Death's Lover

by Marie Hall

  Her whole body jerked in response. “You’re so good, I almost believe you. But guess what…”

  This was worse than he’d imagined. In some misguided way, he’d hoped she’d forgive him. That in their time together she’d actually seen the truth of who he was. He’d been wrong, and lost his soul in the process.

  “…you’ve lied to me before.” She picked up her purse and turned toward the door.

  She opened it and with her back to him, whispered, “You can see yourself out.”

  Then she walked out without so much as a backward glance.

  * * *

  Eve didn’t care where she was headed, only that she had to get away. Having to look at the face she’d thought she’d fallen in love with for another second would have killed her. Did he have any idea, any clue? Did he even care how much it hurt?

  She was rippling with energy, begging for anyone or anything to cross her path. Eve wanted to fight, to rip and claw and tear stuff apart. At the same time she wanted to scream and fall to the ground in a puddle of tears. But all she could do was run.

  Before she knew where she was headed, she was already there. Club X. It never even crossed her mind to find her sisters.

  She ran up the stairs, passing all the floors until she reached the mixed flock and entered, her gaze frantically searching for the one being able to bring her any kind of peace.

  Under a dim blue light sat the hunched form of Lise. Her white gaze locked on to Eve’s.

  She walked to the booth and stopped, trembling and unsure of herself, only knowing death couldn’t be worse than the ache in her heart.

  “Sit.” The word was like a rushing wind, powerful and full of unimagined strength.

  It never crossed Eve’s mind to refuse. She sat down, clasping and unclasping her hands in front of her, her leg keeping up a nervous rhythm.

  “Why did you run away, Eve? Why did you leave him? Do you know how stupid that was, especially now?”

  She frowned. She’d expected sympathy, not judgmental scorn. She was the wounded party, not him. He’d lied to her, killed her spouse. Why would Lise even care?

  “He killed Michael.”

  Lise narrowed her eyes. “He was only doing his job!”

  She snorted, not wanting to hear this. “No. No.”

  “He could no more control his actions than you can help being a witch. That is who he is. It is his function. One he has done over a millennia. Do you know the pain he’s carried? Do you even care?”

  The exact words she’d thought earlier, now flung back in her face. “I’m the wounded party here, Lise.” She touched a finger to her chest directly over her heart. “He hurt me. He lied to me.”

  “Me. Me. Me.” Lise sneered. “You’re so self-centered.”

  She inhaled, deeply stung. Never before had Lise turned her anger on her like this. It was inexcusable. Wrong. “I’ve done nothing…”

  “Spare me, Eve. You are listening with your heart, not your brain. You want to be hurt. You want someone to blame. Make him your scapegoat, everyone else does. The reapers are so easy to hold responsible for all of life’s woes. They do the job no one else will, day in and day out. They die from the suffering they must endure. You were saving his soul, bit by bit, hour by hour.”

  She closed her eyes, not wanting to listen to Lise anymore but unable to block out the deep truth of her words. It was a dull knife piercing her soul.

  “I blame myself.” The chosen one pounded her fist onto the table, the guise of frailty snapping irrevocably for Eve. This was an immortal, not a frail woman, not a friend. She would not baby Eve, and this time Eve wouldn’t be able to run away.

  “I did everything but tell him you were his chosen. He tried over and over to resist you. You want to know why?”

  Eve glanced up as burning tears slid down the corners of her eyes.

  “Because he didn’t want to lie to you. To make you feel as if he’d betrayed you.” She clenched her jaw, her eyes began to glow, and her rage transferred to Eve, filling her with disgust and shame.

  “He’s fae.” She didn’t know what made her say it. She felt herself grasping at straws, desperate to get Lise on her side and understanding her pain. She succeeded only in whipping the immortal into a frenzy of fury.

  Lightning quick, Lise latched onto Eve’s hand squeezing it nearly to the point of crushing the bone. She hissed, tendrils of pain spiraling from the grip.

  “And that should matter why? Has he treated you with contempt? Spite? He worshiped you. Yes Eve, he’s a fae. He participated in the Great War.” Her hold on Eve’s hands didn’t relent. “And not that this should matter, but he had no part in the treachery. He was little more than the cleanup crew. I thought you were smarter than this.”

  Lise threw her hand away in disgust. She brought the throbbing wrist to her chest and huddled over it protectively, for the first time truly knowing the power of Lise. Her heart hung in her throat. Eve tasted the fear on her tongue.

  “The night you almost died, the night your husband was taken, it was because of him, Eve. He made a choice, and he chose you. That choice cost him dearly.”

  Eve swallowed hard, remembering that night with perfect clarity, as if it’d just happened yesterday.

  “He’s done nothing but protect you.”

  The chosen one sat back, her look of fury now replaced by a mask of calm. “To be sure that no one is blameless, he should likely have told you the truth before now, forced you to understand. But coming here and looking for my sympathy, you’ll have none. If you cannot see the fault that lies within you, then you do not deserve him.”

  Lise stood, her white gown rippling around her body like a living entity. She touched Eve’s cheek and Eve jerked in response, expecting Lise to slap the crap out of her this time.

  “Make peace with this, Eve, and with him. Sooner rather than later.” She reached into the air, a white slip of paper appearing in her hand from nowhere. “You might be able to reach him here.”

  Eve looked at the paper. A phone number was scrawled across it. The chosen one nodded and walked away.

  The pain, the fear, the anger and hurt—it all washed over her, drowning her in emotions. The connection she felt with Cian was more than lust or friendship. It had been magickal, mystical. Meant to be. She’d been helpless to him from the moment their gazes locked. Her soul had always craved her spiritual other, and as much as it felt like a betrayal to admit it, Michael hadn’t been it.

  She dropped her head into her hands, the paper crinkling in her tight grasp. A cloying wash of grief rippled through her. Not for Cian’s misdeeds but her own. For her stupidity and childish behavior. The words she’d flung at him. Pain ripped through her heart, as she remembered the wounded expression in his eyes.

  All she could think of in that moment was to hurt him as much as he’d hurt her. To make him feel what it felt like.

  She clenched her jaw, an emptiness consuming her soul.

  What had Lise said? Make peace with this.

  Hope, faint but there, shot through her. It might not be too late. Maybe he was still at her apartment.

  She shoved away from the table, uncaring that she resembled a slaughtered raccoon with mascara dripping black down her face. Her only thought was of Cian. His arms. His quiet, gentle manner. So much he’d endured and the strength it had taken to come clean. Looking back she could see all the times he’d tried to tell her, to open up and be honest. She’d sensed it and had always shut him down, preferring to hang on to the lie. Lise was right; she’d been just as much to blame.

  There was probably no chance in hell that he was still there. Likely he was long gone. But she had to try. She had to make an attempt. He couldn’t leave thinking she hated him.

  Chapter 28

  Cian was broken. Shattered. He’d done his part and told the truth. He couldn’t say he honestly blamed Eve. Everything from the moment they’d met had been a lie, except his feelings for her. He’d never deceived her about that.
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  He’d hoped. Goddess, he’d hoped Eve would have accepted him. Understood he was a man who loved her and who also happened to be fae. That his race did not define him as a person.

  He swallowed hard. All that was water under the bridge now. There was nothing more for him to do here.

  Still he followed her, all the way to Lise’s. He had to make sure she was safe, regardless that she didn’t trust him anymore. He couldn’t allow harm to come to her. Not a creature or reaper tried to stop her. Assured she was safe, he swiped his hand, opening the portal between the here and there.

  Steeling himself, he walked through, landing back on Alcatraz Island.

  Rusted, ramshackle, abandoned prison cells were a perfect analogy to how he felt on the inside. Empty. Soulless. He walked toward the tree, covering himself in stealth so that none of the chattering, filming tourists would catch sight of him.

  He was never coming back. His time as reaper was over. His heart and soul were now irreparably bound to Eve’s. Despite that, in the end she’d rejected him, and he was lost. And he couldn’t fade knowing the queen would stop at nothing to take her. So he went now to offer his life for hers. The death of an immortal would more than make right the balance to order and chaos, allowing Eve to live the life The Morrigan would deny her—that of marriage, kids, and many happy memories.

  That would be his penance.

  * * *

  Eve plowed through the door, throwing her purse on the ground and calling out his name. There was only silence. Hope died inside her. As she’d suspected, he was gone; not a trace of him remained. Her nostrils flared and she ran to her phone. She might still be able to reach him.

  The thought crossed her mind to go to his house, but if he’d seen who was at the door, would he have answered? Probably not. At least with a phone call he was more likely to pick up.

  She closed her eyes. If he turned her away, or even refused to listen, then it was all her fault and there would be no anger. The things he’d said, the malicious words he’d thrown, had cut her to the quick, until Lise made her recognize her prejudices for what they were. Disgusting, awful truth.

  Fear of the unknown, a hatred for all things fae, had kept her from listening with her heart, and look where it had gotten her. Anxiety constricted her chest, twisting her stomach in on itself.

  “Damn it, Eve. Damn it.” She picked up the phone and walked to her kitchen table, sitting down and staring at the white headset like it would suddenly sprout fangs and snap her head off.

  What made her sick the most was that deep down she’d suspected he harbored a secret. Being so comfortable around food, not leaving her side until the very last moment—sun creeping over the horizon—and those gloves. Those ever-present gloves. If she’d opened her eyes instead of refusing to see the truth, she’d have known him not to be a vampire. Vampires didn’t make flame, couldn’t take off clothing with just a thought. But she had pretended not to notice, imagined it wasn’t there, and in so doing had made it all the harder for him to come clean.

  The things she’d said. She groaned. Words could never be taken back. They were always there, always a reminder in the back of your mind. You could forgive, but not forget.

  She didn’t mean it. It’d been the shock of finding out who he really was.

  You didn’t throw the shield up in time. She gasped, remembering now. Just minutes before she and Michael were knocked to the ground, she’d noticed him. Cian standing behind her in the mirror.

  Now she remembered the gorgeous man with great sadness in his eyes. That nagging feeling that she’d seen him once before had been right. Even then, married to Michael as she was, she’d been intrigued. Her heart instinctively reaching out to his.

  He’d been there to take her that night, which could mean only one thing. He’d saved not just her but Michael as well. And the next day, the car accident…She’d been in such a pain-fogged haze she could remember very little of it. Yet for her to have survived the types of injuries she’d sustained, it had to have been him.

  She’d hurt him, cut him to the bone. Bile rose in her throat. She was nothing but a judgmental coward.

  Eve picked up the phone, staring at the numbers scrawled across the slip of paper Lise had given her. She ground her jaw and dialed.

  It rang once.

  Twice.

  After the fifth ring, she finally admitted defeat. Either he wouldn’t pick up, or he was gone, back to his home in faerie. Numb, she set the phone down, shame eating away at her. A huge lump formed in her throat. All of this was her fault. Every bit of it.

  A hollow void swept through her. Lise had called her a fool, and she was. Hot tears gathered at the corners of her ears. She huffed at them, refusing to let them fall. She’d cried enough.

  “You make your bed, you lie in it.” Her voice cracked. These were the consequences of her actions, and she was woman enough to accept that.

  Heaviness coiled around her heart, a tightening that left her breathless. The sadness of their parting left her bereft and in more pain than she’d ever known before. Anguish splintered her soul in two.

  One fat tear fell and then another and then another. She threw her head into her hands and wept hot, bitter tears. Great choking sobs wracked her lungs and she cried until there was nothing left.

  Like a pressure valve releasing its pent-up energy, she felt drained. No longer was there an overwhelming despair so much as a sickening throb of a broken heart.

  Mouth tasting of cotton and head pounding like a rhino had stomped on it, she reached out and snatched the only drink at hand. Not even aware of what she was grabbing, just knowing she needed to quench her parched throat.

  She chugged down the entire drink, grimacing at the bitter, slightly astringent taste it left on her tongue.

  Eve smacked her lips. They were beginning to go numb. What was this? She frowned and stared into the bottom of the cup. Tiny yellow flecks dotted the Styrofoam’s rim. The numbness spread down her throat, and her stomach gave a violent heave.

  Blinking in shock, she grabbed her gut and moaned.

  Fiery claws shred her apart from the inside. Panic spread its wings. Poison. She’d been poisoned. How? When?

  She gasped for breath, choking on the air itself. Fire filled her lungs as she fought desperately for breath. She opened her mouth in a soundless scream of agony.

  Veins burst inside her eyes with the fighting need for breath. Her body trembled and her muscles spasmed, contracting as hard as a rock.

  She shot to her feet. Whimpering. Moaning. Limbs refusing to work right. She tripped over her chair, landing face-first onto the cold floor. The flesh of her chin split open on contact. Warm blood oozed from the wound.

  Then the convulsions started.

  Absolute fear swept down her spine, as she was aware and conscious of it all.

  Her body went rigid. There was no air in her lungs. Fire breathing down her skull. Heart beating out of control. Blackness sweeping in. Then a thought. In death she’d find solace from her despair.

  With one last pitiful gasp, her heart stopped.

  * * *

  Cian passed his hand along the tree. The golden quickening surrounded him as he stepped through the entrance to the sithen.

  The sylph’s angelic voices greeted him. He inhaled the sharp, nature-infused winds of his lands. The inspiration he usually found from being on fae soil was now gone. He shoved his hands into his pockets, heart and soul shattered. Red madness creeping into his vision.

  His nostrils flared. The oppressive pain began to fill him. It was tangible, choking the air from his lungs.

  Find the queen. Plead her case. End this misery. That was his mantra, and he repeated it over and over, running faster and faster toward The Morrigan. Toward his death.

  It no longer mattered what the queen chose to do to him. Strip him, flog him…none of it made a difference. Not anymore.

  Pressure built inside his skull. He winced, trying to ignore it. He licked his lips and scr
ambled over the knoll.

  He had time. Not much. But if he could reach the queen before a reaper could orchestrate Eve’s death, then her fate could be averted. He had time. He ran faster.

  The twisted spiraling steeple of the queen’s castle stood just over the next hill. So close.

  Suddenly, his fragile control was ripped asunder as a flash of volcanic heat exploded inside his head. He fell to his knees, clutching his stomach, pain licking at his flesh, heart threatening to punch a hole in his chest. Arcing back and throwing his arms out to his sides, he became engulfed by the inferno.

  Shards of jagged ice tore down his spine. Limbs turned numb and heavy. Then a flash of darkness and he fell forward.

  The scent of crushed grass wafted under his nose.

  “Eve,” he gasped, knowing her smell The awareness of her death ripped through every inch of his body.

  A roar of anguish pulsed through the fabric of his soul and out his mouth. He shot to his feet. Nature went still. The sylphs went silent as the beast inside him came fully alive.

  Misery encased him like a shroud, and he welcomed it, giving into the madness. She was dead…his beautiful witch.

  Huge green eyes peeked at him from around the bend of an oak—a tree elf shaking like a sapling in the wind. Didn’t matter what it was. Morality. Right or wrong. Innocent or no. He lost all ability to reason. He wanted death. Someone to hurt as badly as he did.

  He ran, arms outstretched, ready to grab the elf by the neck and rip it in two.

  The elf screamed, her long blond mane whipping behind her in her haste to run away.

  A violent clap of thunder rocked in his ears and lightning consumed him, blinding his vision.

  Next thing he heard was maniacal laughter, the sound prickling along his flesh. He twirled, disoriented and full of fighting fury.

  Then he saw the queen, a lascivious smirk on her bloodred lips. She stood from her throne and sashayed toward him. The black strapless gown tapered to her body and glittered with the stars from the heavens. The shadowy fabric opened at the juncture between her breasts and formed a V all the way down to her navel.