by Tammy Turner
The End of Never
Book 2 of The Spitfire Series
Tammy Turner
The End of Never
© 2014 Tammy Turner. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopying, or recording, except for the inclusion in a review, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Published in the United States by BQB Publishing
(Boutique of Quality Books Publishing Company)
www.bqbpublishing.com
Printed in the United States of America
978-1-939371-14-0 (p)
978-1-939371-15-7 (e)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013951900
Book design by Robin Krauss, www.bookformatters.com
Cover illustration by Leah Jennings
For the one, the only, Gerald L. Surface, my father.
“I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable.”
- Walt Whitman, Song of Myself
Contents
Preface
Prologue
1 Awake
2 Heat
3 Digging Up Bones
4 Home Sweet Home
5 Nice Day for a Swim
6 Confessions
7 Burial Ground
8 Daydream
9 Nowhere to Hide
10 Blood Stains
11 Passed Out
12 In Sickness and in Health
13 Escape
14 Kidnapped
15 Ghosts in the Attic
16 No Place Like Home
17 Locked and Loaded
18 Crash
19 Stupid Girl
20 The Deep End
21 Dancing in the Moonlight
22 Bad Moon Rising
23 Highway to Hell
24 Long Way to Go, Short Time to Get There
25 Dead Man Walking
26 Insomnia
27 Midnight Snack
28 Signs of Life
29 Secrets of the Dead
30 Bite Marks
31 Freaking Out
32 Falling into Forever
32 Homecoming
Epilogue
Preface
Alexandra Peyton is a good girl whose senior year of high school has gotten off to a bad start. The shy seventeen-year-old has never had a boyfriend but, when classes begin at her private prep school Collinsworth Academy, a secret admirer emerges from the shadows with shoulder-sweeping raven hair, brooding azure eyes, and a ten-foot wing span. But the thousand-year age difference might be a deal breaker for her.
Kraven, her admirer, tries to play it cool around his crush but he is too hot to handle. As the victim of an ancient curse he has had a thousand years to wait for the right girl to come along, and he is certain Alexandra is the reincarnation of his long-dead princess bride.
Before classes begin Alexandra and her best friend Taylor escape to the shore for a girls’ only road trip. Sand, sea, secrets. The beachfront Peyton family estate has them all. When the girls return from Granny June’s home on the South Carolina coast to their hectic, big-city lives in Atlanta, Georgia, Alexandra possesses two souvenirs. The first is a once-lost package, sent to her by her now-missing (and presumed dead) father, which contains a mysterious pendant necklace. The second is a journal filled with the ravings of her dead uncle, an army officer who wrote of meeting the devil during his service in Europe during the final days of World War II.
However, a voodoo priestess who stalks the grounds of Peyton Manor is convinced the journal will help her conjure the devil and wants the book returned at all costs. As school starts, a vicious wolf man, working for his voodoo mistress Jasmine, plots an attack on Alexandra. When her life is threatened, the immortal stranger Kraven who has vowed to protect her reveals himself and changes her life irrevocably.
Prologue
A single drop of blood bubbled from beneath the thorn prick in the soft flesh of her palm. It ran down her finger to the dirt path beneath her feet.
“Hmm,” the girl sighed. She sucked at the wound before she risked another hand into the wild rose bush.
“You are perfect,” she told the flower as she plucked the red petals from their vine and raised them to her face.
Tomorrow he will be mine forever, she thought, smothering her face in the bloom. At the audacity of the thought, she blushed, her cheeks the same shade of fiery red as the flower clutched in her palm.
The tread of her bare feet marked her path down through the dirt trail and away from the stone walls of the village and Castle Kilhaven. The girl reveled in her solitude along the path to the river. She knew that inside the fortress walls, the village was stirring sluggishly in the breaking dawn.
So many have gathered to see me wed, she thought. She looked into the blue sky. They hope to see me—the mapmaker’s daughter! A mother bluebird peered at the girl from a low tree limb above her head. Nearby there was a nest of tiny, spotted eggs hidden in the green leaves. With a bow to the maiden, the mother bird leapt from the branch and soared into the sky.
The girl wished she could follow the creature’s flight, and she said softly, “May I join you?”
The surging water of the nearby river drew her eyes back down to the path. She knew she was close, but she needed more blossoms for her offering. One by one, she gathered wildflowers as she walked. Her bouquet spilled from her arms in a tide of yellow and white blossoms, the hem of her dress damp from the morning dew.
Her braided hair hung to her waist, a shimmering auburn mane crowned with daisies plucked from the path. With a grin of pure joy tugging at the corners of her lips, the girl forgot the prick of the rose’s thorn and skipped over the rock-strewn dirt path hurriedly toward the river, the sweet scent of honeysuckle hanging heavy in the morning air.
Satisfied with her bouquet, the girl approached the riverbank, eager to begin the ritual. On the opposite bank, a regal, wide-antlered elk sipped the cold water and lifted his head as the girl knelt across from him.
“Good morning,” the girl called gently to the striking beast. Lowering his head back to the water, he sipped more of the river. Refreshed and anxious to depart, he backed into the brush and grunted, his mighty antlers shaking back and forth.
“Goodbye,” the girl sighed as she listened to the rush of the retreating elk through the thick woods.
She rose and stepped across the smooth pebbles and gritty mud with her wildflower bouquet balanced in her arms. Her reflection rippled in the current as she stared in the clear water.
She considered that she was maneuvering along in girlish braids and bare feet. How silly I must look, she thought to herself and giggled, thankful to be alone as she tread slowly away from the bank. The water splashed her ankles, and she bit her lip at the icy grip of the river. A smooth, flat rock bulging from the current beckoned her to the middle of the raging stream, but the smack of the cool water against her knees kept her from venturing farther.
This is far enough, she reasoned and closed her green eyes. She saw him then in her mind’s eye. She remembered the moment well. He had bent to pick a wild purple blossom in the high grass and had offered it to her for a price.
“Be my bride,” he had said, laying a bronze medallion in her trembling palm. “Be my princess. Won’t you, Iselin, my love?”
Raising the gift now with her hands, she traced the figure of a man’s head joined to a dragon’s body with the tips of her fingers.
His azure eyes had squinted at her in the high sun of spring’s first day in the mea
dow. He had awaited her reply.
“I will,” she had whispered, as the prince tied a leather strap around her neck, the medallion falling to the center of her chest.
The sweet memory melted as the girl opened her eyes and stared downstream. With a shove forward, she tossed the bouquet into the water and whispered under her breath as her offering floated swiftly away in the raging current.
“Protect us,” she spoke softly as the flowers disappeared around a bend in the stream. “Protect Kilhaven.” Iselin bowed her head and wished for a long and happy life with her prince. “Forever,” she said, tears of joy spilling from her eyes. “I wish to be with him forever and ever, until our hearts stop beating.”
A single blossom clung to her bodice, its stems caught on a thread. Her fingers pulled the yellow buttercup to her face, and she nuzzled the petals against her nose, ignoring the cool water rising past her knees.
On the path to the river, a rider on the back of a black stallion slowed his steed. The horse’s heavy hooves kicked impatiently at the dirt as the rider waited for the girl in the water to turn her head.
Forever, he thought to himself. I shall love my Iselin forever.
“Good morning, beautiful maiden,” he called to the girl as he dismounted.
Iselin drank his face in greedily. Smiling widely, she bounded for the shore and to the man’s open arms.
A jagged rock under the current tripped her step, and she fell under the murky water.
“Stop this teasing,” the man called to the river.
Iselin held her breath and clawed at the rock, but the immovable stone would not release its grip. The air in her lungs burned. Kraven! she shouted in her head, fearful she might soon become unconscious.
“No!” the raven-haired man on the shore cried and dove into the water. Fiercely he jabbed at the current with his arms until his foot stumbled upon a floating mass.
Diving under the water, he found her and cradled his bride’s head in his arms while fighting with the rock that held her foot. The rock was dislodged only by the strength of a man possessed by love. He heaved the stone aside and pulled Iselin to the surface. On the bank, he called urgently, “Wake up!” and pushed his hands against her soaking bodice.
Her chest shuddered as water heaved from her lungs. Coughing and sputtering, she clung to his strong arms. Kraven soothed the back of her head and rubbed her shivering shoulders.
In the towering trees above their heads, a flock of black crows stirred and cawed angrily as they flew into the sky. A dark shadow passed across Iselin’s pale face, a tinge of pink staining her freckled cheeks. Kraven laid her down in a patch of grass for the sun to warm her trembling body. Resting his head against her chest, he listened quietly.
“Do you hear?” asked Iselin, her lips quivering as she stroked his hair.
“Yes,” he answered firmly. “You are so strong. It sounds as if your heart will leap from your chest.”
“No,” she said, raising his face to her eyes. “Listen,” Iselin pleaded and raised a finger to his lips to silence him. A faint drumbeat echoed through the forest. “Look,” she said, pointing a shaking finger to the sky.
Billows of chalky smoke wafted above the treetops.
“Don’t worry,” Kraven comforted her. “Not all of our guests have arrived yet for the wedding tomorrow. No doubt my cousin Drachen, from the highlands, must be close.”
A beastly roar shook the trees.
“Let us return to the walls of Kilhaven,” Kraven said, cradling Iselin in his arms. Securing her upon the back of his black stallion, he mounted the anxious steed as another blast of beastly fury echoed through the forest.
“Home,” Kraven whispered in the horse’s pricked ear. The handsome animal kicked up a spray of dirt as he sped down the path toward the castle walls.
Iselin held tight to her groom’s waist. The scent of smoke stung her nose. Squeezing her arms around his body, she vowed to never leave his side.
She knew he had retrieved her just in time from the clutches of the water. She nuzzled her face in the long, raven hair falling down his back. She shivered as she thought of the contrast between the warmth of him and the cold, murky river that had just tried to swallow her body. One day I shall save you, she promised.
1
Awake
I’m going to fall, she thought. Please don’t let me fall.
With her auburn bangs swinging across her forehead, Alexandra Peyton struggled to pull herself up to the top step of the shaking aluminum ladder. Her legs teetered as she stood upright and balanced herself on a red plastic platform the same height and width as her size seven black patent leather Mary Jane shoes.
“Did I mention I’m afraid of heights?” she announced as she slid a deep yellow band of metal measuring tape from its silver dispenser.
“He’ll catch you, lass!” the dark-haired Irishman shouted up at her as he gestured to the man standing patiently beneath the ladder. “Let’s hurry now,” he said, holding a blue pen to a yellow notepad. “The sun is up now, and our friend needs to put those things away before the neighbors notice.”
“I’m trying, Callahan,” she stammered, conscious of the rising heat under her collar and thankful for the shade of the cypress curtain hiding her history teacher’s backyard from the neighborhood.
Alexandra breathed deeply and extended her right arm into the air while she pulled more of the measuring tape from its dispenser. Beneath her, a raven-haired man stood silently, his head bowed. Two wings stretched majestically from his back. The seventeen-year-old Alexandra, still at the top of the ladder, shook her head from side to side, memorizing the details of him in her mind. She studied the color of his wings. They were the color of red, wet clay. It would not be accurate to say that they were scarlet or brick. Instead, the shade was like a deep sunburn that had faded into tan, like the faces of weathered sailors. The wings were webbed intricately under his taut skin, in places where bulging muscle and tendons rippled and flexed.
She leaned closer to the ladder, careful to hold her balance. She peered at his hair. It was black and fine, like a bat’s.
“Ten feet,” she shouted to Callahan. He nodded his head up and down and recorded the measurement in his notebook.
“Are you sure? Absolutely?” her teacher shouted up at her.
Alexandra rolled her eyes and dabbed away the sweat on her collar with the back of her left hand. Really? she thought, perturbed at his insistence on an exact measurement. You get up here, then! Her hand clutched at the medallion dangling from her neck.
The medallion swung side to side like a pendulum as she stretched the yellow measuring tape the length of the wingspan once more and scrutinized the bold, black numbers on the sharp metal band. “Ten feet,” she repeated as a yellow jacket buzzed by her right ear.
The tape retracted with a loud snap as the bug circled her head and dove for her nose. When she swatted wildly at it, her legs jiggled the ladder. The platform swayed beneath her feet and finally fell away. Here we go again, she thought, as she kicked at the air.
The winged man knew it would happen. He waited for it. She was clumsy and needed him; he had watched her too long not to know that.
As the beautiful girl fell toward him from the sky, he plucked her from the air with his long, steady arms. She opened her eyes and winked. “Thank you, Kraven,” she murmured as he gently set her feet on the ground.
Don’t put me down yet, she thought as she stood next to him, her heart racing. Maybe I fell on purpose, just so he would have to rescue me!
Trying to clear the thoughts racing through her mind, Alexandra shook her head. She liked how it felt to be held in his arms. Kraven set his hands squarely on the tops of her shoulders, and his azure eyes stared into the green pools twinkling above her cheeks. Wrapping his wings around her, he placed his left cheek against her freckled, blushing face.
That terrible creature! she thought, and trembled at the memory of the captured wolf-beast who lay asleep above their
heads in Callahan’s attic. Kraven held her closer.
Like a cave, she thought, as she huddled beneath his wings. Dark but warm. So warm. He smells like a campfire—a wild, raging fire that you can’t stand too close to, for too long.
Alexandra coughed, gasping for air as she pushed away from the man’s chest. His red wings dropped to his sides. She squinted in the bright morning light and fell to her knees. Crawling away from his feet, she felt as if she were emerging from the mouth of a cave. She grasped at the grass, her lungs searching for fresh air.
His chest was bare to the curious eyes of Alexandra and Callahan. In their battle against the wolf now captive in the attic, Kraven’s shirt had been shredded and had had to be discarded. For the first time, they were able to see the black scar that trailed from his waist, just above his right hip to the tip of his left shoulder.
His face betrayed no concern at Alexandra’s embarrassed stare at his body. A smile spread across his chiseled face and he narrowed his black eyebrows. A lock of raven hair spilled across his high forehead as his brow wrinkled in concentration.
She will remember, he thought. A flash of an auburn-haired girl with wildflowers in her braids charged through his memory.
“May I?” Callahan interrupted.
Kraven nodded and let Callahan stroke the fine wisps of black hair that grew from the pair of red wings.
“You can fly?” Callahan asked, and Kraven again nodded.
“Wonderful,” Callahan said joyously. “Now put those away before anyone sees.”
The wings melted into Kraven’s back. Two jagged scars pulsed between his shoulder blades, and for a moment, the man shuddered.
Alexandra and Callahan held their breath until Kraven met their gaping stares with his smiling eyes, a twinkle crinkling the edges of his cheeks. “Are we done now?” he asked with a satisfied huff of amused laughter.
In the yard next door, the growl of a dog floated over the wooden privacy fence and through the wall of cypresses toward the trio. Alexandra’s shoulders tensed and she glanced up toward the third floor of Callahan’s towering Victorian house. Under the gabled roof, she knew that the stifling attic imprisoned a creature that wanted her dead.
