Chapter Eleven
“Am I dead?” Olivia whispered toward the cramped coffin lid. The space clearly wasn’t built for two, but she was glad to have Jaxon next to her.
Her body tingled, and she felt her nails and hair growing longer from the death of her organs. Her vision improved and the shiny locks pressed up against the side of her new bed seemed to move on their own. The softness of her cheeks pulled as if under the hands of an invisible surgeon. Her muscles tightened beneath her flesh. She was becoming a predator.
Jaxon’s arm tightened around her waist. “Yes.”
“There is something in your voice.” She tried to turn to look at his face, but there was no room.
“Should I have left you out in the sunlight? You have said you did not want this existence. Should I have let it end with the dawn? I thought about it, but I am selfish. I couldn’t let you go. I couldn’t be the cause of your end.”
“It doesn’t hurt as badly as before,” she said. “It’s strange, but when I turned, I saw things. I witnessed part of Vincent’s life before he was completely drained, and only a glimpse of Vladamir, and a peek at Tyr, and…” She paused, remembering the feeling of being kept at arms’ length, of guarding the outside of her bedroom window for hours, hoping to be beckoned inside. “And you. I felt inside of you. I saw your life like it was my own.”
“And I felt inside of you,” he answered, his arm again tightening around her as if she might push out of the coffin and try to leave. “Are you angry with me for allowing this to happen? I know it is not what you wanted.”
“It’s not, but I understand things better now.” Olivia’s feet moved restlessly.
“The energy inside your body is building,” Jaxon explained. “Try not to focus your hearing on the distant sounds. I remember my mind would become obsessed with the smallest of noises. It can be maddening until you learn to control it.”
Olivia nodded, listening briefly to the sound of shuffling footsteps on a sidewalk before forcing her attention back to Jaxon. “Vladamir gave me fear the first night I met him. He wanted me to carry it. He wanted to see what I would become with it growing inside of me.”
“I am the nightmare you will carry with you from this life into the next,” the Moroi elder had told her that night long ago. “Now I know you, curious little one, more than you know yourself. And you will mean something to me.”
“I don’t understand why.” Jaxon shifted his legs to allow her more space. “When he came to me, he acted more like an overprotective father than a torturer.”
“You will be my missed chance,” Vladamir’s voice whispered through her thoughts. “You will be a memory I can carry for a few hundred years until you fade.”
“Vladamir killed his daughter the night he turned.” Olivia’s feet pushed against the bottom of the coffin, and she absently rubbed her palms against the cushioned lid. “I saw glimpses of it over the years. But last night, when I died and felt his blood enter me as he fed me Vincent’s, it became clear. Something about me reminded him of her, and he wanted to see what her life would have turned out like had he spared her and protected her. It was his daughter’s fear that he gave me in an attempt to alleviate his guilt and his shame. I’m not sure if he received the answer he wanted, but he now has an answer. I don’t think he’ll be coming back to me anytime soon.”
“I will watch you and then I will mourn you.” She trembled, remembering the grave-like brush of Vladamir’s fingers. “Even death becomes tired, little one. Things cannot stay as they are.”
“I think Vladamir might have been right. From the moment I stepped out of my parents’ house the morning of the Vampire Club massacre, this was my fate.” Olivia tried to turn to face him, but couldn’t. She settled for lifting his hand to her mouth. “But that same fate brought me here, to you. I know I am not what I once was. I feel the dullness to my emotions. I feel the hunger. I know how vampires dine. But I am not scared because I also felt how you love me. And if you can love me that much, I know my own feelings will come back to me as strong as they were before. For I have loved you too, Jaxon, longer than I thought I deserved.”
“You are my forever, Olivia. You have been since the first moment. You are what steadies me. You are my balance. I love you.” He brushed her cheek and rubbed his thumb over her lips in a semblance of a kiss. “Now try to rest. Tomorrow I will have to show you how to survive without becoming a monster.”
Olivia closed her eyes. “And tomorrow I have something to show you.”
“What?”
“That there are much bigger coffins out there,” she said. “This tight fit will never do.”
The End
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Love Potions
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Love Potions
Warlocks MacGregor Series
Love Potions
by Michelle M. Pillow
Contemporary Paranormal Scottish Warlocks
A little magickal mischief never hurt anyone…
Erik MacGregor, from a clan of ancient Scottish warlocks, isn’t looking for love. After centuries, it’s not even a consideration…until he moves in next door to Lydia Barratt. It’s clear that the shy beauty wants nothing to do with him, but he’s drawn to her nonetheless and determined to win her over.
Lydia Barratt just wants to be left alone to grow flowers and make lotions in her old Victorian house. The last thing she needs is a demanding Scottish man meddling in her private life. Just because he’s gorgeous and totally rocks a kilt doesn’t mean she’s going to fall for his seductive manner.
But Erik won’t give up and just as Lydia let’s her guard down, his sister decides to get involved. Her little love potion prank goes terribly wrong, making Lydia the target of his sudden embarrassingly obsessive behavior. They’ll have to find a way to pull Erik out of the spell fast when it becomes clear that Lydia has more than a lovesick warlock to worry about. Evil lurks within the shadows and it plans to use Lydia, alive or dead, to take out Erik and his clan for good.
Love Potions
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Love Potions Excerpt
“Ly-di-ah! I sit beneath your window, laaaass, singing ’cause I loooove your a—”
“For the love of St. Francis of Assisi, someone call a vet. There is an injured animal screaming in pain outside,” Charlotte interrupted the flow of music in ill-humor.
Lydia lifted her forehead from the kitchen table. Her windows and doors were all locked, and yet Erik’s endlessly verbose singing penetrated the barrier of glass and wood with ease.
Charlotte held her head and blinked heavily. Her red-rimmed eyes were filled with the all too poignant look of a hangover. She took a seat at the table and laid her head down. Her moan sounded something like, “I’m never moving again.”
“You need fluids,” Lydia prescribed, getting up to pour unsweetened herbal tea from the pitcher in the fridge. She’d mixed it especially for her friend. It was Gramma Annabelle’s hangover recipe of willow bark, peppermint, carrot, and ginger. The old lady always had a fresh supply of it in the house while she was alive. Apparently, being a natural witch also meant in partaking in natural liquors. Annabelle had kept a steady supply of moonshine stashed in the basement. If the concert didn’t stop soon she might try to find an old bottle.
“Ly-di-ah!”
“Omigod. Kill me,” Charlotte moaned. “No. Kill him. Then kill me.”
“Ly-di-ah!”
Erik had been singing for over an hour. At first, he’d tried to come inside. She’d not invited him and the barrier spell sent him sprawling back into the yard. He didn’t seem to mind as he found a seat on some landscaping timbers and began his serenade. The last time she’d asked him to be quiet, he’d gotten louder and overly enthusiastic. In fact, she’d been too scared to
pull back the curtains for a clearer look, but she was pretty sure he’d been dancing on her lawn, shaking his kilt.
“Omigod,” Charlotte muttered, pushing up and angrily going to a window. Then grimacing, she said, “Is he wearing a tux jacket with his kilt?”
“Don’t let him see you,” Lydia cried out in a panic. It was too late. The song began with renewed force.
“He’s…” Charlotte frowned. “I think it’s dancing.”
Since the damage was done, Lydia joined Charlotte at the window. Erik grinned. He lifted his arms to the side and kicked his legs, bouncing around the yard like a kid on too much sugar. “Maybe it’s a traditional Scottish dance?”
Both women tilted their heads in unison as his kilt kicked up to show his perfectly formed ass.
“He’s not wearing…” Charlotte began.
“I know. He doesn’t,” Lydia answered. Damn, the man had a fine body. Too bad Malina’s trick had turned him insane.
Love Potions
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About Michelle M. Pillow
New York Times & USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Michelle loves to travel and try new things, whether it's a paranormal investigation of an old Vaudeville Theatre or climbing Mayan temples in Belize. She believes life is an adventure fueled by copious amounts of coffee.
Newly relocated to the American South, Michelle is involved in various film and documentary projects with her talented director husband. She is mom to a fantastic artist. And she's managed by a dog and cat who make sure she's meeting her deadlines.
For the most part she can be found wearing pajama pants and working in her office. There may or may not be dancing. It’s all part of the creative process.
www.michellepillow.com
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In Her Shadows
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