Coldhearted (9781311888433)

by Matthews, Melanie

  Adrian’s arms were by his sides, limp, and his eyes were open, staring at Tristan, absent of love. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked Tristan, shaking his head. “Why are you filled with so much hate? What happened to you?”

  Adrian wanted answers to the great mystery that was Tristan Lockhart. To Edie, this mystery was forever unsolvable.

  Tristan let go of her and advanced toward Adrian, face to face. “There’s nothing wrong with me, brother.” He jabbed his finger into Adrian’s chest, making contact. “It’s the world that’s screwed up…”

  Tristan kept talking, ranting really, but his words were being drowned out. Edie thought that she was going deaf, until she heard her name being called: “Edie.” It was Arianna.

  “We don’t have much time,” she said. “He can’t discover what we’re doing.”

  She made contact with Edie and took her hand, placing the poisonous petal on Edie’s palm. Edie curled her fingers around it, as if it were a great treasure. As swiftly as that was done, so was Arianna removing Edie’s necklace with her cold, transparent hand.

  Before Edie could protest, Arianna explained, “A token of great importance must be relinquished, otherwise, the poison would be inert. I’m sorry about taking your necklace, but out of all that you possess, on this night, it radiates with the most power.” She curled her fingers around Edie’s necklace and placed it against her heart. “I’ll keep it safe for all eternity.”

  “Thank you.” Edie realized that perhaps it was really safer in her hands.

  For some reason, Tristan hated that necklace, and had torn it off Edie’s neck, once before. Perhaps he’d known all along of its power. Perhaps he’d known all along that she would need it, in order to imprison him back inside Lockhart Manor. Or perhaps he just hated it because she loved it and not him.

  She turned to find him, still arguing with Adrian. Adrian glanced at Edie, and she knew in that one quick look that he’d been stalling Tristan, so she and Arianna could make the exchange without interference.

  Edie nodded to him that she was ready, and then she whispered goodbye to Arianna, who gave her a parting smile. Edie thought that she and Arianna really did look a lot alike. Maybe one day, she’d learn just why.

  Afraid that she’d chicken out and run away, Edie took determined steps toward the house, threw open the door and went inside. It was dark and oppressive. She found the light switch, covered in dust, and flipped it on. She’d been expecting nothing, considering how no one had paid the electric bill in decades, but the lights mysteriously came on. It illuminated the dark and scared away the shadows that haunted Lockhart Manor. She ventured into the foyer.

  “What are you doing?”

  She turned around to see Tristan, standing at the threshold. He looked curious, not suspicious. She didn’t want to take the poison yet, not until he was fully inside the house. So she didn’t answer him and went into the next room, turning on the light there. The chandelier above her flickered to life, illuminating the dusty paintings, the old rotary phone, the wooden furniture, and the tattered tapestry on the wall.

  She stood before it and waited. As she heard Tristan’s pronounced footsteps enter the room, she deftly placed the poisonous red petal on her tongue. It tasted sweet. She let the toxic juices flow inside her body, where, after some time, it would target her heart, slowing it down, until it beat no more.

  She waited for death, as Tristan stood behind her, suspecting nothing, as his cold hands caressed her arms. She swallowed the now dry petal, hiding the evidence of her deception.

  She found that she could speak. “Do you truly love me?”

  Tristan gently squeezed her arms. “Yes, Edie, I do, but I hate this place.” He kissed the side of her neck, and then pressed his cold lips against her ear, asking, “What are you up to, my love? Hmm?” He kissed her again, now suspicious. “What are you hiding from me?”

  Just a few more seconds, Edie, and then you’ll be dead.

  And Tristan would be trapped inside Lockhart Manor, never to harm another again.

  She found some strength and lifted a frail hand. “Read it to me,” she said, pointing at the tapestry on the wall.

  “No,” he refused, almost in a growl. “I’ve tried to destroy many times, but it’s always defied me.”

  “Why?” she asked in a weak voice, dying.

  “The words paralyze me,” he divulged, still unaware of her imminent death. “Literally, like an incantation, designed to keep me in chains.” He tugged on her arm, not so gently. “I’ve had enough of this place. We’re free now, Edie. We can go wherever we want.”

  When she didn’t move, he tugged on her again, agitated. “Let’s go!” he barked.

  She managed to break free of his hold, and then began to recite the words that he feared so much: “‘The Lord is my Shepherd—’”

  Tristan cursed, cutting her off. “Damn you! What are you doing?”

  She looked over her shoulder to see him literally paralyzed, unable to move, unable to speak. The hatred was evident in his dark, blue eyes; both for her and for God.

  Nevertheless, she continued, despite how much it hurt to speak. She was near death and had to hurry. “‘…Yea, though I walk through the valley of shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for you are with me…surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.’”

  The last words came out as a whisper, as her heart took one last beat—a faint bum-bum—and then it stopped.

  Before Edie died, she called out for Mason, but he didn’t answer her.

  Chapter 29

  After an immeasurable amount of time, Edie opened her eyes to see Tristan standing above her, as she lay on the floor.

  “You bitch,” he cursed, and then fell on his knees beside her, no longer paralyzed. He was crying. “I love you and this is what you do to me?!”

  He beat his fist against his chest, anguished and angry. She noticed that he was still corporeal, touchable, despite her sacrifice. She guessed that some things didn’t change.

  She found herself reaching out to him, and noticed, strangely, she was corporeal too. Her hand, solid and whole, was making a desperate attempt to touch him. He recoiled from her gesture before she could make contact with his cheek. She didn’t know if she wanted to caress him or slap him.

  “I hate you! I hate you!” he spat.

  She withdrew her hand, keeping it away from his violent reach.

  He pushed off his knees, stood up, and walked away. He started pacing the room, raking his fingers through his hair, distressed. He still looked the same, as did the house. Edie had thought being dead, she’d see things with new eyes, but everything looked now, as it had when she’d been alive: old, dusty, and sad.

  She sat up and immediately felt for her pulse. There wasn’t one. I’m truly dead. She took her finger and poked around her body, putting pressure into her skin. She didn’t feel dead, although she felt no pain, or discomfort from her constant probing. She was still wearing the same clothes, but she was no longer cold. Yes, her skin felt cold, and the temperature in the house was like an icebox, but it didn’t bother her.

  She stood up, found that she was steady on her feet, and then removed her coat and scarf, no longer needing them. She kept her sweater on; it was blue with little red hearts. It reminded her of home, where it’d used to hang in her closet. Not Uncle Landon’s mansion, but her modest-sized home down south, where winters weren’t severe, but they were cold enough to freeze any born and bred southerner.

  She looked down on the floor, confused. “Where’s my body?”

  Tristan stopped pacing and spun around to face her. Wildly, he waved his hand up and down toward her body. “What are you, an idiot?! Have you gone blind?! You’re in your body!”

  Well, someone’s in a foul mood.

  She put her hands on her hips. “I’m a ghost. I’m supposed to be transparent, not corporeal, not like you. I mean, I didn’t know what I’d do
with my body, but I expected it to be around here…somewhere.”

  “Oh, Little Miss Scheming Bitch didn’t plan this out,” he spat. He put a finger to his lips, in a dramatic gesture of being deep in thought, before removing it to speak. “Oh, let me guess: Arianna. Oh, dear, sweet, Arianna!” He turned toward the window that looked out into the woods, and yelled, “You bitch! I should’ve known you were behind this! Adrian, you too! You could never be happy for me, never! I’ll make your existence a living hell!”

  “You can’t,” Edie enlightened. “You’ll never leave this house again.”

  Tristan rounded on her. “Oh, we’ll see about that!”

  He took off out of the room and went to the front door, but when he opened it and tried to leave, he couldn’t. It was as if an invisible wall were preventing his departure. He slammed his fist against it, and then slammed the front door shut.

  “You!” he growled deep in his throat. He’d been staring at the closed door, but now he turned toward Edie with those cold, dead eyes. “I’ll make your afterlife a living hell.” His voice was soft, but no less menacing. “We’re bound, Edie, together, forever and always. If I’m trapped, then so are you, my sweet.”

  “That was the plan,” she enlightened, again. “We’re bound, yes, attached to each other, and I used that to save this town from you, but…I had to die in the process. And I had to die here, so I could watch you, restrain you, so you’d never kill again.”

  “Restrain?” he repeated with contempt. “You think you have power over me?”

  Truthfully, in that moment, she didn’t really know, and as he rushed toward her, she was afraid that Arianna had been wrong. Tristan could never be restrained; not at least by the likes of her. As quick as a striking snake, he grabbed her arms, and an inferno of volcanic proportions consumed her body. She was on fire. She struggled out of his grasp, desiring to put out the flames that he’d set on her. But…she wasn’t on fire. She was just very, very hot.

  Tristan reached up and cupped her cheek, tenderly, and she realized that he was overheated, as well. “You feel so alive,” he said in astonishment.

  She reached up and placed her hand over his, still so gentle on her cheek. “So do you,” she said, just as bewildered. She immediately dropped her hand, realizing that she was caressing a monster. He didn’t let go of her, pressing her closer against his chest. “No,” she pleaded. “Don’t touch me.”

  He ignored her suffering. “I don’t understand,” he said, keeping a stranglehold over her. He was running his hot fingertips up and down her spine. “Alone, I feel so cold, but with you, holding you in death, the heat is almost unbearable.”

  “Then let go of me,” she suggested in a growl, and succeeded in struggling out of his grasp.

  So…he wasn’t all that powerful. She’d gotten away. Despite this, she needed to know if he could be restrained. So she grabbed his hand and refused to let go, even when it felt like her hand was burning to a crisp. He realized what she was doing and tried to pull away, but she held on, refusing to let him go. It wasn’t love. If she let him go, he’d kill again. She’d failed to save Mason. There was blood on her hands. She wasn’t going to darken it any further by allowing Tristan to escape and kill again.

  Tristan fell on his knees, weakened. “I surrender,” he said, sounding defeated.

  She released his hand. “It’s over,” she told him. “You’ll never leave. I’ll never let you.”

  “I know,” he said, and then stood up. He was frowning, until a devious smile spread across his face. “Well, Edie, how should we spend our eternity together?” His eyes darted up the stairs, where the bedrooms were located, and then back at her, his blues twinkling with mischief. “Wanna see my room?”

  “Yes,” she said, to his surprise. “I want to take a nap.” She felt really tired.

  Tristan furrowed his brow, confused. “A nap? But you’re dead.”

  She ignored his observation and swept past him, going up the stairs and down the hall toward the last room on the left; she just knew where his bedroom was located. She opened the door and entered a dark chamber; the curtains were closed, forbidding the moonlight to enter.

  She found a lamp near the door and switched it on; the light was dim, weak, but she was able to see the bed, before her; it was unmade and dusty. She noticed that it wasn’t the same bed that’d been in her dream and in her vision when he’d made her kiss Russell.

  The room was different too. She wondered if Tristan had conjured up a more romantic setting, displeased with the one from his memory.

  She shook the bed sheets clean of dust, or at least, as clean as she could get them, fluffed the pillows, and then lay down atop the covers, fully dressed; the mattress was hard and cold, just like Tristan’s personality. She laid her head against the pillow and closed her eyes.

  The bedroom door creaked open further and the hallway light (he’d flipped a switch) spilled into the room.

  “You’re weird,” Tristan said in an amusing, kindhearted way.

  She opened her eyes to see him leaning against the doorframe. “You’re bad,” she said, but lacking in endearment, and then closed her eyes.

  She heard him approach, along with the creak of the box springs, as he sat beside her onto the mattress. “Don’t girls love bad boys?”

  “Not ones who commit murder,” she said in a tone, keeping her eyes closed.

  She could hear him settling back against the headboard, leaving a small distance between their bodies. He was lying atop the covers.

  “You know, I’ve always fantasized about having a girl in my bed.”

  “Oh, yeah?” she said sleepily.

  “Yeah, but when I’ve imagined it, we were alive,” he said dryly.

  She opened her eyes and faced him. “Was it Arianna or some girl you’d never met?”

  He gave her a smile. “It was you.”

  “Liar,” she accused, and turned her back to him.

  She could feel him edging closer, and then his arm wrapped around her waist, holding her against him. She could feel the heat magnify when their bodies touched.

  He kissed her ear. “It was you,” he said. “I saw you before I’d even met you.”

  “In your bed?” she said, rolling her eyes, even though he couldn’t see.

  “In my bed,” he admitted. “In my life; in my mind, we were inseparable. I loved you, and you loved me back.”

  “You’re right: that was a fantasy.”

  He kissed her cheek and she blushed. “You’re not as cold as you used to be,” he jested. “You’ll love me yet.”

  She turned on her back and stared up at him, hovering over her. “You’re a monster, Tristan, and I’ll never, ever love you. I’m not here because I want to. I’m here because I need to. You needed to be stopped, and my death was the only way to ensure that. We’re not bound by love, but shackled out of necessity; a necessity to keep you in prison, while I watch you, day and night.”

  He smiled, despite her cold words. “So you can keep an eye on me in your sleep? You are truly wondrous, then.”

  She sighed, aggravated. “I wasn’t really going to sleep. I just wanted to relax, to rest.”

  “I know,” he said softy, understanding. “The dead don’t sleep. Maybe that’s why we moan all the time, wailing, because we’re never at rest. Or is that only in books and movies?” he mused.

  She slapped a hand over his mouth. “Did you talk this much when you were alive?”

  He kissed her palm, and before she could jerk her hand away, he had her by the wrist, pinning her arm above her head. He eyed the curve of her breast beneath her sweater, exposed in the position that he’d forced her to take. She made no move to restrain him and she didn’t know why.

  “I’d much rather kiss,” he said, pressing his body against hers.

  “Over my dead body,” she said, not intending to make a joke.

  He laughed anyway. “Well, I’ll have you any way I can.”

  He dipped his head
, and she pushed her back deeper into the mattress in a futile attempt to get away from him. He tried again to press his lips against hers, but she turned her face and denied him access. So he dove for her neck, trailing kisses up it, and then across her cheek, until he snaked his way to her lips. She clenched them shut, but he forced them open, sliding his tongue into her mouth, as he consumed her with a passionate kiss, conquering her fully. Finally, he released her and pulled away. Her lips actually hurt from his exquisite torment.

  “Do you love me now?” he asked, staring into her eyes.

  “I hate you even more.” She turned her back to him, ashamed of what she’d done.

  “Bitch,” he spat, and then left the room, slamming the door.

  A few minutes later, he reentered and apologized, adding, “Can I stay with you tonight?”

  “It’s your room,” she said.

  She watched as he gingerly sat on the edge of his own bed, keeping a sizable distance between them.

  ****

  They stayed like that for a very long time, in silence.

  She didn’t know what he was thinking—probably who to murder next—but she pondered as to why she still had her body. She came to the conclusion that since Tristan was corporeal when she’d died, she’d become corporeal too, considering they’d been attached (and still were).

  But he had the added ability to kill just by touch. She started to worry that she had the same ability, and she’d hurt someone unintentionally, but then she remembered that she’d never see or touch another living person again.

  She missed Uncle Landon and wished that she’d stayed awake to listen to the rest of his story. She worried for him. He’d lost his brother, her mom—who he’d always been in love with—and now, Edie. His answer was to fall into the world of horror. Edie just hoped that when he learned of her death, he wouldn’t fall deeper into that dark void, where it was certain to swallow him whole.

  She missed Diana, Madelyn, Jules, and Quinn. She even missed Gunnar, Rory, Bree, and Amee, even though they’d met briefly. And of course she missed Mr. Ballantine, Russell to her, a descendant of the Lockharts, who despite the assured scandal, wanted to be with her. She knew that his love or better yet, his lust was nothing more than Tristan’s twisted influence. But Adrian—when he’d possessed Russell—had spoken of fate and soul mates. That was absurd. He’d been wrong. My soul mate is dead.