Haunted by the King of Death

by Felicity Heaton

  It hit her hard that she really had hurt him, and her stomach squirmed again and her heart reproached her as she stood before him, responsible for all his pain and suffering, and now the deaths of innocent mages.

  Was he here to kill this mage too?

  She couldn’t let him do such a thing.

  She reached for him but he flashed fangs at her hand, and she pulled it back towards her. “Grave.”

  He growled at her and she refused to look away, would no longer be cowed by him. She would keep her promise to her sister. She would make things right somehow.

  “I cannot allow you to kill this mage.” She stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the tower, so close that she could feel the warmth he radiated.

  Gods, she wanted to move closer, yearned to feel his hard body pressed against hers and his arms around her, giving her the comfort she craved as her cold heart warmed and the hunger for revenge gave way to a hunger to be near him.

  The dark edge to his eyes kept her at a distance though.

  “I do not intend to kill him,” Grave said and looked beyond her shoulder, his eyes sharpening as he stared at the black tower. “I intend to fix this problem and then I intend to hunt down the demon who hurt you and see to it he will never do it again.”

  Shock rippled through her, stealing her voice, and she could only stare at him as his eyes briefly met hers and then darted away. That split second was all she had needed to catch a glimpse of something that seemed impossible.

  Affection.

  “I am sorry for your loss, Isla.” He moved past her and the big white-haired vampire who had announced himself as Grave’s cousin followed.

  She stood there for a moment, lost and adrift, shaken by Grave’s contradictory behaviour and uncertain of herself and the path to choose.

  Melia’s words echoed in her mind, telling her again not to let him go.

  She wanted to be strong enough to do such a thing, but while there had been a glimmer of affection in his eyes and in his words, there was still so much anger and pain. So much hate.

  Isla looked back over her shoulder at Grave and whispered an apology to Melia, her heart aching as she considered what she was about to do.

  She didn’t think it was possible to fulfil all of Melia’s dying wishes after all.

  She would carry out her original plan as intended.

  “I am going with you,” Isla said and Grave slowed to a halt.

  “No.”

  Stubborn vampire. She would give him no choice. He had come here to make himself stronger, and her plan would do just that if it was a success. He was a strategist, a born leader, and she was going to play on it.

  “I was not asking your permission. I have wronged you, but in this I will not fail you.” She walked towards him and the white-haired male moved aside, allowing her to reach his cousin.

  Grave refused to look at her, and she refused to let that deter her and stepped in front of him again.

  “I can give you the strength you need to protect your family, Grave.” And to avenge hers.

  “And how will you do this?” He still didn’t look at her.

  Isla wished that he would, because fear began to creep into her heart and the tower in the distance behind her seemed to become a living thing that loomed over her, a shadow of doom, and she wanted to see in Grave’s eyes that he knew why she was doing this.

  She wanted to see that he knew the feelings she kept hidden in her heart and hear him speak out against her plan, admitting the feelings that still beat in his.

  “Phantom mages are obsessed with my kind.”

  She studied his eyes, watching closely for a spark, a hint of his feelings, anything that might reveal he truly had loved her and still did.

  Anything that would give her a reason to fight for him.

  “I will offer myself to him in exchange for setting you free from the phantom world.”

  Grave was silent for a long time, seconds that stretched into hours as the shadow of doom she could feel against her back grew stronger and slowly settled over her, driving all the light of hope from her heart.

  Cold eyes dropped to meet hers.

  Not a glimmer of feeling in them.

  “Very well.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Snow had reluctantly left them at the edge of the forest once the coast had been clear of a local Hell beast pack and Grave had made him swear to go back to the nearest town and wait for him there. The big vampire had clearly wanted to come with his cousin, and she envied the bond they shared.

  One that had stolen her voice and cast her adrift on sombre thoughts.

  She hadn’t spoken a word since setting out for the mage’s tower, couldn’t find anything to say, not even when Grave looked at her. Whenever he did, she felt his gaze on her like a hot bolt of lightning that coursed through her veins and lit her up inside, even as it ripped her apart.

  Her gaze remained rooted on the path worn into the black earth at her feet, the pain in her heart weighing her down as she thought about Melia and Tarwyn, and the promise she had made to Frey. She would keep it. She would find a way to stop herself from fading, even if it was only for long enough to end the demon and have their revenge.

  Melia.

  Gods, she needed to speak with her sister now more than ever.

  She needed to talk with her about the fact that Grave hadn’t known why she had cursed him to a phantom life, and admit that what had started out as a lie had quickly become a truth. One that burned in her heart still.

  The heart that still loved him.

  Grave glanced at her again, but this time the effect he had on her was weaker, stirring less heat in her veins. That heat quickly gave way to cold, ice that was growing outwards from her heart. She had been a fool to hope he would try to stop her, and now she felt as if she was marching to her doom and he was going to throw her to the lion that prowled in the black tower ahead of her.

  She didn’t understand.

  Grave had said that he wanted to protect her and that he wouldn’t allow anything to hurt her again, but here he was escorting her into the epitome of phantom Hell, seemingly intent on personally handing her over to the mage.

  Had she heard him wrong? Had she misunderstood?

  His eyes landed on her again, and this time she wanted to look at him, but the weight on her heart was too heavy and she couldn’t bear the thought of finding his eyes as cold as they had been back in the forest, when he had made it clear he wanted the bond between them broken and her out of his life forever.

  She didn’t understand.

  She really didn’t.

  She deserved his anger for allowing him to suffer with a bond to her when he had never known why she had done it, but still a part of her had dared to hope there might be some feeling left in his heart for her, some compassion. Some love.

  His steps slowed and she looked ahead of them, and a sudden need to run bolted through her. Great black gates towered over her, set flush into the wall, and they creaked as they slowly opened.

  Isla swallowed hard.

  She had to run.

  She took a step back and Grave looked at her, and the feel of his eyes on her was enough to have her staying where she was. She clenched her fists, tipped her chin up and held her head high as she watched the gates opening. She had done enough running in her life, from him and from herself, and it was time that she stopped. She would pay her debt to Grave here.

  Her family were gone, but his were not, and if placing herself at the mercy of a phantom mage would save them, then she was glad to do it.

  She was.

  She tensed as the doors jerked to a halt, slamming against the walls with a loud boom that sounded like a death knell.

  Grave walked forwards, his left hand casually resting on the hilt of his blade.

  Isla hesitated.

  The sensation of insects crawling and writhing beneath her skin grew more intense and she rubbed at her bare arms, trying to scrub them away.

/>   The mage.

  He stood on the other side of the gate, his green eyes fixed on her, a twisted sparkle to them that she didn’t like. He raked his gaze over her, from head to toe and back again, over and over until she wanted to scream at him to stop.

  His calm and curious demeanour shattered when he finally noticed Grave.

  His slim face darkened and a faint golden glow lit his eyes as a breeze tousled his long black hair and toyed with the tails of his black ankle-length coat, causing them to flap against his tight trousers and boots.

  The mage snarled and inky ribbons swirled around his hands as he raised them before him, all of his focus locked on Grave. White-blue threads of magic entwined with the black and Isla fought the pull of them, but they tugged at her phantom side, luring it to the surface with the promise of power and retribution.

  Isla staggered a step towards him.

  Grave snapped his gaze to her and then back to the mage, and surprised her by placing himself between them. The pull of the mage’s magic weakened enough that she could move back a step and she gathered herself, steeling her heart and mind against the male’s power.

  “You’re not welcome here.” The mage advanced on Grave, a sharp clip to his step as he emerged from the tower, his eyes glowing gold as the magic swirled up his arms and caressed his neck. “Leave.”

  “I thought you might say that.” Grave’s calm tone gave none of his feelings away and he had closed the connection between them, shutting her out so she couldn’t detect his emotions through their bond. Why did the phantom mage want to turn him away? Was it because he knew Grave had killed other mages in the past? Grave jerked his thumb over his shoulder and icy cold seeped into her blood. “It is why I brought her.”

  The male looked past him, and now that he was closer to her, she realised something. Something that had her reconsidering her plan to run.

  He looked like the mage who had cast the original spell on her.

  He was too young to be that male, appearing barely in his thirties in mortal terms which placed him around the century mark in mage years, but she recalled sensing others in the castle at the time. Was it possible this male was the son of the mage who had helped her?

  She shifted her gaze from him to the back of Grave’s head. If that was the case, then the reason he wanted Grave out of his sight was perfectly clear to her.

  Grave had killed his father.

  “Is there anyone in Hell you have not angered?” she hissed at Grave’s back, not caring if he heard her.

  If she was being honest, she wanted him to hear. She wanted him to know that she was angry with him for what he had done, because now the mage would be less inclined to help them and that meant it was going to be harder for her to convince him. She had started to hope that perhaps offering herself in exchange for Grave’s freedom wouldn’t be necessary. Gods, she was a fool.

  Grave shrugged.

  Isla considered smacking him around the back of his head but the mage’s eyes landed on her again just as she was on the verge of raising her hand and going through with it, and cold stole through her, freezing her in place.

  She stared back at him. Insects. Crawling. She didn’t like that look in his eyes.

  Males had looked at her like that before and she had used it back then, luring them to their doom so she could feast on their souls. She wished she could do the same with him, but mages took precautions, learned at an early age how to protect their soul from phantoms.

  “We have a problem, and I need it fixed,” Grave said and the mage didn’t take his eyes off her, merely acknowledged him with a regal bow of his head. “You can stop us from fading?”

  Us?

  Her eyes shot to Grave. He was going to find a way to save them both?

  He kept his back to her, his eyes locked on the mage and their connection shut.

  She couldn’t believe it.

  “I can… but you will need to offer me something worth my services.” The mage slid his green eyes her way again and she shuddered as they met hers. “I am sure we can come to some arrangement.”

  He turned away from them and swept back into the huge base of the black tower, disappearing from view. Grave followed him, leaving her standing alone outside the walls.

  Isla couldn’t move.

  She stared at Grave’s back, taking in the broad line of his shoulders and the way his torso tapered down into a narrow waist, and how good his backside looked in mortal combat clothing, cupped by the close-fitting black material.

  She still wasn’t sure what his intentions were, or the mage’s ones, but when Grave paused at the threshold of the tower and looked back at her, she moved towards him, closing the gap between them.

  Power hummed in the air around her as she entered the tower, the dark of Hell giving way to a weird greenish light that emanated from clusters of crystals growing from the polished black walls.

  Insects.

  She supressed a shudder and looked straight at the source of that sensation. The mage waited at the foot of a twisting black staircase that spiralled upwards in jagged sections. When she reached the middle of the huge vestibule, he ascended the steps, and she bravely followed him, aware of Grave close behind her.

  The sensation that he was marching her to her doom returned but she managed to crush the urge to run the moment it went through her this time and kept walking forwards, her blue boots silent on the black stone steps. Her gaze leaped ahead of her, up beyond the mage to the next floor, trying to catch a glimpse of it.

  The same green light filled the space above her and she frowned as she reached the next floor. It was nothing like she had expected. Rather than one large open room, she stood in a curving corridor. The angular staircase continued upwards at her back, but to her left and right the corridor encircled a central room. A huge archway cut into the smooth black stone in front of her revealed that room. The only furniture in it was a throne at the other end of it, made of the same green crystals as the lights, but mingled with black ones.

  It looked uncomfortable.

  She glanced left and right, and spotted arched doors on the other side of the corridor from the wall of the central room.

  Isla looked up at the ceiling, picturing the height of the tower.

  How many rooms did it have?

  She looked down too.

  She hadn’t noticed an entrance for a dungeon, but it wouldn’t surprise her if the mage had one. His father had been rather proud of his. She suppressed another shudder.

  “Come,” the mage said, his voice unnervingly soft and gentle, and she couldn’t hide the shiver that went through her when she lifted her gaze and found him standing close to her, one pale hand extended to her.

  As if she would take it.

  Isla swept past him into the central room, feeling his eyes on her, lingering on her backside for a few seconds before he moved to follow her. His heeled boots were loud on the black floor, followed by the softer thud of Grave’s rubber-soled leather ones.

  The sensation of power grew stronger as she neared the crystal throne and she slowed to a halt metres from it, unwilling to get any closer to it. Whatever spell the mage had used to create the crystals, it did something to her, pulled at her and made her feel a little hazy.

  A little compliant.

  She didn’t like it.

  The sensation eased and she looked across at Grave as he stopped beside her, his left hand still resting on the hilt of the blade that hung from his waist. The mark on her back pulsed with warmth that flowed along the lines, heat that seemed to give her some protection from the mage’s spells.

  The black-haired male seated himself on his throne and crossed his legs, causing the two long tails of his black coat to fall away from them. He settled his arms along the rests and his fingers curled over the ends, dark nails blending into the near-black crystal that formed them.

  His green eyes raked over her again, sending another shudder through her.

  Isla kept her chin up and didn
’t shy away from his perusal, refusing to allow him to fluster her as he so clearly wanted. She was strong, even in her weakened state. If they fought, there was a chance she would win.

  But she couldn’t fight him.

  She needed him to fix their problem.

  She needed vengeance.

  Needed to give Grave back the life she had stolen from him.

  “One night in exchange for one century of corporeal life.” The mage’s words fell heavily around her.

  Isla opened her mouth to refuse him, unwilling to give him what he desired.

  Power over her.

  Grave wasn’t so kind.

  “You can have her ten nights,” he said, tone cold and devoid of feeling, and she snapped her head towards him, unable to believe what she was hearing even as each word struck her heart like a white-hot spear, burning it to ashes and leaving her dead inside. He was throwing her to the lion after all. “In a row. I intend to live a long life.”

  Isla swallowed hard and fought to find her voice. She could understand that he was angry with her, bitter about what she had done to him, but he was condemning her to a nightmare. Phantom Hell.

  She tried to speak to give them both a piece of her mind but no words left her lips, and her gaze whipped back to the mage. He smiled coldly at her. Bastard. Her eyes darted around at all the crystals in the room and finally settled on the throne. It glowed around him.

  He was using the crystals to enhance his power, to strengthen it enough to give him a sliver of control over her without him having to do anything that might rouse suspicion in Grave.

  Grave stared at the male. Waiting?

  When the mage nodded, Grave looked over at her.

  Isla tried to shake her head, tried to plead him with her eyes, but all she could do was stare at him. Mute. Unmoving.

  No.

  “I will have rooms prepared for you.”

  No.

  Isla struggled again, fighting the hold of the mage’s power as her heart thundered, spreading fear through her veins. Despair. She kept trying to shake her head, to speak, to do something to give Grave a sign that she was far from fine with the mage’s proposal, but nothing she did worked.