by Julie Leto
“Rogan never would have strayed far from the source of his magic. If he planned to hide from the raiders in the portrait, it stands to reason that the source is there as well.”
“Do you mean…” Damon asked, his eyes as round as silver coins.
“Yes,” Paschal verified. “You’ve had the source all along.”
“And the necklace? If it’s the key, why didn’t it work for you?”
“It did. To a point. I was able to breech the castle’s defenses. But to release the portrait’s subject, Rogan had introduced a failsafe I’ve only now figured out.” His eyes darted between Damon and Alexa and a smile, curved with naughty innuendo, spread across his face. “Clearly, the charm only works when in the hands of a person who desires the person within. Collette caught a glimpse of me in the mirror the day she found me. The way she told it, she was instantly, well”—he cleared his throat and cast a guilty look toward his son—”intrigued by me. She’d found the mirror at a time in her life when she was yearning for some delight to cancel the horrors of war. Sarina would have, at least in Rogan’s mind,” Paschal said politically, “desired to be with him. Need, I’m afraid, is the crucial element.”
“You mean lust,” Cat quipped. “He meant for Sarina to free him all along and he was counting on her being hot for him.”
Everyone ignored Damon’s growl.
“Possibly,” Paschal replied. “She did have the key and she did—the diary proves it,” he directed at Damon, “want to be with Rogan more than anything.”
Damon’s nostrils flared. He stomped nearer to his brother and punctuated his words by jabbing his finger in the air. “The night I was entrapped, I found the necklace on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. She abandoned him. She left him.”
“Possibly,” Paschal conceded. “We may never know.”
Tempted as she was, Alexa couldn’t allow herself to be swept into the romance of Sarina and Rogan’s affair. For one, the topic infuriated Damon. And second, it did nothing to save her lover, who was even now growing paler with the sunrise.
“This is a great story,” she snapped, “but now we need to find the magic. Tell us where it is.”
Paschal looked at her, shocked. “I have no idea where it is, my dear. But Damon does.”
Thirty
Damon’s skin felt as if it were wrapped in cotton. Muffled. Light. Soon, he’d lose his corporeal form. He had no idea if he could free himself in that state, and frankly, he didn’t want to try. He’d waited long enough.
He’d missed so much. His younger brother, the shadow twin to the loquacious Logan, had grown old and had searched for his missing brothers entirely alone. He’d made great progress, but now Damon had to take the torch. With his preserved youth and Paxton’s superior research, they could track down Aiden, Colin, Logan and Rafe and free them from the curse that had likely captured them all.
Unless they’d been freed already, as Paxton had. Unless they’d already lived out their lives and died?
Not willing to risk an overload of emotions when time was so short, he pushed that possibility away. He wanted the source and he wanted it now. He thought hard. What was in the painting? The cat?
He called to the beast, but it did not materialize.
“I do not think the cat was the source. To put something so valuable in a living thing would be risky indeed,” Paschal offered.
Damon’s mind swirled. His gaze roamed across the room until he spotted Alexa’s bag, over which she’d draped Rogan’s cloak.
The cloak! Of course. It had been with him in the portrait the entire time. With purposeful strides, he crossed the room and retrieved the cursed fabric with an insistent yank. The brooch on the collar flamed to life, mocking him with its blatancy.
“How could I not have known?” He shook the cloak angrily.
Alexa glanced up at him, perplexed, for only a moment before all the pieces fell together in her mind. “The opal?” she asked.
Paxton hummed. “A wise possibility. A beautiful stone. Very valuable, in and of itself. And I don’t think I ever saw Rogan without it. He used to toy with it, remember, Damon? Roll it in his hand after dinner when he’d sit by the fire with you and Father over port and politics. I venture to guess that no matter how lovely or precious the gem, you left the cloak precisely where it was, hanging over Rogan’s chair, never touching it, never wanting anything associated with Rogan near your skin.”
Cat crossed her arms and whistled at Rogan’s cleverness. “The perfect hiding place. He put it in the painting. Only by releasing you could anyone retrieve it—and once you were out, the place where he’d hidden the stone was the last place you’d want to be.”
Damon allowed himself a second to admire his enemy’s brilliance, then another realization hit him.
“I’ve always had the power to free myself. It was right beside me the whole time.”
Paxton clucked his tongue. “No, you needed Alexa to awaken you. And you needed me to fill in the blanks. Of course, all we have right now is supposition based on an old man’s educated guesses. We won’t know if my theory is true until you take the stone and will yourself free.”
Stepping back, Damon shook out the cloak and spun it so it would fall across his shoulders. But before the material could settle against his shirt, Alexa ripped the cape from his hands.
“No, wait!”
He yanked the cloak back. “There’s no time for delay.” Grabbing her by the arm, he led her into the dining hall to the nearest window. The stained glass glowed with the rising sun.
“Why are you stopping me?”
“The magic, Damon. The cloak and the opal are filled with it. Even Paschal isn’t sure the magic will set you free. And even if it does, it could corrupt your soul for good. We need to wait. Slow down. Think about this.”
Alexa clutched the cloak against her chest with such desperation, her fingers turned red, matching the rise in her cheeks.
He grabbed one of her hands, stroking it softly until the muscles in her fingers relaxed. “You know there is no time, my love.” He glanced over his shoulder at Paxton, Ben and Cat, who were watching them expectantly. “If the K’vr went to great lengths to capture my brother, we cannot assume they will stop pursuing him or the magic’s source. And Paxton said the other faction is also searching and that it was they who had the necklace before and perhaps saw to it that you…”
He let his words die away, but Alexa wasn’t a fool. She knew exactly what he meant.
“Jacob isn’t a member of any cult,” she claimed, but the words sounded entirely hollow.
“You told me yourself you are not close with him, that you do not delve into his private life. Judging by his actions in the past, a sect devoted to an ancient sorcerer might be very seductive to your brother.”
“Stepbrother.” This came from Cat, who’d stopped at the doorway. “He gave you the necklace, Alexa. And right after you put it on, you were miraculously allowed entrance to both the island and the house. That’s no coincidence. And then there’s the matter of the island itself. He’s the one who brought you the codicil. You say you own this island—”
“I do,” Alexa insisted. “I have the deeds. Chandler Enterprises has been paying the taxes on the land for years. Jacob”—she stumbled over the name—”showed me the records himself.”
“Then the state of Florida is getting more than its fair share,” Ben said, sidling up behind Cat. “My father never sold this land, Miss Chandler. This castle, this island, belong to him.”
With Damon at her heels, Alexa stomped into the other room. She stopped hard when she saw Paxton relaxed in the chair, his eyes fixed on some faraway place. Perhaps into the past. He snapped to attention once he sensed their presence.
“What? Did the cloak work?”
“You still own the island?” she asked. “You didn’t sell it to my father or lose it in another poker game or—?”
Paxton frowned, as if he hated imparting the truth to Alexa. “I’m sorr
y, Miss Chandler. I never would have sold this land, knowing that my brother might possibly be trapped here. Documents such as deeds can be forged, apparently. I’m afraid you’ve been duped.”
Alexa dropped back, flush against Damon’s chest. He longed to wrap his arms around her and help her through this heartbreak. More than anyone in the room, with the possible exception of Cat, he knew how she’d pinned more than just her financial hopes on the castle she’d inherited from her father. The discovery of the deed had not only reawakened old fantasies, but connected her on a deeply personal level to a man she missed more than she’d admit to anyone. Even herself.
But Damon couldn’t be the man she needed now if he was nothing more than a phantom, locked in the night. Perhaps that was the rub in this whole scenario. No matter how much he cared for her—loved her, even—Damon could not be Alexa’s lover beyond these seductive castle walls until and unless he risked his soul to become whole again.
Cat slipped next to Alexa and threw her arm lovingly across her shoulders. Damon stepped aside and, with his eyes locked with his brother’s, drew Rogan’s cloak around him and fastened the clasp. He then laid his hand over the opal brooch, closed his eyes and called to the magic to restore him to a full and free life.
Instantly, waves of prickly heat shot through his body, starting at his hand and spreading like wildfire. His heartbeat accelerated and his lungs seemed to enlarge so that they felt entirely too thick and full to be contained in his chest. Bright flashes of light appeared in his eyes, but no one else in the room moved or reacted, so he knew only he could see the fireworks. The explosions came faster and faster until his muscles constricted and he threw his fists against his eyes to keep them from popping out of his head.
“Damon?”
The voice pierced through the pounding in his brain. He felt a hand wrap around his wrist and knew it must be her. But if the magic did corrupt him, she couldn’t be the closest. He might hurt her. He tore out of her grip and staggered away.
Fire coursed through his blood like knives, stripping him from the inside out. He could no longer contain a scream, and seconds later, the agonized sounds echoed against the sparkling stone all around him.
Somewhere beyond the pain, he heard Alexa’s voice. Was she calling him? Cursing him?
He collapsed. In a fog of awareness, he heard Alexa demanding that Ben help her remove the cloak. Paxton argued vehemently, ordering them away.
“Let him be!” Paxton shouted.
And yet, he could feel Alexa cradling his head in her lap. He struggled, but opened his eyes to a growing brightness, and in the center of his vision was the woman he loved. Her red hair gleamed in the streaming sunlight. She had, indeed, affected his destiny, as the Gypsy woman predicted. In every way possible.
“Damon? Say something. Are you all right?”
He groaned, then tested his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I believe…I am.”
Control returned to his muscles. Pain receded, and after a deep breath, he raised himself off the floor.
The cloak now felt like a soft caress around his shoulders.
Otherwise, nothing else had changed.
Alexa’s eyes brimmed with moisture. She hadn’t yet cried, but was on the verge. He chose his words carefully, holding his hand out to her. “I’m fine, Alexa.”
She hiccupped and then laughed. “You don’t feel an irresistible urge to kill me?”
He chuckled. “No.”
Cat clucked her tongue. “Just wait. The time will come.”
Alexa rushed into his arms, and the sensations of her embrace erased any memory of the agony he’d experienced.
“But how do we know you’re alive?” she asked, looking up at him expectantly. “You’re solid now, but how long will it last?”
He stared at the sunlight now turning the crimson glass in the window into bright scarlet. “There’s only one way to find out for sure.”
Despite the apprehension marring Alexa’s lovely face, he marched to the door and touched the handle. The sky remained bright. No storm brewed. He felt no resistance as he pressed the latch. He sucked in a breath, tugged and was instantly bathed in new morning sunlight.
He blinked, then, realizing he was holding his breath, he exhaled audibly. He reached behind him and Alexa instantly took his hand. He stood there with her, in the doorway between his former prison and freedom, breathing in the fresh salt air and listening to the gentle rustling of the wind through the strange, spiky plants that surrounded the castle. His life, after nearly three centuries, had finally begun.
Tentatively, he took a step outside the threshold. He glanced up at the sky, which was blossoming with an array of colors, from lavender to pink to tangerine, with hints of blue that foretold a clear and brilliant day. As his boot crunched on the step, covered in sand and crushed shell, he turned toward Alexa, and with no words to express his elation, bent down to kiss her sweet lips and make his rebirth complete.
But before his mouth could press against hers, pain tore into him, the hot agony preceded by a sharp report. The world rocked. His legs buckled. His vision swirled. His knees slammed hard on the stone when he fell, but the only sound he could hear was Alexa screaming his name.
Thirty One
Alexa drew her hand away from the hot, slick liquid oozing from Damon’s back. Blood. Oh, God. He was real. And he was dying.
On the path leading up to the castle, she saw the barrel of a gun. Pointed at her. A man. Two, maybe. With nowhere to hide, she tried to drag Damon’s body inside. The weight of his unconscious body overwhelmed her. Suddenly four hands dragged them both inside. The door slammed dosed behind them.
Ben cursed. “There’s no lock!”
Alexa saw Damon’s eyelids flutter. Ben had immediately rolled him over and was applying pressure to the wound.
“He’s alive.”
“But for how long?” Alexa cried. “Whoever shot him is coming this way.”
“Barricade the door,” Paschal shouted, limping fast to his brother’s side.
“With what?” Cat screamed.
Alexa watched Damon weakly stretch his fingers toward the door. He mumbled, then fell silent.
Ben tugged again on the latch. It wouldn’t budge.
Alexa’s heart froze. Damon had just broken free of the curse and the castle without surrendering his soul. But what would happen now if he employed the magic?
“No more magic!” she begged him, even as he struggled with consciousness.
Cat tore off the shirt she wore over her tank top and handed the material to Ben to staunch the bleeding. “Can we use it to heal him?”
Alexa shook her head wildly. “He tried to use the magic to heal himself before and it didn’t work. Now he’s too weak.” She stamped her foot and shouted in frustration. “This isn’t fair! He’d just gotten his life back. Who would do this?”
Paschal hurried back into the dining hall and dragged a chair to the window so he could peer out of the few clear strips in the stained glass. “There’s a whole group. At least four. Maybe five.”
Alexa looked desperately at Cat, who nodded at her reassuringly. Ben seemed to know what he was doing. She had to take control of finding out who had just shot her lover. And why.
“He can’t heal himself,” she offered, “but he might be able to conjure what you need to help him.”
She rationalized that small magic wouldn’t affect him. It hadn’t before. Only when he’d pushed beyond the limits of a quick conjure or a fast disappearance had he suffered the aftereffects of the evil.
“He’s not entirely conscious,” Ben said, his eyes—so like Damon’s, she now noticed—flashing with hopelessness and fear.
“Try,” Alexa ordered before running into the other room to join Paschal at the window.
“Will the charm protect me from guns?” she asked.
Paschal frowned. “Only from Rogan’s magic. I’m sorry.”
“Who are they?”
“K’vr, un
doubtedly. Trouble is, which side?”
“Does it matter?”
“I was not the soldier in the family, but I have learned that the identity of your enemy always matters. We could hole up here indefinitely, I suppose, with the magic at our disposal, but they’d only send reinforcements. And though Ben has picked up some battlefield medicine during his days as an adventurer, he’s no surgeon.”
“My phone!”
Alexa dashed back into the other room and dug into her bag until she found her satellite phone. She dialed so quickly, she missed a number and had to start again. Finally, she had Paulie on the other end of the line. She explained as quickly as possible and her captain promised to send the Coast Guard right away. Alexa then threatened Paulie with the loss of her job, her captain’s license, her lease and her student loans if she came anywhere near the island alone.
“Help’s coming,” Alexa told them, but with no sense of relief. Damon was still hurt, though he had regained consciousness.
Ben and Cat had rolled Damon onto his back, though they’d elevated him against the chair they’d dragged into the hallway. Cat tilted a bottle of something into Damon’s mouth. He grimaced, but swallowed.
“I went three centuries,” he coughed, “without sustaining a mortal wound. I don’t intend to die today.”
Alexa allowed herself a dose of happiness, her heart bursting with love for this man—yes, a man!— who’d come into her life as nothing more than a fantasy. “You won’t die. As soon as the Coast Guard comes—”
Alexa jumped when someone pounded on the door from the other side, then ducked out of the way when what sounded like a hail of gunfire blasted against the thick wood. All of them ducked, but the bullets failed to penetrate the castle’s defenses, magical or physical.
She looked up when the hammering stopped.
“Alexa Chandler!”
The voice was muffled, but the name was clear. “Alexa, please!”
“Jacob,” she breathed, her stomach dropping. Cat ran toward her. “This could be a trap.”
“It’s Jacob,” she insisted.
“With the gunmen,” Cat pointed out.
