I nearly drooled.
Four large cherrywood tables with matching chairs were scattered here and there. All the tables had open books on them—as if a hurried scholar couldn't be bothered to shelve the tomes.
Curious, I looked at the books on the table nearest to me. Nearly all of them covered various topics about ancient Egyptian culture. I peered down at the pages of the open text.
O you who take away hearts and accuse hearts, who re-create a man's heart (in respect of) what he has done, he is forgetful of himself through what you have done. Hail to you, lords of eternity, founders of everlasting!
It nearly sounded like an appeal to a vampire. I looked at the cover: Ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead. Ah. An appeal to ancient gods—not to the fanged ones. I returned the book to its original position. The other hardbacks on the table included subjects about Seth, the god of chaos, ancient Egyptian spells, and one about the lost world of the Sudan. The Consortium had archaeologists in the Sudan trying to dig up a temple. I knew it had something to do with the origins of the taint—and maybe even finding the cure. While the vampire disease had existed for as long as vampires had walked the earth, it had seen a resurgence in recent years, becoming almost plaguelike in its duration and intensity. The Consortium, the Wraiths, and even the Council of Ancients had been affected by the illness and all were searching for a way to stop it.
Rumor had it that the leader of the Wraiths might've unleashed the disease into parakind simply as a method of biological warfare. It seemed Ron wanted more than just to wipe out the Consortium—he wanted to wipe out the Ancients, too. But his plan must've backfired somehow. All vampires were affected by the disease, even the Wraiths.
Creeped out by the idea of such a terrible disease, I returned my attention to the library. On the left side was a huge stone fireplace. Two red velvet wingback chairs sat in front of the fireplace; each had a matching red velvet footstool. I walked to one of the chairs and ran my palm over it. Soft and worn. Probably original furniture. Each chair had an oval cherrywood side table with a tall lamp, tilted at the right angle for reading.
I couldn't resist the idea of sitting in one of these chairs and whiling away the evening reading books. What else was I supposed to do? Usually I was at the Broken Heart library, tending to all the tasks there. My daughter was exploring a big, spooky house with a potential boyfriend. My friends were checking each other's nonexistent breath. Yet I still felt guilty about curling into a comfy chair and indulging my reading obsession. I looked up, up, up at all the books. When would I ever have another opportunity to enjoy this place?
Giddy, I decided to wander along the walkway and see what treasures awaited me there. As I stepped into the darkest part of the alcove, a hand reached out and grabbed my forearm.
"Hey! What the—"
Chapter 15
"Jeez, Eva," said Ralph. "It's just me." He pulled me close to the window. My eyesight adjusted. His hair was medium brown, cut short, his eyes were blue, and he wasn't quite as tall or buff as Lorcan. Ralph was lean and wiry. He looked like a working man, which I appreciated.
"I dropped by to see how you were doing."
"You scared me."
"I'm sorry."
An awkward silence ensued. Well, it was probably awkward for me. I wasn't sure what else to say. I found myself staring at the stained glass again. The only image taking up the entire window was one long-stemmed red rose.
"I wanted to know if—if you wanted to go see a movie." He pointed at the floor. "Downstairs. They're playing Casablanca. I've been told approximately forty-two times that you can't leave." He looked at me, his blue eyes sincere. "Why not?"
"I was sorta kidnapped."
"Are you okay?" He grasped my arm. "Did they hurt you?"
"No, I'm all right." I felt uncomfortable with Ralph intruding on my personal space. "Thanks for taking care of the library, Ralph. I appreciate it."
"It's no problem." He stepped closer, his eyes filled with empathy. "I'm glad you're okay, Eva." He leaned down and kissed my cheek.
"What the bloody hell is going on?"
Startled, I looked up—straight into the angry gaze of Lorcan.
"None of your concern," answered Ralph. I saw annoyance flash in his eyes.
Lorcan's jaw clenched and his hands curled into fists. Fury vibrated off him. She's mine. Stay away from her. Damn it!
Yikes. I could hear Lor's thoughts, but he probably didn't realize that I could hear him now. Jessica and Patrick shared each other's thoughts, but most mind-speak was reserved for emotionally attached vamps.
Ralph wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "I was asking Eva to the movies."
Obviously frustrated, Lorcan stared at me. I saw a muscle ticking in his jaw.
"I'm sorry, Ralph," I said. "I can't go with you."
He looked at me, looked at Lorcan, and then sighed. "I see."
I felt bad. Ralph was a wonderful man. Not only was he handsome and nice, but he understood the vampire lifestyle. He was a rarity. For me, though, Ralph couldn't compare to Lorcan.
"Bye, Eva." He offered Lorcan his hand. Lorcan shook it. "Lorcan."
"Ralph."
I watched Ralph leave, then turned my gaze to Lorcan. As always, he was dressed in black, but he was casual Goth tonight. He wore a black T-shirt and black jeans and black Converses. His dark hair had been pulled into a queue. Jessica called Patrick "Remington Steele" because he reminded her of Pierce Brosnan. I had to admit that the O'Halloran brothers resembled my favorite 007.
Lorcan's gaze was dark and dangerous. He stalked me until I was backed against the window. Adrenaline spiked in my stomach as he stood before me, studying me. Then he grasped my hands and brought each wrist to his lips for a soft kiss.
"You are well?" he asked softly.
"Uh-huh." I couldn't articulate more than that. He looked beautiful and angry and yummy.
Heat pooled between my thighs and desire thickened hotly through me. I wasn't sure what to do. The excitement of sexual longing hadn't happened since Michael seduced my foolish seventeen-year-old self. I'd had two lovers since then, but had derived very little pleasure from those encounters. My last boyfriend, who had to date me for nearly six months before he got into my pants, called me frigid. Not long after we broke up, my mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I had one relationship—brief and unremarkable—before Tamara and I moved to Broken Heart.
Lorcan inspired bone-melting lust. His tongue flickered across my pulse-deprived wrist. Tingles of longing skipped up my arm.
His gaze captured mine. "Do you want me to stop?"
No. Yes. I don't know. I shook my head.
He raised my arms and pressed them against the window. I could feel the beveled glass against the back of my hands as his palms flattened against mine. Toe-to-toe, he covered my body with his, pushing my breasts into his muscled chest. My nipples enjoyed this situation so much that they tried to drill into his skin. And he knew it, too. He closed his eyes, shuddering, and when he opened them again, I knew I was done for.
His lips descended to mine.
My body was a tinderbox and Lor was the match. We burned hot and bright, but ours wasn't a spark quickly doused. Given the opportunity, the flames would build and grow and strengthen. In that moment, I knew that I wanted Lorcan—in every way that counted.
He kissed me passionately. Desperately. I melted all over again. Would every kiss be this way between us? He dropped my arms and gathered me into his embrace, holding me against him as his tongue warred with mine. I reveled in his loss of control.
Heat and light filled me. I wiggled closer, moaning as he attacked my mouth with renewed fervor. I pulled him closer still.
God, he was beautiful.
I never felt so… so wonderful. I felt as though I had come home. I was in the arms I had always longed for, with the man I had always wanted.
"I promised to protect you," he said sorrowfully. "And I failed."
"No," I said. "Never."
"I have cared for no one as I care for you. I do not have the words to describe how you make me feel. I never want to lose you, Eva."
"You won't," I said. Desire raged through me. I lifted his shirt and stroked his stomach.
"I would bind with you," he murmured against my lips. "For us, a hundred years would pass as if it had been a day."
"You're crazy," I said, but my heart jolted. Was Lor saying he'd marry me? He was such a poet. Such a lovely, sweet poet. "Shouldn't we date first?"
"Anything you wish," he murmured.
He was kissing me dizzy. Really dizzy. I felt faint. Reluctantly, I pulled back. "Lor, I feel strange."
"Me, too. You drive me mad."
"Ditto. But this is something different." My whole body went cold, then hot. My stomach clenched and my head squeezed. Darkness roared at me. I saw Lor's shocked expression right before I passed out.
When I opened my eyes, I saw Jessica. Sheesh. This was really getting to be a pattern.
"I'm sorry, Eva. I'm so fucking sorry."
"What are you talking about? What's happened now?"
I saw Patrick next to Jessica, his gaze filled with sorrow.
"Oh, my God. Tamara."
"She's fine," reassured Jess. "She's in the kitchen with Durriken and Helene's sitting between them."
If my daughter was okay, then what was the issue? "Did the library burn down?"
"No. Ralph has that handled."
Well, then, if Tamara was safe and my home was safe, that meant I must be the cause of my friends' concern.
My heart squeezed. Had Charlie given me something that was worse than drugged blood? He was a human. I was a vampire. Supposedly, as one of the undead, I had a godlike immune system.
"I fainted," I said. "Isn't that an odd thing for a vampire to do?"
"Well, yeah. Sorta." Jessica looked uncomfortable and twitchy. Patrick put his arm around her and drew her close.
I was torn between demanding the truth and delaying hearing the bad news. My stomach felt lined in lead. Whatever they had to tell me, I was sure it didn't involve winning the lottery or discovering a lost Shakespeare play.
My gaze swept the space. This wasn't the same room I'd had before. I couldn't pinpoint why the decor, or rather the lack of it, bothered me.
The door clicked open, stalling the bad news. Lorcan slipped inside.
Lorcan's gaze captured mine. His eyes reminded me of storm clouds, especially with those raven eyebrows always dipped into twin frowns.
"Evangeline."
He adorned my name with such tenderness that I felt an unaccountable need to weep. I couldn't explain the feelings that overtook me. I was just so glad to see him, to know that he was near. He coasted to the other side of the bed, picked up my hand and kissed my knuckles. My skin trembled under the softness of his lips.
"A stóirín," he murmured. He glanced at Jessica and Patrick. "I will tell her."
Jess and Patrick nodded, their gazes filled with concern and, if I was any judge, fear. I watched them leave. As the door shut with a metallic thud, I suddenly realized why I had been bothered by the room's setup.
It reminded me more of Faustus's cell than of hospitable accommodations. I had no doubt it was locked from the outside. Were they protecting me from another kidnapping attempt? Or were they protecting others from me?
I didn't think I'd like the answer.
"I'm thirsty." I licked my lips. "Jess fed me, too."
"That was yesterday evening," he said. "You've slept through again, Eva."
"I seem to be doing that a lot lately." I sighed. "It wasn't the drugs that did me in this time."
"No. We took you to Stan and kept you unconscious to run tests."
Had it been capable, my heart would've leapt out of my chest. My mother, tired and pale for weeks, passed out at work. I took her to the hospital emergency room. The doctor was friendly but patronizing, too. We'll keep her overnight, run some tests. Probably just stress and exhaustion. Don't worry, Miss LeRoy.
When I returned the next morning, my mother told me the truth. Terminal cancer. No surgery, no radiation, no drugs could arrest the disease. Two months later, she was gone.
My eyes ached with the need for tears. Had someone taken a torch to my throat? It felt dry and crispy. I wanted liquid. I wanted blood. "Is there a donor available?"
"We cannot give you a donor." He cupped my hand in both of his. "But we are looking into an alternative food source for you."
My stomach did a slow dive to my toes. "Oh, God. Lor, what did Charlie do to me?"
"When you were taken from the hospital, do you remember anything prior to stumbling into the Roma camp?"
I nodded. "I had an odd dream that someone opened his wrist and made me drink his blood. It didn't taste right."
"Damnú air." His grip tightened. "My darling Evangeline." He pressed his cheek against my hand. He looked at me, sorrow filling his gaze. "You have the taint."
Chapter 16
The prince walked west. In every village along the road, he asked about the beautiful maiden, but none had seen a woman such as he described. Weeks passed and still the prince did not find either his soul mate or the help promised by the fortune-teller.
Finally the prince reached the edge of the continent. He could go west no longer—not unless he chartered a ship. That evening, he lodged at an inn built into a seaside cliff overlooking the gray ocean. From his balcony, the prince watched lightning dance among dark clouds. He knew the brewing storm would be a nasty one and he decided to sup early so that he could return to the safety of his room before the weather turned foul.
Then he heard the dulcet tones of a woman singing. Entranced by the lovely voice, he flew from the inn to the beach below. There he found a young lady sitting on a rock, staring into the sea. Her dress was black and her blond hair covered by black lace. Her song was very sad and her tears fell like tiny diamonds onto the sand.
"Why are you weeping?" he asked.
"Our family has suffered greatly from the plague," she said. "My father and my two youngest sisters died this very week. I've been spared only because I've been away at school. My elder sister took care of everyone, though she is very ill herself Now she lies alone in our cottage, suffering greatly.
"A neighbor sent word about my family's deaths and my sister's terrible illness. I've been traveling ever since, hoping to reach home so that I may be with my sister. She is such a good soul, so beautiful and kind."
The prince took pity on the young woman. "I will take you to her. How far away is your home?"
"Two days' walk from the inn. I would go onward except that bandits and evil spirits roam the woods at night."
"Do not worry, pretty one. I will help you." The prince used his glamour to hypnotize the girl. He took from her neck only what he needed, then gathered her into his arms and rose into the air.
Thunder boomed as the storm drew closer, but the prince flew through the night, reaching the little farm just before dawn. He took the sleeping girl into the barn and settled her into a pile of warm, soft hay. She dared not enter the house yet, not until measures were taken to rid the cottage of the plague.
With only minutes until dawn, the prince entered the cottage and sought the bedroom of the dying sister. When he opened the door, he saw a woman asleep on her pallet, her skin pallid and her breathing erratic. She had hair the color of a raven's wings and lips as red as the rose. But it was not her ravaged beauty that called to him. It was the instant connection of his soul to hers. She was the one he had waited for—she was his other half, his truest love.
The prince dropped to his knees and wept.
He had found his maiden.
And she was not long for this world.
—From The Prince and the Maiden,
an unpublished work by
Lorcan O'Halloran
Chapter 17
When my mother was dying from cancer, I read everything about disease and medicine and psychology that
I could get my hands on. I think, in some corner of my mind, I was hoping to find a way to save her.
On one of my many trips to the library, I picked up On Death and Dying by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross. In the book, the author described the five stages of grief. I read it hoping to prepare myself for losing my mother.
What I didn't know, or maybe what I didn't accept, was that nothing could prepare me for Mom's death. I had always turned to books, to knowledge, to help me get through everything in my life—and, sometimes, to escape it. But grief was a journey through a forest of razor blades. I walked through every painful inch of it—no shortcuts and no anesthesia.
My mother had taught me that life is about choices. Sometimes things go your way, and sometimes they don't. But you always have a choice about how to act and how to feel.
"Eva?"
I blinked. I had mentally wandered away from Lor the minute he pronounced my death sentence. How would I tell Tamara? Who would care for her if I… ? I couldn't wrap my brain around the idea of my own death. It was one thing to have the Grim Reaper sneak up on you and another thing entirely to get his engraved invitation.
Even as questions and worries battered at my mind, I thought about On Death and Dying. The first stage of grief was denial. I didn't have to argue with Lor or Stan or the science. I had the taint. Okay, then, I'd just skip denial and go right on to being gloriously pissed off.
"Did Charlie give me the taint? Is that why I can't have a donor?" Anger made me feel stronger. I sat up in the bed. Then I realized I was wearing a hospital gown and nothing else. Zarking fardwarks! Just who had stripped off my clothes before allowing the scientist to poke and prod me?
"No human has ever been a carrier for the taint, but we aren't taking any chances. We don't know who kidnapped you and we don't know why he—or she—poisoned you."
"But whoever it is knows that I can communicate with lycans."
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