"I will not beg you." His tone was taut and oddly neutral. Judging by the thin set of his mouth, he was finding the words more than a bit difficult to say. "The decision is yours to make." He fixed his dark stare on her face, refusing to flinch or back down. "Do you want to die?"
Still, she did not answer. For a long time there was only the silence between them.
"I--I don't know…" She let her lids drop shut, welcoming the darkness. How she wished she could just vanish into its depths; cease to breathe, cease to be.
He grasped her chin, lifted her face. She kept her eyes tightly shut, afraid of what she might see in his face if she opened them.
"Please, caile," he whispered. "Look at me."
His imploring tone made her slowly lift her lashes. When their gazes met and held, a slight wisp of a smile turned up one corner of his lips. She noticed the sheen in his black eyes, the concerned look that softened his normally severe features. She also felt the very slight trembling of his hand. "I am more than you think I am." He traced his thumb over her mouth. "I once believed death is what I wanted. It fed the sadist in me. I glutted myself on self-hatred and washed it down with the blood I drew from my veins. You cannot loathe me anymore than I already do myself."
Tears rushed to her eyes even as her stomach lurched at the sound of his deep, silky tenor woven through with his rich accent. The man never failed to make her feel like a weak-kneed teenager. Sorrow and confusion clawed at the edges of her brain. She struggled to hold it at bay, but her self-control was taking a lot of hard hits. She took a deep breath to steady her thoughts. Letting her own passions cool, she spoke with clear straightforwardness.
"How could I ever forgive you?" she asked. "How could I ever completely trust you?"
A shadow of uncertainty crossed his handsome features. He stared at her, his face impassive but his eyes failing to conceal his inner agony. She realized then that the man inside was close to disintegrating even as the assassin in him was preparing to reemerge.
"The sin is not yours to forgive," he said gently. "All I can ask is that you do trust me. I will not lie to you again."
Untangling her tightly clenched hands, he placed the ring in the center of her scarred palm, closing her fingers around the small gold circle. Though the memory was blurred by fear and pain, she remembered Xavier having it, encased in crystal. Its face was scored with strange symbols and it felt warm against her skin, as though lit from within some strange energy. The hand holding the ring began to tremble. Emotion closed her windpipe and this time when her eyes seared over with tears, she could not easily blink them away, was not sure she wanted to. Morgan had concealed himself behind his unbendable façade for so long that it was stunning to witness him trying so damn hard to be gentle and tender with her. For a man so out of practice, she thought, he was doing an admirable job.
"The essence of my self is in your hand," he said, repeating the sorcerer's litany. "My body, my mind, my soul, the very blood coursing through my veins. Open your mind and let the memories trapped inside it in. Then the truth will be known."
Julienne closed her eyes again. She could feel the pulse of a minute heartbeat. Her own or another? She concentrated, and the resonant messages the ring sent coursing through her flooded her mind with visions. The sensation was much like a faraway voice whispering on a soft night wind, telling the tale of a tragedy lost in the swirling past of another world.
Passions had run hot then, twisted by a war that found its beginning in the hearts of beings who dared pursue the power of the gods. Jealousy and vengeance were the passwords for betrayal and murder, and all had played without regard for innocent lives.
She slowly opened her hand. The gold created of the body of an unborn child glistened against her pale skin. She looked to Morgan, searching his eyes for confirmation of the unspeakable truth that during a time of war, women and children were sometimes the collateral damages paid between men. He had been carrying that burden around through centuries, lacerating himself with the guilt.
"Of all my failures, this ring represents my greatest." In the same quiet, almost emotionless voice, he went on to say, "But I could not let that child be born into such damnation. I consciously made the decision to kill Nisidia and acted on it." He hesitated, then forced himself to finish. "And…when I did, I realized the potential I possessed to become pure evil, eclipsing even Xavier in the damage he could inflict."
He drew in a sharp breath. His utterance hurt more than a blade slicing through vulnerable veins, a flurry of emotions boiling under the surface of his studied control.
"Xavier exacted his revenge on me, lifting the child from Nisidia's womb, creating this circle that bound me to serve him. Having it now, I am still no freer. Mine is not the hand that can destroy it, send it back to the fire that gave it form. It will always be there, a shadow over my head that will forever threaten my freedom, my legacy…my very soul. Hardly something I want to live with through eternity."
Julienne wavered. She could see the ravages of pain, regret and guilt etched around the edges of his eyes and mouth. He was not wholly human, but neither was he immune to the injuries of life, of the heart.
Fresh tears began to fill her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks in a torrent. It had taken a great deal of courage to tell her what he had. How hard it must have been for him to reveal such undesirable parts of his past, much like opening an old scar to reach a bone that is cancerous. For the first time, she saw him as truly vulnerable, a man driven by a kaleidoscope of emotions he struggled to keep from lovers and strangers alike. She realized that Morgan had never gotten beyond his past, that he could find no peace because he could not stop stabbing at the beast called conscience, the beast that pushed him ever closer toward total mental collapse. He could punish himself with the memories until hell froze over, but the bottom line was that what had happened had served to turned him from a path that would have been a thousand times more destructive--on him and on others. She barely repressed a shiver at the idea.
Far from being a man harboring no sense of right and wrong, he could not forget the unspeakable deed he had committed. Too late did he learn that not even death was an escape from the occult when it had a hold on the soul. It was a disillusioning lesson to learn, one he would probably destroy himself over if he did not finally come to terms with his past and what he really was. She could only hope his suicidal impulses could be balanced with the other side of his psyche, that of the sane and sensible survivor.
"Old sins can be forgiven by all the people they affect," she whispered. "I can forgive." Spurred by an overwhelming need to touch him, to hold him and soothe away his anguish, she put her arms around his neck and buried her face in the soft hollow of his shoulder, pressing her body into the circle of his arms. She clutched the ring tightly in her grip. It felt so right be there, so fantastically right. He would take care of her. She hugged him harder, wishing their embrace never had to end. Time ceased to matter and reality did not intrude. They simply remained together, purging themselves of old hurts that cut too deeply to be expressed with mere words.
When the storm had passed, he gently untangled himself from her hold, then ran his hands through his thick hair, leaving wavy furrows in the wild mane that only made him look incredibly sexy.
The creases between his brows deepened. "I know I am not the easiest man to be with," he said, voice a bit hoarse, "but you have shown me what is possible when you try to love someone for who they are. I want to honor our mating and give you what you have given me."
Their eyes met and locked. The space between them seemed to grow smaller, more intimate. The wavering candlelight washed the den with dancing shadows as the flames licked their way down the wicks. He reached out and claimed her hand, cradling it in both of his. His touch was gentle but firm, potent in the way it sent a warm thrill through her body. It was a touch that said he knew what he wanted and he was going after it, no holds barred.
She flushed, relishing his caress. He
had always been one to defy ritual and tradition, go his own way and damn the consequences. In her own way, she'd done the same thing. If she held his history against him, she'd have to choose to walk away from him. She wasn't prepared to do that--not even if she was yet to live forever and a day.
Chapter Twenty
Traveling between the veils dividing the dimensions was as simple as walking through a door. So Julienne was to discover when she followed Morgan through the portal he created. They passed into grayness, emerging in Sclyd. One moment she was walking a shimmering path, the next she was stepping through a set of double doors. The experience left her dizzy. She felt weightless, a wraith, a shimmer of frost riding night-chilled air.
Befuddled, she continued out onto a balcony where he waited and grasped the stone rail. The view of the foyer was fantastic. Oversized candles in sconces lit the chamber, their illumination jagged, cold. A flicker caught her attention; she looked across to the stained glass windows and intently studied the workmanship.
The lion wore a wreath of laurel on his head. In the big cat's mouth were the broken remains of a dove. Beautiful but savage was her perception of the lions depicted in the glass. Cruel. She shivered. There was no mistaking the symbolism. The lion was betrayal and death, the dove an innocent victim.
"Those lions, do they mean anything?"
"They represent the Ese-Yeveanston coat of arms, the Spanish half of my bloodline. Aithnichear an leomhan air scriob de iongann."
She smiled in mock exasperation. "I still don't understand half of what you say." She knew his father had been Basque, his mother Black Irish.
"The lion is known by the scratch of his claw."
"Ah, must be a hell of a scratch, then."
"Cad a dhéanfadh mac an chait, ach luch a mharú," he said, then translated, "What would the son of the cat do but kill mice?"
"So, your name it isn't 'Saint-Evanston?'"
His stern lips held the shadow of a frown. "It has been modified through time."
She nodded. Interesting. Slowly, she was gleaning more. "And your first name?"
"Has also changed."
"Care to say what it was?"
"No." His reply was a smothered monosyllable. He passed her, descending the stairway.
Julienne hurried to catch him. "Then this was your home?"
"Once."
"God, this is huge."
She turned around, looking every which way. She saw five wide steps leading up to doors with a thick plank spanning them, locked into place by two iron staples embedded into the stone on both sides. Crude, it served the purpose of keeping unwanted intruders out.
To the right, an open doorway led to a hall. To the left, a stone staircase climbed to the balcony high overhead behind which was a second set of doors. A few feet from the bottom of the staircase was another single-arched door. There were not too many choices of a way to go.
Expectantly, she glanced at Morgan. He indicated left. Pushing the door open, he proceeded into the dim depth and beckoned for her to follow. His footsteps seemed muffled, soundless, in this abandoned place.
They came to a second balcony, this one overlooking a den twenty-five steep steps below. Wavering candlelight washed the chamber with dancing shadows. Enchanted by the unusual design, she stepped forward and grasped the wood banister; she could feel the carvings decorating its face. She surveyed the ruins below. A strange sense of recognition crept into the forefront of her brain. "I've been here before."
"Impossible," Morgan started to say.
She hushed him. "No, it's true. I have visited this place." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "The night grandmother died, she showed me--"
Words trailing off, Julienne descended the stairs, almost tripping in her haste. Once below, she could clearly see the signs of a very violent struggle in the shattered chess table and other upended pieces of furniture. The chessmen were strewn all around like slain soldiers. She bent to pick one up. The ivory was smooth, perfectly carved. The black King. The Grim Reaper. How ironic.
Morgan came down the stairs behind her. "What did Anlese show you?" Brows knitted, his eyes glowed like amber coals. She had clearly captured his attention.
She remembered what she had seen and she wished to God she didn't. Nausea curled through her stomach. Tightening her grip on the playing piece, she drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You," she murmured. "Your murder."
Brows drawing down in consternation, a strange expression of bewilderment flitted across Morgan's features. Eyes darkening with curiosity, he asked, "Are you sure?"
"Yes." Finding the place she recognized, she knelt. The floor was still stained by the spread of a rusty pool. "Here."
Setting the playing piece down, she reached out, touching it. Tears misted her eyes. "I can see it now… so clearly…" The tips of her fingers began to tingle, as though the dried blood were infused with electricity. The strange sensation widened, traveling up her arm, up her neck, straight into the core of her brain. She flinched, drawing her quivering hand away.
"No," she moaned, shaking her head. "I don't want to see it again…"
Morgan knelt beside her. "Let it come," he said gently. "It is all right to use your gift." As though his words were knife blades, she winced and shook her head. He persisted. Taking her hand, he guided it back to the floor. This time, she did not try to pull away.
Julienne went perfectly still as a whirling vortex of images lit up across her mind's screen. Just as she'd earlier seen the images trapped in Morgan's ring, she now saw what had happened to Morgan after he'd departed Xavier's dungeon. The air around her seemed to crackle. She shivered. She could not think. She could not react. She could only watch in wordless horror as a fierce battle between two men played out. Morgan was wounded, weakening. The other man was larger, wounded a little, but still the stronger combatant.
It took only seconds for the events to occur. In an instant, she saw everything, knew everything that had happened. Then, the strange sensations dissipated as rapidly as they'd come into her mind. Her whole body trembled with shock, despair and anger. She could still visualize how Morgan had looked; so still and pale, seeming hardly a man, but a figure cast in wax. That's how white his flesh had appeared to her eyes.
She lifted her gaze to his face. "It's true, isn't it? You nearly died here after leaving me."
A strange expression crossed his face, as though he wanted to deny the truth. But there was no point in denial. "Yes."
"What was his name?" The ferocity of her words stunned her--more a primal growl than anything a human would utter. "The man who tried to kill you?"
"Azoroath."
"One of Xavier's soldiers?"
"Yes."
"And more will come, won't they? Xavier… Megwn… Others who see you as an outlaw. The killing in this warped place doesn't ever stop, does it?" Fear washed over her, gaining in its intensity as she considered the strengths of the opposing forces Morgan challenged. In joining him, his crusade would become hers.
Morgan drew her to her feet and smiled in that familiar insolent way, a smile that could chill the blood or cause it to seize in desire depending on the emotion he put behind it. "Now is not the time to think of that," he said in a low voice. His expression grew serious. "We have to concentrate on what lies ahead of us this hour. You are going to be very powerful, Julienne. You tapped into what happened here earlier without thinking twice. In time, with training, you will have more control over it. I promise."
She swallowed, knotting her hands. His words were true. She was not yet in control, but she was learning to let it guide her. Such recognition was awesome, and frightening. There was no way she could deny it, either. Her own grandmother had pledged her soul to the occult long before Julienne's birth. Destiny or damnation? She was in too deep to back out.
"It still scares the hell out of me," she admitted, voice wavering. In body, mind and emotion, the balances were still delicate, and violent. There was a dynamic force within her, one t
hat was attempting to emerge with an abruptness that was terrifying. She had not yet learned to brace herself against the shocks such a power would inflict. She could imagine herself exploding into a senseless idiocy if she did not learn to master and control her gifts. That was her mother's mistake. Instead of embracing her power, Cassandra had turned away, and it had driven her mad.
Needing to compose herself, she began to walk around the chamber. There were so many things to face and very little time to make sense of it all.
"So, this is where you belonged all this time."
He grimaced slightly and shrugged. "The old place has fallen to decay. Sometimes I think both of us are well past out time."
She walked the length of the bar. The bookshelves caught her attention, and she moved into the shadows for a closer look. Many of the manuscripts lying closed on their sides were so huge she doubted she could have lifted them, nor decipher their ancient scripts.
"This makes the library at home look like a child's room."
Between the books, unusual curios peered out. Idly, she reached to brush away the thick webs and picked one up. She squealed and dropped the thing when she realized what she was holding, a small skull with elongated canines.
"What is that?" She bent down to poke at it with a curious finger.
He picked up the skull and set it back in its place. "Ironically, it is the skull of one of Xavier's mutants, the first he attempted. They were flawed creatures, incredibly stupid and near-worthless. It took him many years to perfect his spell."
She shuddered. "It's what's inside me, isn't it""
"Hardly. The creature inside you is far more advanced. Because of this, it can be restructured."
"When does it happen, this change?"
Morgan crossed the den, indicating that she should follow. "Now."
He paused at the end of the bar and lifted his hand. A section of the wall melted under his touch to reveal a hidden entrance. He disappeared into the dim tunnel.
Descent of Demons Page 22
