Mack (The King Trilogy #4)

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  Okay. What was King thinking? I continued listening.

  “Not exactly,” King admitted.

  “What?” Mia snapped. “But you told me you were done with running the 10 Club.”

  Later, I would learn what the 10 Club was and why Mia seemed so adamant about King not being a part of it. For the moment, however, it was just one more piece of a world I was only beginning to understand.

  “Mack was helping me dismantle it,” King said. “Obviously, that’s now put on hold. And I cannot leave it to run itself or someone else will take power. I must remain in charge until I can figure out a new plan.”

  “Fuckingshit, King. No,” she barked. “Those people are dangerous.”

  “So am I,” he replied.

  “We have a baby. We have a life now,” she pleaded.

  “Which is why you will return to the safety of our home in Crete while I do what I must to locate the chalice and take care of this hiccup with the 10 Club leadership.” He turned and looked at me. “As for you, I meant what I said. And I will give you five seconds to leave this place before I kill you for the sixth time. Or is it the seventh? I cannot remember.”

  Mia’s face turned an angry shade of red. “I won’t let you—”

  “No,” I interrupted. “It’s fine. I’ll go if it means I get to see Mack again.”

  King growled. “If you so much as breathe my brother’s name again, I will remove your head and place it in a jar. But you won’t die, little Seer. You’ll live—for thousands of years if I wish it—screaming for help. But no one will hear you. Not a soul.” Mia opened her mouth to speak as he turned toward her. “And before you say a word, woman, I will remind you what you did to the man who gutted your brother like a fish.”

  Mia snapped her mouth shut and looked up at him, visibly fuming. Yes, I now wanted to know what happened to this man King had just spoken of, but I had bigger issues, and clearly it was pretty heinous if it could make this Mia woman stop talking. Still, I had to plead my case. I had to try.

  “I don’t care if I ever see Mack again,” I lied. “I just want to get him back. I want to know that he’s all right. Please, just let me help.”

  I guessed that King didn’t like that idea, because I felt something slam my body into the wall before I blacked out.

  ~~~

  When I woke, still in that cabin, I felt like I had been dismembered by a taffy puller. Every fiber of my being ached and felt paper thin, unable to carry its own weight. I glanced over to the spot where Mack’s body had been.

  Gone. So was the woman.

  I groaned and rolled from my side onto my back, wishing I was dead, too. I missed Mack. I missed him so much that all I could think of was digging that hole King had mentioned.

  Mack. Mack. Less than a week ago I had been a woman focused on her career. I’d lived a life that was colorless and absent of love. Now, I loved so much that I could hardly breathe. Yes, I barely knew this man. But my heart and soul knew him like the sound of my own voice. It was such a difficult thing to have such a profound connection with a person and not have the memories of how you got there—dates, a first kiss, making love for the first time.

  And as I lay there, wheezing and trying to find the strength to get up and fight, one question circulated in my mind.

  Why can’t I remember?

  It seemed that my memories wanted to push through but couldn’t. Whoever had done this to me didn’t want me to learn about my past with Mack or find him. And I didn’t get the impression that King (or Mia) had anything to do with it.

  So why? What was it they wanted to hide from me?

  I started to sob, dripping with misery, drenched in agony. Fight, Óolal. Fight. That bastard King can’t really hurt you, and he knows it. It was that voice inside me speaking. Me. Not me. Familiar and unfamiliar.

  “How can I fight when I can’t even move?” I whispered.

  Without reason or thought on the matter, I painfully edged my hands over my heart. I closed my eyes and stopped fighting the pain. Something inside told me to let it in.

  I inhaled the hurt and consumed its heavy weight, like eating cement. Within seconds, I felt myself fading away to another place…

  ~~~

  I am standing at the edge of a giant ballroom with white walls and gold trim, watching the other extravagantly dressed guests bow and twirl to the orchestra. I can’t believe I am here at yet another ball. I’m too old for this and have no desire to marry. At least not any man I’ve ever met. They all smell like perfumed poodles or speak only of my dowry. My friend and companion Lucida, on the other hand, lives for the day she is wed. Of course, she is proper wife material. I am not. I read incessantly—science, philosophy, religion, and politics. I argue with my father. I refuse to do as I am told. My heart is wild and untamable and always will be.

  I glance over at the grandfather clock in the corner of the massive room crowded with people who are laughing and drinking and judging one and other. One more hour of this horseshit and I am free to go. My older cousin Robert will chaperone me, as my father is away on business and my mother is feeling a bit “under the weather.” Really, she loathes these social events as much as I do, but this is my last season before I will officially be declared a spinster. I cannot wait. There is great freedom in being an old maid—no husband to make demands, no children to discipline, no more balls to attend.

  As I try not to fidget or tug at my cream-colored silk dress to relieve the pressure of the whalebone digging into my rib cage, I feel someone watching me from across the room.

  Oh, glorious. Yet another man I will have to politely shoo away with an excuse about my worn-out feet. But when I look up, a stunning pair of blue, blue eyes meet mine, and I feel like the wind has been sucked from my lungs. I start to fall backward, unable to keep myself upright.

  “Madam, are you unwell?” says a man to my side who had been chatting with my friend Lucinda about something trivial related to gardens.

  I find my legs again and nod. “Yes, I am fine. My dress is a little tight.”

  Lucinda, who is a petite-framed thing with golden locks—the exact opposite of me with my black hair and dark eyes—lets out a little laugh. “Evelyn, you really will go to any length to leave early. But I’m not having it. You made a promise to stay to the last dance.”

  This is the point where I would normally begin begging her to leave, appealing to her love for me, as we’ve been lifelong friends, but this time I do not wish to go anywhere. At least, not with her.

  I watch the stranger approach, weaving between an ocean of billowing ruffled skirts and men in black coats. He is a head taller than the rest and a thousand times more beautiful than any man I’ve ever laid eyes upon—shoulder-length sandy-blond hair, wide shoulders, and a pronounced jawline. The way he walks, with such confidence and ease, gives him an air of power. Or danger. I am unsure. Whatever the case, I cannot take my eyes away, and he cannot seem to remove his gaze from me.

  I have seen him before. I know I have. Yet I cannot recall ever meeting him, and this was the sort of man no woman could ever forget.

  The man finally reaches me and stares down, holding me in place with those stunning azure eyes.

  “It’s you, isn’t it?” he says in a voice so deep and masculine that my toes curl inside my silk slippers underneath my gown.

  Dear Lord, no. He thinks I am someone else. My heart is broken. Right then and there.

  “You have mistaken me, sir, for someone else,” I say acerbically. It’s just my luck that this man, this beautiful, wild-looking man who clearly doesn’t belong at a ball, though his clothes appear fine enough, would be in search of another woman.

  He holds out his hand, a very improper gesture, as we have not been introduced. “I never make mistakes.”

  I glance at his awaiting hand and cannot help wanting it. He’s simply too magnificent to deny.

  I reach for him, and the moment I do, images flash through my mind. I see myself and him together, th
ough he looks different. His features are dark and the planes of his face are exquisitely sculpted like a marble statue of a Greek god. But nevertheless, I know those eyes and their endless blues. And I know how he feels when he holds me and kisses me.

  “Who are you?” I whisper.

  “They call me Macarius.” His eyes shift around the room as if checking for someone. “Come, we must leave quickly.”

  Lucinda is now dancing and paying me no attention. My cousin Robert is occupied with a young blonde in the corner, surely attempting to convince her to meet somewhere later so he can rob her of her virtue.

  “Where will we go?” I ask, knowing it doesn’t matter.

  Macarius smiles, but I can see it isn’t genuine. There’s a certain darkness in his lovely light eyes. He is dangerous. I want to be with him anyway.

  He pulls me by the hand out the side door leading to a large fountain situated beside a long, torch-lit garden. The other guests will likely assume we are going to do something scandalous behind one of the many large trees, and I know my reputation will be soiled. I don’t care. I follow Macarius, and we silently make our way through the grounds, out a side gate, onto the street. The sound of horse hooves clicking, pulling carriages, fills the chilly air.

  As we walk in silence, my gloved hand in his, more images come crashing down on me. Jungle, rain, a small dwelling. I see this man over me, sliding his naked body between my thighs, breathing into my hair.

  Dear God. What is happening? Still, I am unafraid. I want only to be with him. I am burning for him.

  We turn the corner and enter the front gate of a large white house with pillars in the front. I know this home. I’ve seen it a million times. It was once owned by the governor, but he departed from San Francisco months ago. Rumor has it that a wealthy merchant from New York has purchased the estate but has not yet taken up residence. Obviously, they were mistaken. Here he is.

  And he’s all mine.

  We enter through the front door into a lavish foyer of white marble and muraled ceilings. Every thought running through my head tells me that my parents will disown me when word gets out that I am here. Yes, the servants will talk. They always do.

  We go into his sitting room, where a fire is already lit. Cognac is set out on a small table beside the pastel blue couch.

  “So this is your home? It’s lovely,” I say.

  Macarius releases my hand and goes to pour himself a tall glass. “Care for a drink?” he asks, ignoring my comment.

  “No. Thank you. I do not drink spirits. But can you…” I can’t seem to find the words I want to say. What in God’s name is happening to me?

  He guzzles his drink and sets down his glass, staring into the fire. “Do you have any idea how long I have been looking for you?”

  “How can this be if we’ve only just met?”

  He turns and looks at me sternly with those deep blue eyes. “You and I both know that’s not true, Óolal.”

  “My name is Evelyn. Evelyn Burgess.”

  “Call yourself whatever name pleases you. It does not change the fact that you are mine and that I am taking you up to my chamber.”

  I am too stunned to move. I have never been with anyone.

  “Why do I have memories of you?” I finally ask.

  He steps towards me and places his hands on my shoulders. “Because you and I are connected. Until our last breaths, in this life and the next.” He bends slowly and presses his lips to mine. More memories flood in. I see faces of people with dark skin and black hair gathered around a fire. I think I loved them once, but they made me very unhappy. They wouldn’t let me love someone.

  “I do not understand,” I say, pulling away.

  “You don’t have to. Simply listen to your heart.”

  Once again he takes my hand and leads me up a long marble staircase into his bedchamber where another warm fire fights the chill of the winter night outside. If there are servants in this home, I haven’t seen one yet, and for this I feel relieved.

  He closes the door and locks it behind us. And somewhere, a part of my brain is telling me this is madness to walk out of a ball with a man I have never met, to go to his home unaccompanied, to give myself to him. Yet the other part of my mind tells me that I have been waiting for this my entire life.

  He rushes to me and kisses me hard, his strong hands cupping the back of my head to bring me closer. His lips are soft, and he tastes like liquor. His wickedly skilled tongue slides against mine, and he enters my mouth, exploring and tasting me, breathing into me.

  Before I know what’s happening, he pushes me back onto his large four-post bed, lifting up my skirts.

  “I’m sorry, but I cannot wait.” He lies over me, and I see his hand moving to unbutton the front of his black breeches.

  I can barely stand the anticipation, and when his warm strong hands find my wet and ready entrance, he wastes little time to position his cock.

  I hold my breath and wait for him to enter. I’ve heard so many unpleasant things about what it feels like to lie with a man, but now my memories are urging me to do this. I know how good he will make me feel.

  “I love you. You know that, don’t you?” he says as he stares into my eyes. I suddenly see colors bursting all around him. Yellows and whites veined with black and red.

  I can’t speak as he drives into me, pushing through the barrier with his large cock. It feels like I might break, but as he slides in deeper and stops, the sting begins to subside.

  I release my breath, knowing the worst is over.

  “Ready for more?” he says in that deep hypnotic voice.

  “Yes. More.”

  He pulls out and drives in again. This time it feels good. So, so good. I raise my hips to get more of him.

  As he begins pumping into me, he works my breasts free from the top of my dress and bends his body to take my nipple in his mouth. The sensation sparks a delicious contraction deep in my belly.

  Oh, God. Where has this man been all my life? I throw my head back, moaning in ecstasy. I know that from this moment on, there will never be another.

  Macarius’s pace begins to quicken, and he returns to my lips, kissing me deeply, panting in time to my own quick breaths. We touch, we pant, we move like hungry animals, and all the while I see more images of him and me. We are in different places and times, yet he always looks at me the same way. So much love and sorrow in those eyes.

  Before I realize it, the sweet, sweet pressure builds and then…I explode. My body lights up with sinful contractions as he presses the weight of his long frame into my juncture, spilling his warm seed inside me. I grab fistfuls of soft sheets as the wave of pleasure racks my body until I’m left a quivering heap.

  He collapses on top of me, and I can hardly breathe, but I don’t care. Feeling him inside me, our bodies together, is like no other sensation I’ve ever experienced.

  “God, I missed you,” he whispers into my hair. “I can’t believe I found you.”

  “You came to the ball looking for me?” I murmur.

  “No. I was there to kill a woman. A very bad woman who murdered her husband for his fortune. I was taking my leave when I spotted you across the room.”

  I freeze in shock.

  “What? Have you forgotten that part, too?” he asks.

  I blink up at the white ceiling dancing with licks of orange from the fireplace. “Yes.”

  He sighs and withdraws, rolling over onto his back beside me. “Well, let me remind you, then. I was cursed by your father, who killed you because we made love and he believed it would displease the gods. He sentenced me to an eternity of reliving his torment. Giving in to the curse—killing—is the only thing that provides me a moment of peace from the darkness gnawing at my soul.”

  As Macarius speaks, my own mind shows me the horrific memories. It is frightening and amazing all at once.

  He continues, “But we were in love, so before you died, you used your gifts to bind your soul to mine. You said that you would
find me and free me.”

  Gifts. Yes, I have gifts. I can heal broken bones and take away sickness. My people thought I was some manner of demigod.

  I sit up and gasp. “I remember now. I remember everything.”

  “Good. Because I need you to free me from this curse, Evelyn. I cannot stand it any longer.”

  Oh Lord. It all hits me in one fell swoop. The suffering he has endured over thousands of years, my search for him over many lifetimes.

  “I am not sure I know how.” I only recall that moment of my death and wanting to save him with all my soul.

  He grabs me and pulls me down to his lips. “You simply need a little more reminding.” He kisses me again, and I feel my body giving in to my need for him. We spend the night making up for lost time, and I can only think of how happy I am. I must find a way to save this beautiful man.

  At first light, I dress and slip out of his home while he remains asleep, a vision of male perfection. It is a long walk back to my house on the other side of town, but I am fortunate enough to see a cab passing. The driver takes one look at me and shakes his head. He thinks I’m a whore of some sort, but money is money, so he brings me home.

  I slip in through the servants’ entrance in the back of our respectable Victorian-style house, ignoring the whispers and giggles of the staff. I couldn’t care less.

  “Tell the footman to ready the carriage,” I bark out in a hurry.

  Our maid, Bessy, gives me a look, and I know what she is thinking. It’s early in the morning, and I have no chaperone. I am up to no good.

  She’s right.

  I go up to my room, throw on my daily outing dress—blue with white trim—my heavy black wool coat, and a black hat. I don’t want to be noticed on the street.

  I grab the bit of gold coins I have hidden underneath my chest of drawers, knowing that what I am about to do is insane. I am about to make a deal with the devil, but there is nothing I won’t do to save Macarius.

  I rush out of the house and into the awaiting carriage. I slide open the little window to speak to my driver. “Take me to the dark house.”