one she'd never seen before.
Grazed by his raw words, Julienne felt her cheeks grow hot. "What happened between us meant nothing to you, did it?" There was, she thought, nothing worse than the wrenching pain that began to tear through her heart. Looking at him now, realizing what he truly was, she felt the complete fool. She hadn't fallen in love with a man. She'd fallen in love with a thing. Yes, he looked human, but there was no humanity in Morgan Saint-Evanston. That died in him centuries ago, as surely as his mother had smothered the mortal life out of her son.
"No," he repeated, staunchly, in a tense voice. "It meant nothing to me. You were nothing more to me than any other woman who submitted sexually."
His words were harsh, hard to listen to. She wanted to attack him, claw out his eyes--slap that stupid smirk off his face, wound him as he was wounding her. Hands fisted at her sides, she flung, "You took advantage of my feelings!"
"I took advantage of nothing, you silly fool!" he snapped. He laughed, a nasty, harsh sound. "I warned you our coming together would only be for satisfaction of the physical, nothing more." He made a decisive gesture. "If you know what is good for you, you will leave this place and not look upon it again."
Shamed, defensive, Julienne clenched her jaw until her teeth ached. Though a great hatred for him brewed in her heart, she still could not completely turn away. She reached toward him, willing to give him a second chance, pleading silently for his touch, for some reassurance of his true feelings. Though he offered none, she had to warn him, had to tell him what awaited him in Sclyd. Will he listen? she wondered. Do I even care now?
"If you go back to Sclyd," she began. "You won't live much longer. I--I've seen your death, Morgan."
"My life is nothing," he countered with concentrated bitterness, "since my soul is in bondage. Here…" With an almost rabid wrath, he pointed to his chest. "Inside, there is nothing. I am little more than an empty vessel."
Julienne looked at him with new contempt, her lips curling in disgust. "Why do I get the feeling that even with a soul, you're nothing more than an empty vessel?"
Before she could react, his hand shot out, striking her viciously across the face. The hard, unforgiving backhanded blow knocked her to the ground. Her head spun from the force of the slap, temporarily stunning her. She hadn't expected such a brutal physical reaction from him. She stirred painfully, cupping her hand around her flaming cheek. Inside, she felt dazed, sick and weightless. Shaken by fine tremors, cold to the very bone, she forced herself to swallow her fear. In a whirling sense of déjà vu, her dream fell into place and in less than a heartbeat, she saw it was about to come frighteningly true.
Now I know what I did to get myself murdered! Shocked and frightened beyond her limits, she began to weep. Her tears seemed to send him into a wild rage.
"Do you think I chose to be such a thing?"
Rearing back on her knees, she found herself looking up at him. Trying to stay calm, knowing that bringing him back to reason could be the only way to save her life, she countered, "No, but your mother did choose, Morgan, and she chose between her children rightly."
"My mother killed herself when she realized her mistake," he bit off.
Tears trekked down her scarred cheek. "And you've been trying to commit suicide ever since," she soothed. "But you weren't wrongly chosen."
"You do not know what you speak of!" he savagely flung. "I was not the one the prophecy foretold. It was Megwyn."
"I do know," she said. "I know it because I feel it. Here." Hand trembling, she pressed her palm to her chest.
Bending, he caught her under the chin, wrenching back her head. "You are wrong," he growled. "Look upon me now and you will see what I am. Death. From beginning to end, all under my touch has been destroyed. Do you know why I am so feared within the darkside dimensions?"
Mutely, Julienne shook her head within the limiting confines of his grasp. His smile had become a mockery, a jeering mask.
"Because none fear death more than immortals. Unlike those to whom it comes naturally, they believe they can escape the reaper's touch. But they are wrong. I am a plague among them, the scythe that cuts them down."
Julienne shivered when the tips of his fingers brushed the pulse of her jugular, but she did not draw away from his touch. That still, small voice deep within her spoke up, that fountain of wisdom that could only have come from one who'd lived a long time, from one who knew him well, Anlese. As though a beacon were directed into her mind, she realized why his words toward her were so hard. He was trying to make her hate him, despise him, drive her away so their parting would be easier.
The only way to come out of this alive, the voice told her, is to challenge him, show him that he can't intimidate you. You have to stand up to the beast, look the tiger in the eyes.
"Go ahead." She wet parched lips with her tongue. "I know it's been on your mind to kill me." Breath tearing in and out of her lungs, she felt as though her heart would pound its way through the walls of her chest. "This is your chance. I'm willing to die…" The words caught in her throat, "…rather than lose you." Closing her eyes, she waited. If he's going to do this, let it be quick!
"I have thought about killing you," she heard him admit, his voice husky. "It was my intention to slay you the night your grandmother begged for your life."
"Why didn't you?" Opening her eyes, she fixed her gaze on his furious countenance. The choice was his and she would accept her death if it were to come this night by his hand.
"That night," he admitted, losing some of his anger. "I could not."
"Please," she said wearily, her voice a rasping, unrecognizable whisper to her own ears. "Don't you feel anything for me, Morgan?"
A cynical, grating laugh escaped him. Wiping away her tears, his hand returned to the soft pulse of her throat. "I will make your death an easy one," he said, hardening his resolve. "All I have to do is squeeze." He began to apply pressure.
Remembering her dream, she murmured, "Níl ann ach an marbh."
As if she had struck him, Morgan's dark eyebrows drew down in a frown. His hand dropped away, falling to his side. "Where did you learn those words?"
"My dreams," she coughed, gasping for precious air. "The first night I was here, I saw my death. Here. In this place."
"You have seen death by my hand?"
Almost mute from relief, she nodded. "Yes." Her hand rose to her tender neck. "You slit my throat, left me to bleed to death. You said those words as you walked away."
"Níl ann ach an marbh," he muttered, his hoarse voice nearly failing him.
"What does it mean?" she asked. "What do the words mean?"
His face took on a guilty look. "Nothing is left, except the dead."
Bending, Morgan gently raised her until she stood within the protective circle of his arms. She sagged weakly against his body, soaking up the strength he offered. The last of her dread accelerated briefly, then departed, and she knew in her soul that he would never raise a deadly hand against her.
"You weren't even going to say goodbye," she accused again, fumbling weakly for something to say.
Eyes dulled with sorrow dropped shut for a moment. He sighed wearily. "I thought it would be easier for you."
She lifted her chin. "You thought wrong."
"You are making this harder than it has to be." His eyes were pensive when they met hers. "It is time for you to face the reality that nothing can continue between us."
"Because I'm mortal?"
"We have to make a break now, before you get hurt." His accented voice gave powerful emphasis to the words. "My existence is not normal by any standard, on this side, or in Sclyd."
Eyes narrowing, Julienne's back stiffened. "I can take care of myself!" she argued. She chose to ignore the sense in his argument, knowing his words to be true--yet knowing if she let him return to Sclyd alone that she would be signing his death warrant.
He shook his head. "You are mistaken."
"How can you say this to me?" she demanded, as if not believing his words. "After all we have been through together, you'd just leave?"
"I have to," he said firmly, shaking his head slowly. "You and I are not of the same origins. Had I any other choices, I would take them."
"Then why leave now? Now that the portals are open, you could leave any time, right? Why does it have to be tonight?"
Morgan reached out and caught her by the shoulders. He gave her a firm shake, as though to rattle some sense into her. "Do you not understand I would willingly stay here if I could?" he asked. "But I have enemies who will soon be seeking me out. No one is safe as long as I am here. No one!"
Confusion buffeted Julienne, tearing her heart into a thousand tiny pieces. Her mind told her to see the sense in his words. Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to fall anew. She pushed them back. Fighting to keep her voice from cracking, she spoke.
"If I let you go, some day, any day, would you come back for me? I couldn't live not knowing what became of you. It would haunt me for the rest of my life. Say you'll come back. Give me something to hope for." Desperate words. She searched his face for some clue as to his own feelings.
His answer was wrenchingly immediate. "I will not return," he said softly. "You know that."
Feeling her defeat, Julienne let her hands fall limp. She was exhausted, drained. There was no more strength to fight left in her.
Morgan's own reserve crumbled. He slid his hands around her slender waist, bringing her lips to his in a passionate kiss. She surrendered, wanting it to last forever, knowing it could not.
"Dammit, woman! Do not dare tell me what I feel for you! The minute I saw you I knew you were dangerous to me. It made me want you all the more." He entwined his fingers with hers. "If it were possible, I would give it all up for you, here and now." Voice trembling with passion, he tightened his clasp a little.
"Why can't I go with you?" There were few things more wrenching in life than the thoughts of a lover walking away alone. I can't take the silence, the emptiness he'll leave behind, she silently lamented. Grandmother's right. I can't let him leave me here.
Morgan shook his head. "It is a harder, rougher world there, decadence corrupted with a violence that will not hesitate to strip you to the bone if you show the slightest sign of weakness. There, you would be my weakness and neither of us would long survive." He drew her close and kissed her again, deeply and with a concentrated passion, almost hurting her with his fierce embrace.
"Let me go," he pleaded when they separated. "Just as I must let you go."
Julienne could feel him pulling away from her, not only physically but emotionally, cutting her out of his mind and heart with a cruel, exacting precision. Whatever had passed between them was now over, done as easily in his mind as if he'd shut a door and locked it.
He's breaking the ties, she thought. I have to do the same.
Too moved to speak, she regretfully pushed herself away from him. "If you go back tonight, you're not going to survive long. I've seen your death, in the visions, the night Grandmother died."
"I am ready to die," he said in a low voice. "This life has been too long for me."
"Don't say that!" she countered savagely.
"It is true," he said, veiling the emotion in his eyes, reconstructing his wall, disappearing back behind his façade of ruthless indifference.
Sighing, Morgan turned his back on her, tilting back his head to study the skies. His hands dropped to his sides, and he steeled his body in a defensive straight-legged posture, as if he were anticipating an attack of some kind. His hands flexed open and shut. Dark eyes alert, seeing everything, he was clearly aware that something was going on around the stone temple, something peaking above the limited senses of mortal beings. "Do you feel it?"
"Feel what?" she demanded, peeved with him.
"It is happening," he answered without breaking his eye-lock on the sky. "The time is come."
"I don't feel any…" Julienne started to say, then paused, feeling the fine hairs on the back of her neck rise. Yes, I can feel something… Seeing nothing outside the circle of stones, she turned her own gaze to the boundless vista of space.
In the night sky, the moon had passed the midnight mark and was beginning to descend into the west. Flashes of lightning illuminated threatening clouds, indicating a storm was on its way, yet they stayed at bay, as if some hand were pushing them away. Nested in the womb of the star-dusted indigo sky, the moon shone like a jewel. The cold light caressed the Earth. Electric tension seemed to resonate around the perimeter of the temple. Above it, the sky began to change, turning black, as if the energy were being sucked out of the moon and stars. The fabric of the vast, deep darkness began to shimmer with dynamic force. Then, as though a star had gone nova, the blackness parted, a hot sphere of scarlet radiance exploding outward in a wide wave of space-twisting energy, burning a path directly toward the Earth. The sky was being consumed as cosmic forces came into play, bringing the three worlds back into alignment…unsealing the portals and bridging together the natural and the supernatural.
"…has come to pass," she heard Morgan murmur. "Tús go deireadh… Beginning to the end. Bhí sé i ndán domh go mbéinn. What was destined to be."
Suddenly, Julienne's feet seemed nailed to the ground. She could only stand and stare, helpless to act. The air grew heavy, oppressive and hard to breathe. Her brain spun with the effort to understand what was happening around her. Odd sensations began to overwhelm her, going past the physical to penetrate the psychic with a stunning spike, jolting every bone in her body as if she were being ripped apart and scattered to fragments. Her body arched, rigid as stone, then she felt herself being forced downward. She shrieked, her mind hovering on that narrow line between sanity and madness. Pitching forward onto the ground in panicked anguish, she covered her head with her arms. The sky was burning, searing and uncontrollable as the Dragon opened his mouth and spewed forth his destruction upon the Earth. We're all going to die and burn in hell.
Through her fear, she felt strong hands lift her, bring her to her feet. She leaned shakily into Morgan's solidity, almost afraid to look around, sure that the planet must have burned to a cinder. Despite the strange numbness lingering in her body, she felt no ill effects. I'm still alive, she groaned weakly. Whatever it was, it didn't hurt anything, or we'd all be crispy critters.
"The whole world must be on its knees," she said, her voice a shaky whisper. For a moment, amazement held her motionless…then a wave of wonderment coursed through her body. She knew she had just witnessed a once-in-a-lifetime event.
Morgan gave a low, amused laugh. "Only those within the holy circles witnessed this night of the apex. The three worlds are one again."
Eyes searching skies that now seeming perfectly normal and unchanged, Julienne listened for the signs of regret in his voice but heard nothing to indicate he wished to stay. "Now you can go back." Not a question, but a statement of resignation.
"Yes," he said, nodding. "You should leave here now."
"Let me stay," she pleaded. "Until you're gone."
Hitching up the strap of his crossbow to lie more comfortably across his back, Morgan walked to the altar. Following him, Julienne positioned herself across from him, as she'd done on the night of her grandmother's death.
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br /> "What do you have to do?" she wanted to know.
With grace and method of motion, he reached toward his right arm and pulled a dagger from his sleeve, sliding the deadly blade from its sheath fastened around his wrist. Once behind protective glass, it was now back where it belonged, in the hand of the man it was created for.
"I can no longer call the mists of travel to my command. I must open a physical doorway into the dimensions. For this, I must give sacrifice as I perform the litanies."
Taking a small sack from the pouch at his waist, he began to pour a circle of pure white salt on the altar's surface. That complete, he spread his hand across the altar, bringing the etched blade closer to his palm. His gestures perfectly balanced, he sliced deeply into his skin.
With the tip of the blade, he drew a crude pentagram. His blood boiled, hissing and bubbling when it contacted the stone of the altar. In his deepest tone, he began to recite the invocatory chant, words that rose and fell with pulsating rhythm.
"Behold, all powers of the night," he said. "I call upon the dark lord of the underworld to grant passage through the fiery veil." With the dagger's bloody tip, he drew five symbols around the pentagram at its tips. His gestures were assured, confident. His eyes were livid and flamed as he continued his ritual.
"The gates between the worlds stand open tonight. Darkness reigns triumphant, yet gives way and changes to light…"
The circle and star of pure white salt burst into acidic flame, scorching its image into the stone. Wisps of tawny-yellow smoke rose from the newly blackened surface, its acrid smell permeating the night air. The electric tension grew, throbbing with the resonance of a pitch so high that it threatened deafness to the listener.
Julienne pressed her hands tightly against her head, sure that her brain was about to be turned to liquid. She could hardly stand the intense hum. The massive monoliths outside the pentagram began to vibrate with a whining intensity. A pulsating force throbbed between them, pure, unadulterated, an awesome thing, an almost-visible pulse of energy. The screech grew louder, until one stone became nearly transparent, sparking with uneven flashes and flickers of color. Briefly, it darkened, then glowed again, exploding into a million multicolored shards of light!
