by L. D. Hall
He stopped at a flower vendors cart to grab a bouquet before entering his hotel, forcing a smile on his face. But as soon as he reached his corridor, he froze. He could hear muffled movement coming from his room, movement that Fiona couldn’t possibly be making on her own.
Dread coiled around him, and he darted forward. He threw open the door to his room.
Gael stood above Fiona, his hand lifted, as Fiona writhed on the floor, struggling to breathe. White hot fury scorched through Casimir, and he hurled a Repelling spell at Gael. Gael whirled towards him, releasing Fiona from the force of his spell, taking in great gasps of air.
Furious, Gael whirled towards hm, raising his hand to direct a spell towards him, but Casimir leapt onto him, his hands around his throat. Casimir glared down at him in a haze of fury; he was going to kill him for harming Fiona.
Casimir cast a Binding spell to hold Gael still, and tightened his hands around the witch’s throat. It was only when Gael stilled, his lifeless eyes gazing up at him, that Casimir came back to himself. His rage subsided, and he stumbled back.
He turned. Fiona had shrunk back against the wall, her arms tight around herself. She was still, her eyes pinned to Gael’s dead body. She’s in shock, he realized. Casimir moved towards her, pulling her into his arms. Her shoulders shook, and she began to weep.
“Shh,” he whispered. “It’s over now. It’s over.”
As he held her, guilt slammed into his chest. He never should have left her alone, never should have let his guard down for a second. He had almost gotten the woman he loved killed. The woman I love. There was no doubt in his mind how he felt about her. His heart twisted at the thought of losing her. If he hadn’t come in to the room when he did . . .
He didn’t let himself finish the thought. He had to get Fiona to safety, then he had to clean up the mess with Gael.
“I need to get us out of here, OK?” he said gently. Fiona looked up at him, blinking back tears. She nodded. He hated seeing her like this; she was usually full of smiles and joy. Another wave of guilt swept over him, and he held her close as they stood.
He apparated them from the hotel room; they arrived in the living room of a modest home.
“This is one of the Alliance’s safe houses,” Casimir said. “They provided it for me in case—in case something like what just happened, happens.”
Fiona nodded, taking a breath. She looked haunted.
“I thought—I thought he was going to—" she whispered.
“But he didn’t,” Casimir said, though his throat tightened. A part of him wished he had kept Gael longer, to hurt him for what he’d done before killing him.
He closed his eyes to calm himself. What had just happened proved why he shouldn’t get involved with anyone while he was working with the Alliance. It meant constant danger. It was for the best that he and Fiona parted ways; he couldn’t bear the thought of another witch or vampire attacking her.
Casimir made Fiona a mug of tea and left the room to call Madalena. He hated leaving her side after what just happened, but he had to get this Gael thing taken care of. If his allies discovered his body, they would be after him and Fiona.
He went to an empty room to call Madalena. After he told her what happened, there was a long pause.
“I know Gael was a valuable mark, but the Alliance rules state that if an Order witch attempts to kill—"
“I know,” Madalena interrupted. “I’m just relieved you’re all right. And the woman with you—"
“She’s fine. And she knows to be discreet,” he said quickly. He and Fiona had agreed to keep their relationship quiet from her overprotective father Alaric, but now, there was no reason for him to ever know about it. “Please don’t tell anyone I’ve spent time with a woman here. Especially Alaric.”
“Alaric is hardly the type to care about anyone else’s love life,” Madalena said, sounding amused.
“I’m serious.”
“Of course. I won’t mention it to anyone. We’ll send someone to your hotel room to take care of Gael. And then it’s best you come back to London.”
Casimir closed his eyes. He knew she would say that, and he wouldn’t protest. He had a brief, selfish instinct to ask if he could bring Fiona with him, but that wasn’t going to happen. Not after what happened today. It was best if Fiona get out of Prague and stay off the radar for a while. Even if it meant staying away from him.
“All right,” he said, hoping that his tone sounded professional, light. “I’ll be on the next flight out tomorrow.”
He returned to the living room where Fiona had curled up on the couch with her tea.
“I’m already feeling better,” she said, reading the concern in his expression. “I’ll have a few bad dreams, but I’ll be OK. Those Order witches are mean sons of bitches, aren’t they?”
There she was; the light-hearted woman she’d fallen for. She gave him a wry smile. Love and admiration rushed through him, amazed that she could make a joke after what she’d endured. He considered just saying the words, telling her how he felt. That he loved her, that he wished they had more time, that he wished they’d met under different circumstances.
But he stopped himself. There was no point. They had to go their separate ways the next day.
“They are,” he agreed, returning her wry smile, before his expression turned serious. “You shouldn’t stay in Prague. Just in case Gael’s allies—"
“I know,” she said, her smile disappearing. “And . . . I suppose you aren’t staying here, either?”
“No,” he said. “I’m being called back to London.”
A silence stretched between them; the weight of loss was already pressing down on Casimir’s shoulders.
“Well, then,” Fiona said. “Let’s enjoy our last day here.”
“We can’t go into the city. Gael has allies. It’s not safe,” Casimir said with regret, shaking his head.
“Guess we’ll have to make this house entertaining,” Fiona said, pointedly looking around at the living room.
And surprisingly, they were able to. The kitchen was fully stocked; together, he and Fiona made a mishmash meal of some of their favorite foods they’d had while in Prague. They found two old movies next to the old DVD player in the living room’s entertainment center and watched them as they ate. Afterwards, they shared a glass of wine in front of the fireplace. Not once did they talk about the next day, or their future. It was like this one day was their past, present and future, all wrapped up in one.
When they finished their wine, Fiona reached for his hand and led him to the bedroom, where they made love several times, their eyes locked on each other as their bodies moved together, as if trying to remember every detail of each other’s features.
The next day, they were silent as they traveled to the airport together. As they both stepped out of the cab, Fiona looked up at him, her green eyes glistening with tears.
“Goodbye, Casimir,” she whispered. She stood on tiptoe to press her lips to his, briefly, too briefly, and he could taste the salt tears on her lips.
She stepped back, and he watched her disappear inside the airport. He realized he hadn’t said his own goodbye; but that was because he didn’t want to, he wasn’t ready, even if she had already left. It’s because it’s not over, he realized. They would find their way back to each other. And he would live for the day when they did.
Chapter 7
Six Months Later
Over the next months, Fiona did everything she could to purge Casimir from her mind. She went on dates with perfectly handsome but bland men; she traveled to the States and embarked on a road trip from New York to California. She buried her feelings deep so that thinking of him didn’t hurt so much.
And when she did see Casimir again, she had done such a good job of erecting a bridge around her heart that she was able to shield her heart from the onslaught of emotions. He had come to Alaric’s estate, where she was currently staying to rest in between her travels, along with other Alliance
members—and a beautiful witch named Naomi, whom Fiona could tell her father had feelings for. Fiona managed to stay out of their way and avoid Casimir, even as she felt his eyes on her. She knew they were all working on some big assignment, and it confirmed where Casimir’s focus truly lie—the Alliance. She maintained her distance and left again . . . it was too hard to be around him.
But Casimir remained on her mind during her travels around Asia. When they did cross paths again, this time at the home of a colleague of his, Elias, she could already feel the walls around her heart crumbling. She knew she wouldn’t be able to keep up the facade of not caring about him, not this time.
One evening, he found her in the drawing room as she was trying to read. As soon as he entered the room, she stood to leave.
“No,” he said firmly. “Please don’t go.”
She made herself look at him. The silver eyes, the dark blonde hair, the handsome angular features.
“What is it, Casimir?” she asked. “I’m only here because my father asked me to be. I know we can’t be together, your duty is to the Alliance—“
“I love you.”
She stopped, her heart thudding in her chest as she studied him in disbelief.
“What?”
“I love you. I’ve been lying to myself. I thought I could focus on my duties and forget about you. But I’m tired, Fiona. I’m tired of missing you, of loving you. Yes, I have duties to the Alliance. But I still want to live. And I want to live with you. I’m sorry that my stubbornness kept us apart.”
He looked at her, his eyes filled with need, longing, and vulnerability.
“If you don’t feel the same way—" he whispered.
“I do,” she said, tears pricking at her eyes. “I’m tired too. I think about you all the time. My heart literally hurts, as cheesy as that sounds—"
“It’s not cheesy,” Casimir said, moving towards her. “I feel the same way.”
“Casimir,” she murmured, as he approached, taking her hands. “I love you.”
He kissed her, and she melted into him. If Alaric hadn’t interrupted them, they would have made love right then and there. But they did make love, later that night, when he slipped into her guest room like a secret lover.
He made love to her slowly, peppering kisses along her jaw, her throat, her breasts. She was whimpering with need when he finally took her, their arms and legs entwined as they moved together. It was like no time had passed at all, and it was still that magical winter in Prague, when it was just the two of them, discovering each other, relishing in each other, creating their own fire of love and desire.
“I love you,” Casimir whispered into her ear.
Fiona smiled, whispering her own words of love. A sense of completion filled her. After her years of travels, of solitude, she was right where she belonged.
THE END
of
WINTER’s FIRE
I hope you enjoyed this side story featuring Casimir and Fiona. The larger story continues in SHADOW DESCENDANT. Keep reading for a sneak peek.
Shadow Descendant
CHAPTER ONE
The artifact looked no different than the others brought in to the museum. It was made of a dark red clay, small enough to fit in the palm of a hand, its circular surface marked with inscriptions from an age now lost to the ravages of time.
But as Naomi studied it, she sensed that this was no ordinary artifact. As soon as the conservator took it out of its storage container, she felt a magnetic pull toward it. And then there were the whispers. Impossibly, they seemed to come from the artifact; unintelligible murmurings that brushed the insides of her skull. It was as if the whispers beckoned to her.
"Naomi?"
Naomi tore her eyes away from the artifact to look up at the conservator, Dimitris. They stood in the storage area of the Athens Museum of Antiquities, reviewing objects brought in from the museum's field team. Around them, the other members of the conservation team were gathered throughout the storage area, reviewing other artifacts brought in for storage. No one else seemed to hear any whispers, nor did they pay any attention to the artifact that held Naomi's attention.
It's happening again, Naomi thought, dread pooling in her stomach. But she pushed the feeling aside and gave Dimitris a forced smile.
"I'm sorry," she said. "What were you saying?"
"This tablet's from the late Bronze Age. We haven't been able to decipher the inscriptions yet. Could be some sort of alphabet or syllabary. We're having a linguist come by to look it over tomorrow."
Naomi reached down to pick up the tablet with her gloved hand, and the faint whispers in her mind increased. She tried to focus on the odd inscriptions carved into the rough surface of the clay, to turn on her professional curator's eye, but the whispers were deafening. She abruptly set it back down.
"Are you all right?" Dimitris asked, studying her with open concern now. Naomi closed her eyes, clutching the edge of the table, steadying her breaths. One, two, three, she counted, repeating the practice she'd learned from countless therapists over the years. One, two, three. Breathe.
"It's this heat," she lied, when she opened her eyes. "And I made the mistake of skipping lunch. You can seal this one away. I'm going back to my office."
Dimitris obliged her, sealing the artifact away in a container box. The whispers subsided. Naomi could still hear them, but they were faint now, as if they were coming from a distance.
She took another breath, taking a shaky step back from the table. Other members of the conservation team were shooting glances at her that ranged from curiosity to concern. How many times had she seen such looks over the years?
Get it together, Naomi, she urged herself. She had only been working as a curator here for two months. Her position was temporary, she was filling in for another curator who was off on maternity leave, but she didn't want to lose this job over one of her . . . episodes.
Naomi gave Dimitris what she hoped was a casual smile as she turned to leave, ignoring the powerful urge to remain near the artifact. She exited the storage area, climbing the stairs to her office on the third floor. During her time as a curator, she'd come across tons of artifacts. But she'd never experienced such a pull toward any of them.
When she reached her tiny, cramped office, she sank into her desk chair. Leaning forward, she placed her head on her knees, another technique she'd learned from a therapist. She hadn't had an episode in nearly a year. She'd foolishly thought they were over, and that living in Greece, with her frequent trips to the surrounding islands and beaches had relaxed her enough to cease whatever the hell was wrong with her.
For as long as she could remember, she'd felt a . . . restlessness. It was the best way to describe the pulsating energy that seemed to dwell beneath the surface of her senses. This restlessness had manifested itself as seizures when she was a child, to generalized anxiety disorder and migraines in her teen then adult years. She'd heard unintelligible whispers in her mind, experienced magnetic pulls toward random people and places, and nightmares filled with undecipherable images had plagued her sleep.
And there was the constant sense that something was missing. Something that went beyond the loss of her parents, who'd died when she was a teenager. It's just grief, one therapist had told her. Grief makes you feel like there's an abyss in your life. While she did grieve for her parents, even now, thirteen years after they'd died in a car accident, she knew it wasn't grief that made her feel the emptiness. It was something she'd experienced even before they died; a gnawing abyss within her. She'd attempted to combat both her restlessness and emptiness with intellectual pursuits—advanced degrees, a brief stint in academia then the archeological field, and finally museum curation. She even moved frequently, often taking temporary positions at museums. Changing her environment seemed to help; a little. But no matter what, she always settled into that same emptiness. That persistent sensation that something was missing . . . but she had no idea what it was.
"Naomi?"
"I was feeling dizzy," Naomi said, forcing a smile as she reached for a bottle of water on her desk. "I made the mistake of skipping lunch."
"This heat has been crazy," Emma said, plopping down in an empty chair, running a hand through her long auburn hair, which was damp with sweat. "I keep bugging Stelios to fix the AC. He doesn't seem to care if his museum staff dies of heatstroke," she added, rolling her eyes. "How were the artifacts from the field team? I wanted to come down but I got pulled into a meeting. They want to get as much work out of me as they can before I leave."
"Nothing exceptional," Naomi lied, avoiding Emma's curious gaze. "Just a typical horde of artifacts from the late Bronze Age—mostly tools, some tablets. We can fit most of them in our regular exhibits."
She felt silly for not mentioning the mysterious clay tablet, but she feared even discussing it would increase the artifact's magnetic pull on her.
"Bummer," Emma replied, looking disappointed, "I was hoping the field team would bring a valuable artifact in on my last day here."
"Speaking of your last day," Naomi said, eager to change the subject. "What should we do for your farewell shindig?"
"Drinking, of course," Emma replied, her brown eyes twinkling. "Let's go to Komi's Tavern."
"Sounds like a plan," Naomi said with a grin. A night out on the town would be good for her.
Emma stood to leave, but she lingered by the doorway.
"Sure you're all right?" she asked. "You look a little pale."
