by Eve Langlais
“We don’t have time to run around senselessly searching.”
“I agree, we don’t.”
“Then what the fuck do you suggest we do?” The beast was winning; the words were practically sounds rather than syllables.
The faint scream echoing out in the ether caught Titus’s attention. He held up his hand to forestall Logan. “Quiet.”
He closed his eyes and listened again. Another whimper. A cry. A woman in the grips of a nightmare she couldn’t stop and broadcasting her pain.
Along with her location.
Titus opened his eyes to see Logan crouched to the ground, sniffing pavement. “We’re not going to find her by scent.”
“Grrr,” was Logan’s reply.
“Don’t growl at me, wolf. Instead, fetch us a vehicle. She is having another of her dark dreams.” So long as she cried out for him, he could follow.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The grasping fingers and gnashing teeth only reluctantly let her escape. Adara regained consciousness from one nightmare to find herself in another. She was bound to a cold stone surface, on her back, nude.
Bad things happen to naked girls.
A whimper emerged from her lips as visions of her past came back to torture her. The gleeful leers of the demons as they’d raped and abused her. The pain as they’d done things to her body that no person should ever suffer. And most of all, fear—a fear tempered by a serenity in the knowledge that it would finally all end.
Why live when living hurt so much? Why not give up when she knew everything or everyone she touched could turn to dust or die? At least by choosing death, she’d save Titus and Logan, who, in their misguided chivalry, thought they could save her.
They don’t seem to realize I’m not worth it. Forsaken…
The word echoed in her mind, rising in pitch until she wanted to scream with the unfairness of it all. What did I do to deserve this?
A chuckle, low and raspy, slid over her with slimy coldness from the dark shadows surrounding her. “At last,” hissed a voice. “I have the prize.”
Adara couldn’t help the shiver that coursed through her body. Her skin pebbled, and her stomach churned with unease. She couldn’t help the whispered, “Why? Why me?”
Once again, chilling laughter sounded, ending in a rasping cough, and she looked to her side to see someone hunched and seated, their features hidden by a deep cowl. “So, you’re the forsaken one. I expected more.”
“Then you’ll be disappointed.”
The necromancer—because who else would have an army of the dead at his back—made a noise. “Where’s the fight? The fire to live?”
“I don’t know how to fight.” And she’d failed at living.
Only as he rolled forward did she realize that he sat in a wheelchair. “They were not kidding when they claimed you were broken in mind and spirit. I am almost disappointed at the ease with which you accept your fate.”
“As if I had a choice,” she replied bitterly, closing her eyes against the tears.
Dry fingers with sharp nails grasped her chin and turned her head. Her eyes flew open, and she beheld the face of evil. Not the demonic, coal skinned, red-eyed, tusked and saber-toothed grin of a demon. No, the face of absolute evil was made more horrifying because of its angelic beauty.
She’d assumed the cowl hid ugliness, but instead, she beheld skin the color of the purest cream. Eyes of intense gray were framed by dark lashes and perfectly arched brows. Cherry-red lips bowed perfectly even as they tilted into a sneer. Hair of deep brown hung in lustrous waves to his shoulders.
“Surprised? Just because the movies portray those with vision as ugly doesn’t mean it’s true. Power, true power, means I can choose the face I want to wear. Not that it matters, I suspect, to you. Vile slut. I would have thought your whoring in the pit would have cured you of the need to spread your legs, but given who you chose to hook up with, I see your time with the Legion only served to whet your depraved appetite. What a shame I have another use for you. I might have enjoyed seeing what it took to make you scream.”
The very thought of being abused again was enough to have her say, “Kill me and be done with it.”
“Ooh, brave words. How surprising. I was under the impression that they’d beaten the spirit right out of you.”
“It doesn’t take bravery to ask to die.”
The fingers gripping her relaxed, and the man leaned back in his wheelchair. “Aren’t you even going to ask who I am and why I need your blood?”
She closed her eyes, blocking out his sneering face. “I don’t care.” Numbness invaded her body and spirit as she waited for him to finish his soliloquy and get on with business.
The blow to her ribs caught her by surprise, and she gasped at the sharp pain. “Bitch. How dare you act like I am insignificant? Do you know who you deal with?” His voice boomed in the chamber, and while she did feel a smidgen of fear, fatigue gripped her most of all. Will my pain never end?
“I am Petrov Rasputin, great-great-grandson of the famed mage and necromancer. You will respect me.” Spittle flew and bathed her face in a moistness that made her gag. Unfortunately for him, the name meant nothing. Nor did she care.
He must have read something of her disinterest in the way she refused to look at him; no matter, he vented his fury upon her. He rained blows upon her strapped body, starting with his fists and covering her in bruises and contusions. She screamed and cried with each hit. She didn’t have the bravery or fortitude to withstand the pain he inflicted. Soon, her voice grew hoarse, and she could only manage whimpers as his beating slowed.
The necromancer’s breathing grew ragged, and when he stopped venting his fury on her, she finally dared to open her eyes. Twisted in sick rage, the angelic features took on a contorted cast as ugly as any demon. Even more revolting, she recognized the light in his eyes.
“I think perhaps I was hasty in dismissing the appeal of watching you use that sweet mouth and sex of yours. I am sure my lieutenants would greatly enjoy your oral attentions before dipping into your honey pot.”
Adara didn’t understand his glee until he called forth his servants, and upon seeing their rotted countenances, she understood. Adara found the breath to scream and scream again as their decaying fingers touched her body and, even more horrifying, they licked the blood from her wounds with slimy, sucking sounds.
Meanwhile, the necromancer cackled. “Are you enjoying their foreplay, Forsaken One? Wait until you get a taste of them. I just hope we don’t lose body parts in your orifices like we did with a previous plaything of theirs. She choked to death before we could get it out. Not that we cared much. She made a fresh addition to our ranks.”
Adara could only keen, her fear almost choking her as she prayed for death to take her. Please.
The necromancer called off his pets. “Enough! I need her blood for the spell.”
“What spell?” she hiccupped past the thick tears clogging her throat.
“The one whereupon I use your blood to make myself whole again. I heard of your recuperative abilities. How you healed the impossible.” He slammed his fist down on a leg. “Your flesh will heal me.”
“You’re insane.”
“I am a visionary. From the moment I heard of you in the emergency room, healing cuts and bruises and even broken bones at breakneck speed, I knew I had to have you. However, I could not get to you. My body betrayed me.” He glared at his lap. “But then I found Rasputin’s spells. Spells to raise the dead that they might serve me. You escaped before they could get their hands on you.”
Was that why Dr. Forrester had hidden her at the asylum? To keep her from this psycho? But then why hand her over now?
“You made a bargain with my doctor?” she asked.
“I made a bargain with someone. A costly one. You weren’t cheap to buy.”
Buy? Like an object. The final indignity might have done it. That or the hand of the necromancer that dared brush across her naked breast.
Whatever the cause, something heaved inside her, shifted, and enflamed her with icy rage. A torrent of words in an unfamiliar voice emerged from her mouth. “Unclean wizard. You wouldn’t dare.”
“I can do anything I like.”
He pinched her nipple.
My nipple.
My body.
How dare he!
A strange strength flooded her veins then. Filling her with energy. Rage.
She tugged at the restraints at her wrist.
Snap. Her left hand was free.
She swiveled her head to smile at the sorcerer. “Are you ready to die?”
“Grab her!” he screamed. “Don’t let her off that table.”
Snap. Her right hand pulled away from the stone tablet, and then she was sitting. Hands grabbed her. Jaws clicked as mouths opened and lunged for a bite.
She shoved a zombie away as she yanked at her legs, the ankle restraints tethering her in place.
They took but a moment to escape, and yet in that blink of an eye, nails raked her skin, teeth clamped onto flesh.
An icy chill filled her.
She looked down to see a black light piercing her chest. She stared over at the necromancer. He cackled as he poured his foul magic into her. Forcing her wounds to bleed and pool in the channels cut into the stone.
Sapping her strength.
“Nooooo!” she screamed as she felt herself succumbing. The darkness of oblivion pulled, promising a respite from the pain.
Is there any point in fighting?
And then she heard it. A familiar shout.
“Hey, asshole, mind if we join the party?”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Rage consumed Logan at what he saw. He’d not wanted to believe Titus when he said he could follow Adara’s magical scream. Yet what other choice did he have?
Turned out, Titus wasn’t lying. They’d found this place, a ramshackle mansion, long abandoned and remote.
Inside, in a subbasement, Logan found his worst nightmare. Not the zombies huddled en masse in the room. Nor the necromancer with his deadly magic. But Adara, limp on the table, lifeless perhaps. Her body a mass of wounds. Her skin waxy pale.
He killed her. Logan didn’t think. He changed. Splitting skin and clothes in a rapid shift that saw his wolf emerging with a snarl. He dove at the unclean things surrounding his female. Tore at their soft flesh. Snapped their brittle bones.
There were many of them. So many. A good thing because his primal rage needed an outlet. He needed to bite and snarl and kill. Kill again.
Tear to shreds until there was only one thing left.
A vampire, just as bloody—undead, as well, but friend, not foe—stalked with Logan toward the maimed one who couldn’t escape in his wheelchair, not through the carnage of limbs and gore.
The sorcerer thought to plead with weak human words.
To ask for forgiveness.
But the beast didn’t care. The rules were also clear about how to handle his kind—Kill!—and yet the shred of Logan looking through the wolf’s eyes had so many questions. Inquiries he couldn’t voice aloud as his beast.
As for Titus, in the grips of the bloodlust, his gaze red and fierce, there was no patience or compassion, only justice.
The vampire twisted the necromancer’s head right off. There would be no coming back for this foul thing. Instantly, all the limbs twitching went still. The magic imbuing the corpses fled with its master.
Silence descended, thick enough that they could hear it. The stuttering breaths of their female.
The man pushed out of the beast, and Logan appeared, his flesh pimpling in the chilly cave. He barked. “You idiot, you killed the only man who could give us answers.”
“I—I—” Titus shook his head, his expression confused.
Logan cared not for his state of mind. He stumbled to Adara’s side. “Honey. Jesus. What did he do to you?”
“She is drained,” Titus said, dropping to her side. He seemed to have regained control of himself as he wiped a hand across her forehead. “She’s lost almost all her blood and now lies close to death.”
“Heal her.”
“No healing,” she whispered, her eyes still closed.
Logan gripped her hand, squeezing it lightly, fearful of hurting her further. “Don’t give up, honey. Fight.”
“Let me go. I’m so tired.” The words slurred. “Kill me.”
“Never.”
“Please. End it.” She closed her eyes.
Panicked, Logan shot a wild stare at the vampire. “She can’t give up. We just found her.”
“And failed her.” Titus looked broken in that moment. “Once again, she suffers.”
“I don’t want her to die.” Logan clutched her hand.
“She won’t die,” Titus said. He stroked her skin. “Already, her wounds heal. In but a week, perhaps even days, there won’t be a trace of the pain she suffered.”
But in the meantime, she would hurt. Logan wouldn’t accept that. “I want it gone now. Do something,” Logan growled at Titus.
“You want me to heal her?”
“Can you?”
“It’s possible, but it will require blood.” Titus stared down at her. “Lots of blood.”
“I’m ready.” He held out his arm, yet Titus hesitated.
“I don’t know what kind of effect it will have on her. Healings are usually best done with someone of your own kind.”
“Not exactly possible. We’re the only two here, so the question is, will our blood heal her?” Logan asked.
“Probably.”
“Then do it.” Because he couldn’t stand to see her in pain.
It didn’t take long after that. As Titus chanted—meaningless, guttural words with a sibilant hiss to them—he sliced their forearms, and as their blood dripped onto her open wounds, it sizzled. Smoke rose from her body, and she trembled. Moaned. The injuries sealed themselves shut and stopped oozing. But there were many marks on her. So many…
At one point in the ritual, her back arched, and she inhaled, deep and harsh. That was when Titus swept Logan back with an arm.
“Be careful.”
She regained consciousness with wild eyes and a scream that started out low then, like a shockwave, boomed from her frail body.
“Adara, honey. It’s okay.” Logan snapped free from Titus and tried to wrap her in his arms.
“No!” she cried. She ripped herself from his grasp with disturbing strength, her wounded body lurching away, quicker than he would have thought her capable. Logan leapt after her, the loss of blood making his head spin and his step stumble. He shook it off and continued to pursue, but he couldn’t catch up.
Adara ran as if she had wings on her feet, navigating the rooms and halls of the necromancer’s lair with unerring accuracy. He lost her from sight but still managed to follow the sound of her cries, her scent, until he emerged from the abandoned building into the night air.
A crisp night with a three-quarter moon, shining down on an empty yard.
He peered about wildly, looking for a trace of her, sight or even scent. He inhaled and ran around, back and forth, left and right, crisscrossing his own path, looking for her trail in vain. Adara was long gone, her broken wail a distant fading echo. Oh, honey, what did we do?
Forced her to live, despite her plea, because they were selfish.
A cold presence at his side didn’t make him turn. “She’ll come back,” Titus said in a low voice, addressing his unspoken worry.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. She went to the necromancer to die.”
“No, she went to protect us,” Titus corrected. “The necromancer is dead. The danger is gone.”
Was it? When they returned to the basement, it was to discover the sorcerer’s body gone. The chair empty. No trail to follow.
Logan wanted to believe they’d killed him, but a dark power such as his might have foiled death.
Which is fine. If he comes back, I’ll kill
him again. Anything to keep Adara safe. Speaking of whom. Honey, where are you?
Chapter Thirty-Five
When Adara found her reason—and what was left of her sanity chose to return—she was perched upon the steeple of a church. Just like a gargoyle, her bare feet curved over the edge, the street yawning far below her.
Somewhere along the way, she’d found clothes. Not very good ones. They lay in tatters upon her body, streaked with blood and other fluids that would have made her shudder if she’d had the energy. What happened after I escaped the necromancer?
Did it matter?
She was alive.
The night’s events already seemed like a distant memory—horrifying, yes, but nothing compared to the truth. She remembered too much of that painful, terrifying, humiliating time spent among the demons as their prisoner. It made the necromancer’s games seem puny in comparison. She also remembered some parts of her time in the asylum with Dr. Forrester, drug-induced hazes of pain and despair, but it was more than she’d had before.
I’m starting to remember. She still had gaps, her life before the demon attack a blank canvas. She had no clue who she was.
But Adara knew enough to decide that she was done being afraid. Done being a pawn in other people’s games. Inside the necromancer’s lair, she’d found something she’d thought lost forever—courage and a thirst to live. A hunger for revenge.
She also had the power to do something about it. She had Logan and Titus to thank for that.
Through her veins flowed a potent cocktail, one that made her sizzle with unseen power, but she felt it. Even worse—or better, depending on the view—it healed things in her not meant to ever become whole again. She felt herself changing in more than just physical ways. What would it mean? Only time would tell, and she’d decided to give herself time to discover if she could live again.
She cast her newly enhanced senses wide, like a thrown net, tasting the city through her newfound—or simply dormant until now—power. She knew Logan and Titus searched for her. Their longing and love for her tugged at a dead part of her, the part that used to care. But she was not pure of body and mind. The demons had tainted her with their touch. Shamed her with their torture. Broken her until she finally screamed and cried for help, death, anything. No one answered her call. In the end, she couldn’t even save herself.
