by Tl Reeve
Lucian squeezed his throat, cutting off his airway. The vein at his temple throbbed as did the one in the middle of his forehead. His face had gone from a soft peach color to that of a tomato. “You let him live. You should have drained him completely, you fool!” He backhanded Jonah. The crack of flesh connecting echoed among the moored boats, as Jonah bounced and skidded across the weathered, splintered wood. “Of all the cockamamie things you could have done.” Lucian took a deep breath and smoothed his hair back into place. “No, this is perfect. They’ll all be in one place when we arrive.”
Jonah pushed up from where he lay. His body shook from the exertion. His heart fluttered like a little bird’s. Weakened to the point of delirium, he fell to the wooden floor and grunted. He’d be no good to Lucian now.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Lucian snarled. He whispered a few words in Latin, and energy flowed through Jonah. “Get up; there is much work to be done.”
Jonah’s lips curled into a smirk. Oh yes, there was. And Lucian’s death was first on the list.
13
She woke up alone, and, reaching for her clothes, she quickly dressed then went to look for Jonah. She checked his bedroom and the kitchen first, but she could not locate him. Aware the library seemed to be the primary meeting location for his group, she made her way there. Walking through the doorway, she scanned the group, a mix of her team and Jonah’s. Yet, she realized rather quickly, he wasn’t there.
Something was wrong. She could not explain how she knew it, she just did.
Omer looked up and caught her gaze. “Everything alright, Annabelle?”
“I am unable to locate Jonah,” she informed him as a feeling of dread washed over her.
“He’s gone,” Clara said from the doorway, behind her.
Annabelle noticed the bags she held in both hands, her cog arm steaming under the weight of Clara’s things, which she recognized immediately. They were filled with the witch’s supplies.
“The necromancer used black magic to procure him,” Clara announced.
“He’d be at the mausoleum,” Mr. Nealy said.
“Let’s go get him then,” Dr. Brew stated with a smirk. Annabelle could see the deranged beast who lurked just below his skin. “Mr. Tinnin would like to play.”
“No need to retrieve him. I am almost sure they will come here,” Omer disclosed.
“How can you be sure?” Annabelle asked.
“I am not. It is just process of deduction. To control the city of London, he will need to rid it of its protectors. Once he eliminates us, he is free to follow through with whatever his devious plans are.” Omer informed them.
They all jumped with the banging of the front door closing.
Omer looked at Dr. Brew. “Go see who enters our home at this ungodly hour.”
Dr. Brew slipped from the room to do Omer’s bidding. He returned moments later with Ezra carrying what looked to be a body. It was hard to tell. Annabelle could clearly see the clothes, but no hands, feet or most importantly, a head.
It had to be Mr. O’Keefe.
“I found him near the cemetery. I think…” Ezra scanned the room, stopping when he saw her standing in the center. “I believe Jonah drank from him.”
“Not possible!” Annabelle cried, refusing to believe the man. “He just fed not more than an hour ago.”
“Lucian…” Mr. O’Keefe coughed. “Has Jonah. Jonah’s eyes are black,” he croaked confirming Clara’s earlier statement.
“Black magic,” Clara whispered.
“He needs plenty of fluids. Followed by rest and food,” Omer told Ezra, who scurried from the room to take care of the weakened Mr. O’Keefe.
“Are you sure they are coming to us?” Clara demanded of Omer.
“It’s what I would do. Why? Do you have an idea?” Omer questioned the witch.
“I do.” Clara’s gaze found Annabelle’s, holding it as she continued to lay out her plan. Her friend’s discomfort was evident in her stiff body and shaking voice.
Annabelle already had an idea of where Clara was going with this. She had made sure they all had a rudimentary knowledge of her craft. Granted none of them had Clara’s skill, but they had knowledge. “A witch’s place of worship can cause a vampire’s significant pain. Long enough to perhaps allow me to hopefully counteract whatever spell the necromancer has cast on Jonah.”
“There is just one problem with your idea, Miss Clara: this house has no such place,” Omer disclosed.
Clara’s gaze broke from Annabelle’s and moved to Omer’s. “My place of worship is not like a church; it isn’t required to be in a certain spot or be in a specific building. It can be in a quiet grove, beside a water source, around a great tree or even inside a home, away from the elements we commune with.”
“Clara,” she interrupted, already aware where her friend was going. “Please tell me in those bags you have the supplies needed to build one?”
Clara smiled. “I do and with help, can have a proper place of worship erected in a short period of time.”
“I will help,” Annabelle declared.
“It will not be pleasant for you to watch. He will be in a great deal of pain. You must be strong as he will surely say and do things to lure you to him. If he should get his hands on you, we could lose both of you.”
“Perhaps it would be best if we had someone else assist Miss. Clara,” Omer objected.
She cocked a brow at the ancient one. “It is a chance I am willing to take. I am his Beloved,” she proclaimed, ignoring Omer’s opposition. She walked over to Clara and took one of the bags from her friend’s hands. Omer might control Jonah, but he did not control her. She controlled her destiny. No one else. “We need to get started.”
Clara nodded.
“Where should we do this?”
“The entrance. Jonah will be secure in walking into his home, and it will require some tricks on my part to conceal myself from him, but I can do it,” Clara assured her.
“I have no doubt,” Annabelle stated as she headed to the front door. Clara followed her. The hissing steam escaping the vent in her arm echoed in the empty foyer.
“I will need to do the pentagram in white, to hide it.”
She nodded. “Is it disrespectful to use sugar? It is white.”
“It is for a good cause, the Goddess will forgive us, I’m sure.” Clara gave her a reassuring smile. “Can you get it for me?”
She nodded, then headed to the kitchen to retrieve as much sugar as she could. Obtaining it, she returned to the entrance to find Clara had removed everything from the bags and had it all scattered over the white marble floor.
“Where are Jonah’s men?” Clara asked.
“I do not know, nor do I care,” she replied before she made the five-point star on the floor, then encased it in a circle. Clara stood at the north point of the star, chanting an incantation. Annabelle patiently waited off to the side, for instructions.
Once she was done, Clara walked over to where the items lay on the floor. “Come.” She gestured. Annabelle did not hesitate; she strode to her friend and kneeled beside her.
“I will take care of holding him within the pentagram. While I am doing that, I will require you to place a candle along with a specific item at each of the five points. Each article will represent one of the five senses. The flute represents his hearing. The newt’s eye, his sight. The salt, his sense of taste. The sage is twofold. It is used to help save him and it represents his ability to smell. Finally, for touch, I picked two healing gems.” Clara picked up the first one, a shimmering while gem and the gears in her elbow whirled at the movement. “The pearl which will help soothe and dissipate his anger.” Clara placed the one gem down and picked up another; this time it was a brownish red. “The sardonyx, which will help stabilize his mental and emotional health. Do you have any questions?”
Yes.
She had several.
Would Jonah be his normal vampire self after they broke the spell or would he remai
n what she suspected he had become—a uncontrollable beast, who could no longer be controlled, and who slaughtered all in his path. She did not bother asking her greatest fears. Instead she simply shook her head. She did not trust her voice at this juncture anyway. She realized if she spoke, her voice would wobble and relay everything she was thinking and feeling. Thankfully her friend did not push.
She had already made the decision if Jonah was to die tonight, it would be done with her hand and her stake through his heart. She could allow no one else this responsibility. In such a short span of time, Jonah had become her everything. Therefore, she also had come to the decision, if Jonah left this world tonight, when the time was right and her team and London were safe, she would follow him.
She told Clara none of her inner thoughts as she knew her friend would try to sway her choice and there would be no going back. She knew this.
“Now we wait.” Clara looked around and gestured to the area in front of the massive wood door. “It might be best if you wait there, directly in his line of vision. I will get him secure before he can touch you,” her friend assured her.
“I am not afraid of Jonah, Clara. He will not hurt me,” she said as she got up and moved into position. Touching her hip, she assured herself the silver tipped stake remained where she could grab it.
Clara said nothing. Instead, her friend tucked herself into the shadows, standing at the ready for Jonah’s arrival.
He arrived as the moon broke through the heavy clouds. Its bright illumination shone through the stained-glass windows over the door, casting an eerie red light over the pentagram. It seemed a bit foreboding to her, but she pushed those thoughts out of her head as the massive door swung open.
The creature before her looked like her Jonah, but she could sense it was not. Instead an evil presence had invaded his body. She forced down a shudder of fear when she witnessed his protruding canines and claw like fingers. His eyes were as black as night and showed not a hint of emotion.
Without any hesitation, he strutted through the doorway, stilling right on top of the pentagram. The moment Clara started to chant her spell, Jonah screamed and dropped to his knees, glaring at her with such hate, it froze her.
Only when Clara screamed “Now, Annabelle!” did she move, scrambling from her spot. She picked up the five candles and started to place them on the points. Jonah growled, hissing spittle at her as she moved. He was within arm’s reach of her, but he couldn’t get her thanks to Clara.
“Sweet girl,” Jonah cooed, his voice heavy with misery. “I can hear your heartbeat, sense the blood pulsing through your body. It calls to me. Come to me so I can drain you of every drop of your lifeforce.”
She ignored him, placing the second candle.
“My Beloved,” he called to her.
She glanced up, and for a second, she saw the Jonah she loved.
“Fight my love. You need to fight this,” she cried, laying the third and making her way to the fourth point.
As quickly as she saw her love, he was gone and in its place, the creature she did not know, who taunted and teased her.
“I smell your need,” he growled, foaming at his mouth. “You want me. I’m so hungry. Feed me, Beloved. Take this pain away, and I will give you quick shag.”
She ignored his crude language, laying the fifth candle. Turning back to the pile of remaining objects she needed to place, Annabelle gasped. Ezra stood before her.
“I have no knowledge of what to do with them, but I thought you both could use help,” he said.
“What about the others, do they not require your help?” She ignored Jonah’s screams of torment.
“The horde and Lucian approaches, but I thought to help you bring back my friend first,” Ezra responded, handing her a couple of the items.
Surprisingly she understood his logic. If they could succeed and save Jonah, they would have hope.
“Place those,” she gestured to the few items in his hand. “With the candles. Be quick about it. Clara can only hold him so long.”
One by one they placed the objects besides the candles. Sounds of fighting outside the mansion began to filter through the open door, growing in intensity. Her heart pounded. Anxious energy raced through her veins. This had to work. If it didn’t they were all lost.
Jonah fell, withering in pain as he clawed at the floor, leaving grooves in the marble. It was the hardest thing in the world for her to ignore his pleas and not go to him and assist.
“You should go. He is in good hands,” Annabelle told Ezra.
“He would never forgive me if anything happened to you,” the werewolf said.
She could see the sadness in his gaze at the possibility of losing Jonah. She could relate; she felt the same sense of grief.
“He would never forgive you for not doing your job and protecting those of London,” she informed him. “I can take care of myself and Clara.” Ezra’s gaze moved to Clara, whose voice was becoming husky from continuous use. A flash of longing replaced the sadness in the man’s eyes.
He nodded.
“Go.” She gave the big man a shove to the door. “They need you and all of you need to worry about Lucian and the horde. They cannot be allowed to complete Lucian’s plan.”
Ezra ran out the door and shifted in midair, becoming a wolf before his front paws touched the landing. With a quick look back, his massive head dipped before he headed off to the fight, surrounding the mansion.
“Annabelle,” Jonah’s croak from the floor drew her gaze to the door to where he lay. “Beloved.” His hand snaked out, free of claws, sought hers through the spell of the pentagram.
Dropping to her knees, she looked at his eyes. They were grey and she gave a sigh of relief. He was slowly coming back to her.
“You need to continue to fight, my love,” she whispered, prodding him to push on.
She ignored Clara’s earlier warning and clasped his hand. It felt warm and was not something she associated with him.
“Come back to me, my love. Your team needs you. I need you,” she murmured, telling him her plans if he should leave her.
“You must not,” he spat out, his entire body convulsing in pain.
“Then come back to me and make sure it does not happen. Fight it, Jonah. The horde and Lucian have arrived. Your team fights without you. We need you,” she added.
“Hurts,” he grunted.
“I know.” She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as tears began to flow from her eyes.
Clara, who remained within the shadows, slid to the floor in exhaustion continuing to chant her spell, trying to free Annabelle’s beloved.
“Mine,” he snarled.
His eyes flickered back to black before he dragged her into the circle. One of his arms wrapped around her hip and his other went to her neck.
14
It burned, like acid flowing through his veins, destroying him a bit at a time. He thought the more distance he put between him and Lucian, the magic would weaken and he could fight the compulsion. Instead, it intensified. Each step he took tightened the fist surrounding his mind, stealing his ability to think or reason.
Insanity took root in the pit of his stomach, and expanded. The blackened tendrils spread through him, reaching every nook and cranny of his body. It ate away the happy memories of his childhood he’d clung to before meeting Omer. It laid waste to his sense of honor. In those moments as he made his way to the manor, he’d held not an ounce of compunction when it came to killing everyone who waited for him to return.
“Jonah,” Annabelle whispered. “Fight for me.”
His vision cleared momentarily. “Annabelle.” The fist tightened. “Mmm, you smell delicious.” He licked her neck.
“Take from me, Jonah. I trust you.” She threaded her fingers through his hair. The sensual scrape of her nails over his scalp cleared the fog settling over his brain.
Libera esta plaga
Liberar estas ataduras de un alma
Libera al hombre ya
la bestia
Hazlo entero
Jonah’s back bowed and an unholy scream burst from him. He let go of Annabelle, but she held tight to him. Warm, white light pushed back against the blackness. It hurt, God did it hurt. Worse than becoming a vampire. Worse than losing his sense of self.
A flicker of movement caught his attention as Clara stepped from the shadows. She appeared like one of those priestesses he’d only read about in the Louisiana territory. Voodoo priestesses, he thought they were called. Her lips barely moved, but he swore her words echoed through his mind, overpowering the darkness. The deadness dwelling within him shrank and for the first time since Lucian apparated in his home, he could take a deep breath.
His heart gave a heavy thump.
Inch by inch he awoke.
“Here,” Miss Jemmy murmured. “He needs this.”
His eyes flashed opened. Yes. The elixir. He snatched the bottle from Jemmy. Without hesitation, he drank it down, famished from being drained of almost his full lifeforce. When he got to the bottom of the bottle, he cast it aside. “More.”
“Take,” Annabelle whispered again. “You won’t hurt me. I trust you.”
“You shouldn’t!”
Her hands cupped his face; the warmth radiating from them infused him with the one thing missing. Love. Undiluted. Untainted. “Please.”
His will loosened. The sweet nectar pumping through her veins grew more potent with the rapid beat of her heart. It called to him. Sang its siren’s song. He leaned forward and nuzzled her neck. His gums throbbed. His fangs shrank as Clara continued to chant. Yet he couldn’t bite Annabelle. If he did, he’d rip her throat out. Destroy his perfectness.
“What you ask of me is dangerous,” he murmured running his lips along the column of her supple flesh.
“What I ask of my Beloved is to come back to me. Please, Jonah. Come back to me. Hold onto the light.”
It washed over him in heavy, loving waves of warmth. He held with every inch of his being as he bit down on Annabelle’s neck. The first taste of her addicting blood slid over his tongue and down his throat. Oh yes, the source was always better than the doctor’s concoction. Jonah inhaled, allowing him to take a harder pull. Over and over he swallowed, until the room erupted in color.
