Tormented by Darkness

by Claire Ashgrove

  Her fingers trembled, making fastening the clasp difficult. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, willing her hands to cooperate. On the third try, the clasp grabbed, and Rhiannon stepped away. With one last lingering look at his harsh expression, she memorized his face and murmured, “Èasca.”

  Mick’s posture gave, and he crumpled forward with a gasp. He gave her one second of intolerable silence, before he exploded, “What the fuck?”

  Rhiannon cringed. She backed up a step. “I know you’re angry.”

  “You’re damn right I am!” He shot to his feet, his expression murderous. “You asked me to go camping, not to be your goddamn guinea pig!”

  ****

  Pissed off didn’t begin to describe the level of anger boiling in Mick’s veins. Not so much at Rhiannon—no, that part of him was grateful to see her standing in his bedroom. He was more enraged about his will being taken from him and the last two and a half hours he’d sat in this chair, left to wonder what had happened to her. Still, she wasn’t completely faultless. She’d started this mess. Now he wanted answers. Why him? Had she planned this all along? What the hell had he seen out there in the mountains?

  “I’m sorry, Mick.” As a tear trickled down her porcelain cheek, she took another step away from him. “I’ll go. Just promise me you won’t take that off.”

  He clamped a hand around her wrist, halting her retreat. “You’re not going anywhere, Rhiannon.”

  With a short nod, she bowed her head and brought her other hand even with the one he held. Offering her wrists, as if she thought he intended to cuff her. He scowled at the gesture. Like that would do any good—what was he going to charge her with? Spell casting against the innocent? While he was quite certain he could find a carry over from history like that in the books, the DA would laugh him out of a job.

  “Sit down,” he instructed. “I want fucking answers.”

  Surprise widened her eyes, but she dropped to the edge of his chair like boulders had fallen upon her shoulders.

  “Why me?”

  “Why…you…?”

  Mick pursed his lips to temper another angry oath. When the urge to pound his hand into the wall passed, he bit out, “Yes. Why did you choose me?”

  “I didn’t choose you.” Her troubled gaze searched his face. “I fell in love with you, Mick. I told you about the curse.”

  “So that wasn’t a lie? Not something you made up to make me more receptive to what you had planned?”

  Her face washed with so much white that for a second he thought she might pass out. The gut-deep urge to go to her and offer comfort rose to choke him. He fought it down, determined to have answers before he even considered the other half of his feelings for this bewitching woman.

  “No, Mick,” she answered, her voice nearly inaudible. “I meant every word of it.”

  The sheer emotion that clung to her clogged words knocked him sideways. He’d prepared to hear stuttered excuses, a rehearsed speech that justified why she had lured him into the hills. Like all the other suspects he interrogated, he expected defensive lies.

  Not truth that rang so clearly it doubled him over inside.

  He sucked in a deep breath, some of his anger deflating. He pushed a hand through his hair. “The curse, your father…that’s all true too?”

  Rhiannon nodded.

  Jesus, Joseph and Mary—if anyone else heard this he’d never get over the ridicule. But he had witnessed the impossible several times over tonight. Experienced it firsthand. Though every fiber of his logical being argued it was all some fantastical bad dream, he couldn’t deny the truth.

  Sinking onto the edge of his mattress, he dropped his head into his hands. Truth. Magic, demons, curses, and immortality—all truth. How was that even possible?

  “How old are you?” The question popped out of its own accord, his throat already tightening at the answer he knew he’d hear.

  “I was born in 189.” She hesitated, then added, “B.C. Or thereabouts.”

  Behind the fingers that veiled his face, his eyes widened to twice their normal size. Over two thousand years old? This was insane.

  He chewed on what he knew, what he understood to be factual, despite the illogical nature of everything. Silence hung in a thick, oppressive curtain, the only slight noise, the scratch of her unsteady breathing. That rhythmic sound filtered through layers of anger, hurt, and disbelief, drawing him into all the other emotions he tried to repress. Namely, how very much he wanted to touch Rhiannon. But uncertainty of where this left them kept him from rushing across the room and gathering her into his arms.

  “What next?” he whispered.

  The chair cushion rustled as she shifted. “That depends on you, Mick.”

  Unable to believe he’d heard her correctly, he parted his fingers enough to peek at her expression. “Me?” he echoed.

  “It’s your choice where we go from here.”

  Where they went from here. That meant he held control of his future, that it wasn’t wrapped up in some magical outcome. Accept her and all she was, and take the chance that when she realized the truth behind his honest protests earlier tonight, she wouldn’t walk away.

  Or end it now, while they were both still hurting, but before that pain became an infectious cancer.

  She stood on unsteady legs. “I know it’s a lot to absorb. Take your time, Mick. You know where to find me.” She lingered only a moment before she turned for the door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Rhiannon.”

  Mick’s hoarse voice stilled her hand against the doorknob. She turned, not wanting to confront his final rejection, unable to stop herself from discovering the answer. “Yes?”

  “Come here.”

  Rhiannon blinked. “What?”

  He raised his head on a heavy sigh, parted his knees, and indicated the space between them. “Come here.”

  Elation bubbled. She stamped it down, quickly. He hadn’t said everything was okay. Only asked her to come closer.

  Hesitantly, she obeyed.

  Mick’s gaze lifted to hers, and he pulled the crystal away from his body. “This is to keep Drandar away from me?”

  She nodded. “From hurting you, yes. He might make an appearance, but as long as you’re wearing it, he can’t harm you.”

  “But he could, because I’m mortal.”

  Again, she nodded.

  “Like you are.”

  “Yes.” She let out a tight laugh. “I’m mortal now. And I’m sure he’ll pay me a visit very soon.”

  Letting the crystal fall against the base of his throat, Mick settled his hands at her waist. His gaze held hers, conveying silent messages she couldn’t fully comprehend. “What’s going to keep you safe?”

  A nervous shiver raced down her spine. “I’ll make myself one when I get home.”

  Mick cocked a dark eyebrow. “Your brother doesn’t have the ability to protect you?”

  “No.” The heat from his hands crept beneath her sweatshirt, reminding her of the more enjoyable ways he’d touched her. She shifted against the familiar restlessness, the uncomfortable tightening of her womb. “Cian’s mortal. Our mother shielded him. My other siblings either can’t, or won’t, do anything. Well, Isolde might. But I’m not sure where she is right now.”

  “So there’s no one you can think of who can protect you?”

  Rhiannon shook her head.

  To her consternation, Mick’s mouth quirked with unspent laughter. She frowned at the upturned corners. Nothing she’d said was remotely amusing. “What’s so funny?”

  “You’re hell on a man’s ego.”

  Baffled, she squinted, silently demanding an answer.

  He rewarded her with a genuine chuckle. His hands drifted beneath her sweatshirt and gently slid up to her ribs. Pressure there beckoned her to bend forward.

  “I want the job, Rhiannon.”

  She didn’t have the time to connect his words with the unstated meaning before he guided her onto his thigh and h
is mouth found hers. The tip of his tongue nudged her lips apart, and he invited himself inside.

  A whimper escaped her as she wrapped her arms around his neck and indulged in the kiss. All the clenched together knots that had formed through the night slowly unwound. Pleasant heat sifted through her veins, pooling steadily in the depths of her womb. Mick wanted her. After everything she’d done, her brothers had done, he wanted her.

  Why?

  The need to know interrupted her bliss, and she pushed away from his intoxicating kiss. “Why?”

  Mick rested his forehead against hers. His gaze filled with emotion, and though he didn’t smile, light danced in those dark fathoms. “You get me. You’ve been there. You know what its like to feel like your soul’s divided.” One hand inched further up her body and his warm palm covered her breast. “You make me laugh when I need to. You make me feel things I didn’t know I could.” Expert fingers kneaded the soft flesh in his hand. His voice assumed the roughness of gravel. “And I have never wanted a woman to wake up beside me, the way I want you to.” His thumb swirled over her nipple, instantaneously turning her insides into molten wax. “Every day. For the rest of my life.”

  “Mick,” she exhaled.

  “I told you I won’t let you go, Rhiannon. Not for Drandar, not for your brother.” As he pulled in a shaky breath, his mouth fluttered across hers. “Not until death rips us apart.”

  His lips clasped hers tenderly, sending tears coursing down her cheeks.

  “I love you, Mick.”

  “Ah, sweetheart,” he murmured against her mouth. “Not half as much as I love you.”

  She drew back against the challenge with a playful grin. “No? Should I prove it to you?”

  Chuckling, Mick fell backward onto the bed and pulled her astride his lap. Desire glinted in his eyes, a need that ebbed through his masterful fingertips and sank into her soul. He lifted his hips, stroking her feminine center against the steely ridge of his erection. “You can try. I’ll win though.”

  Rhiannon ground down against him and reveled in the sharpness of his breath, the way he closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “Only if I let you.”

  “Rhiannon?” Dáire’s voice echoed from the stairwell.

  Mick dropped his hands, rolled his eyes to the top of his head, and let out a groan. “Can I kill him please?”

  She let out a laugh. “No. He’s immortal.”

  “I can’t even try?”

  Wriggling her hips against Mick’s, she giggled as she bent forward to press a kiss on the tip of his nose. “Maybe later. Right now, I have better things in mind.”

  As his hips arched into hers, he glanced at the door. “What about your brother?”

  Rhiannon slipped her hands beneath Mick’s shirt to explore the warm planes of muscle there. She grazed her teeth against the side of his neck. “I thought you didn’t give a damn who interrupts?”

  Mick’s hands fastened on her hips again, pressing her down against his hardened cock. “I don’t.”

  Shuddering under the shock of pleasure, she choked out, “Call it…sweet revenge?”

  With a smirk, Mick let out a grunt and rolled her over. His comfortable weight blanketed her body, filling up all the empty spaces in her soul that two thousand years of tormented existence created. She twined her arms around his neck, Dáire forgotten under the tender assault of Mick’s hungry kiss.

  But the pleasure didn’t last long. Mick lifted his head like something startled him. Frowning, he dug through the covers near her head.

  “Rhiannon?” Dáire’s voice echoed in the upstairs hallway. “I’m thinking I should go.”

  Ah, at last, Dáire sensed the true meaning of her skyrocketing emotions. She laughed as Mick rolled his eyes again. “What was your first clue?”

  To her absolute surprise, the bedroom door swung open. Dáire lounged against the doorframe, a smirk dancing on his mouth. “I was thinking maybe we should try this introduction thing again. If I have to share you with him, I figure the sooner the better.”

  As Mick’s lips brushed the shell of her ear, he whispered, “If I can’t kill him I’m going to strangle him.”

  Laughing, Rhiannon launched a pillow at her brother. He shielded his face with his arms, seconds before the harmless missile smacked into the doorframe. He pulled the door shut, but as he retreated, his voice drifted through the door. “Maybe I’ll move in here, instead of with Belen.”

  A low growl rumbled in the back of Mick’s throat, and he pushed his upper body off her. Rhiannon locked her legs around his waist to hold him in place. Giggling, she drew him back into her arms. “He’s not so bad when you get used to him.”

  With a grunt, Mick settled his weight into hers and gave her a false frown. “I’m not going to get used to him. I’m going to lock him out. Permanently.” A grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Maybe I’ll lock him up with my stepsister. Be glad you haven’t met her yet.”

  “You have one of those too, huh?”

  “Oh yeah, she’s a treat.”

  Another laugh trickled from her throat as she feathered her mouth across his. “Wait until you meet the rest of my family.”

  As Mick groaned, Rhiannon shifted her body against his, deliberately stroking his cock. They could worry about her family another day. Right now, she intended to solidify the promises between them. “Where were we?”

  “Right here.” He rocked back, holding himself up on his elbows and dangled a crinkled card in front of her face. “I meant to give it to you at the campsite. Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

  He waited, watchful and smiling as she tore open the envelope and pulled out the card. Quickly, she scanned the warm, prefabricated sentiment within. The words warmed her heart, but the hand written note he’d penned beneath the fancy script brought tears to her eyes.

  May this be the first of many. I want to share them all with you.

  As emotion clogged her throat making it impossible to form words, Mick’s mouth descended upon hers. Softly, gently, he kissed her. Free from the torment of immortal darkness, she twined her arms around his neck and surrendered to the eternal light of love.

  For more in the Inherited Damnation series, you’ll want to read:

  Cursed to Kill

  Inherited Damnation, Book I

  by

  Claire Ashgrove

  Chapter One

  Maine ~ July 30th, Present Day

  Augusta was a nightmarish fiend, determined to destroy Cian McLaine. He slammed his black pickup into park and stared at the rare bookstore in the brick-front house. Building energy in the atmosphere pricked at his skin. The increasing presence of spirits summoned by those who had begun early rituals for Lughnasadh surrounded him. One thought ran through his mind—another birthday.

  Not because he was getting older. No, he’d stopped counting birthdays somewhere around four hundred. Without pausing to calculate, all he knew was he’d been born in the year 200—before the Christians began documenting time with “Christ.” Age no longer mattered. His birthday was yet another grim reminder of what he was. This one too would come, and when the sun rose after the Lughnasadh fires burned out, his veins would still run with the blood of demons.

  Another year had passed, and he was no closer to mortality than he had been ten, fifteen, a hundred years ago.

  This year, however, brought more complications than the usual stirring of his incubus father’s demonic gift. Problems that came with Augusta, Maine, and one Miranda Phillips. If she was inside this bookstore, she’d better run. He didn’t know how much longer he could fight the fierce urge to kill her.

  Taking a deep calming breath, Cian reminded himself Saturdays were her day off. Susan would be working the floor, and he could browse through the collection of rare books without worry. Miranda wouldn’t be here. Like she hadn’t been here every Saturday since he’d fallen in love with her and subsequently walked out of her life. Maybe not every Saturday, but those he’d stopped in on. She hadn’t changed
her pattern in the seven months they spent together, nor the last six. Why should she now?

  He shoved open the truck door and set a foot into the late afternoon sunlight. His muscles unwound as he unfolded his long body, and he turned his face to the heat, soaking it in. Gathering strength from the positive energy of light.

  Go in, see what new stock she has, and leave. Simple. Easy. Just like he did every time he needed a rare, old book. Today, though, his skin felt more itchy than normal. The agitation just below the surface begged for freedom—the kind of freedom that would come with taking someone’s life. Something he’d only done on two occasions, both very early in his existence, and he didn’t wish to experience that horror ever again.

  The front door to the bookstore Miranda kept on the first level of her home opened easily, filling his nose with the scent of must and aged papers. A high-pitched beep alerted Susan that he had entered, and Cian quickly made his way to the far corner of the west side where Miranda shelved Celt and Roman histories. Maybe today he’d find something that related to his ancestry. Maybe he could locate the cryptic words his mother had left behind that would guide her eight children to their salvation.

  Unlikely, but he couldn’t stave off the brief hope.

  “Good afternoon, Cian,” Susan called brightly as he passed the Medieval Studies section.

  Cian waved, forced a smile to his face, and didn’t stop to talk. He was too afraid she’d notice the barely controlled dark power behind his false smile. He shouldn’t have come today. But with his siblings, Rhiannon and Dáire, arriving this afternoon—so he didn’t have to spend his birthday completely alone—he wanted to make sure Miranda didn’t have something new that might help them bring their mother’s spirit to rest.