by Chloe Hart
“I don’t understand.”
“I know you don’t. I only hope that’s still true when we leave this place.”
The door opened without warning, and a doorkeeper was there.
He might have been an illustration of what Luke had been talking about. He was handsome the way Greek statues are handsome: pale, cold, and flawless. His long hair was white but his face was young and perfect, and the body beneath his leather armor was perfect, too.
“We’ve heard rumors of your coming,” he said, his voice melodious if cold.
He stepped back to let them in. The doorway was narrow, and as Luke and Kit walked through it Kit brushed against the doorkeeper accidentally. He caught her by the arm.
“Catherine Bantry,” he said, looking directly into her eyes. His own were jade green in a face as pale as marble, framed by dead white hair.
His hand was icy and Kit felt a rush of horror at his touch. She forced herself to answer calmly.
“Yes,” she said. “Thank you for letting us in. We’re here to see the king and queen of the dead.”
“I know why you’re here.” His gaze was intent, as if he were appraising her. “It’s been many a long year since a hero has visited the underworld.”
Kit hurried to disabuse him of that notion. “I’m no hero, Mr.—um—”
“My name is Nethos. Only a hero endures the underworld for the sake of another. You are welcome here.” He glanced at Luke. “The vampire I’ve met before. The last time you were here, Luke Cadris, you left with something that doesn’t belong to you.”
“That’s between me and the lady who rules here,” Luke answered evenly.
Nethos turned his attention back to Kit. “The vampire has guided you this far, but your need for his services is at an end. I offer myself as guide in his place.”
Kit wondered what the etiquette was in a situation like this. “That’s very…I mean…of course I thank you for the offer, but I think I’m all set.”
“All set?”
“I’m satisfied with my current guide,” she said carefully.
Nethos smiled for the first time. “It’s obvious you don’t have the smallest conception of what it is to be satisfied. I seldom make an offer like this, as the vampire will tell you. You would be well advised to accept it. You’re very lovely, Catherine Bantry, and the life in you is strong. It will be my pleasure to serve you. Once again I offer you my protection.”
“She’s already said no.”
Nethos turned on Luke like a snake. “Allow the lady to make her own choice, vampire. You have no voice here.”
“I would have no voice only if I had no claim. But I do have a claim, Nethos.”
The doorkeeper’s eyes narrowed as Kit tried to follow this new turn in the conversation.
“You have not fulfilled the ritual,” Nethos said coldly. “She bears no mark.”
“I’m only claiming my right to place her under my protection. Her consent isn’t necessary for that, nor any ritual. I declare it here and now, before witnesses. I place my body between Catherine Bantry and any creature who would offer her harm—including you. Get your hands off of her before your blood stains the doorway you guard.”
“Now, wait just a—” Kit started to say, but when she turned indignantly to Luke the words died on her lips.
His fangs had descended, glittering in the light of the torches that burned within the doorway. His eyes were those of an animal.
The hair moved on her scalp.
“You’re a fool,” Nethos said as Luke gripped her arm, pulling her towards the narrow stairway beyond the doorway.
The doorkeeper’s voice followed them part of the way up. “Claiming the right of protection may not commit her, but it commits you. Why have you bound yourself to a woman who will never claim you in return?”
After that there was silence, except for the echo of their feet on the stone steps. Luke climbed so swiftly Kit could hardly keep up. When they reached the top they continued along a corridor that seemed to go on forever, or so it seemed to Kit as she half stumbled in her effort to match Luke’s long strides.
“Okay, what the hell was that about?” she fumed as soon as she could speak. “Also, you can slow down anytime.”
When Luke continued to ignore her, Kit simply stopped walking. A few strides later he noticed she wasn’t with him and turned back.
“What’s wrong?” he asked when he saw her face.
“Your fangs,” she answered as calmly as she could.
Luke stared at her. “Sorry if the sight offends you, sweetheart. But I am a vampire, and occasionally I look the part.”
“I don’t care what you look like,” she snapped. “I care that you’re calm and…and…rational. The only other time I’ve seen your fangs you were completely out of control. I need you to get a grip before we take another step, and I need you to tell me what this whole claim thing is. Charon said something about it back at the river, and now Nethos. Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s something I’m going to approve of.”
Luke’s eyes were inhumanly yellow, his pupils glittering like onyx. He looked like someone you should run from in terror.
Instead, Kit reached up and put a hand against his cheek.
“Are you with me?” she asked softly.
* * *
It was the same question he’d asked her in the borderlands, and Luke knew she’d done that on purpose. She was pulling him back from the edge as he’d pulled her.
He closed his eyes and fought for control.
It helped that his senses were filled with Kit. The sound of her breathing, the rush of her blood, the feel of her soft palm on his cheek. Luke reached up and covered her hand with his. When he opened his eyes again he knew they were blue. He felt his fangs retract.
“I’m with you,” he said, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’m sorry I…I’m sorry you saw that.”
She smiled at him. “You’re sorry I saw that? Have you forgotten some of the other things I’ve seen lately?”
Luke still held her hand in his. She hadn’t run from him, and she didn’t despise him. He turned his head and pressed a kiss into her palm.
She pulled away hastily. “Okay, now you’re trying to distract me. I still need you to explain that whole claim of protection thing.”
Damn. No matter how he explained it to her, he very much doubted that Kit would be okay with it. “It’s not important. It doesn’t even affect you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Luke sighed. “It’s an old tradition among vampires. The full claim we don’t need to talk about because it will never happen. What I did is just the first stage. Basically, I took an oath to protect you. I would have protected you anyway, so it doesn’t change anything between us, but the formal claim leaves a kind of supernatural signature that other creatures can read. It lets them know that if they want to get to you they have to go through me.”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “I know I did it without asking you, but I didn’t like the way Nethos was looking at you. And before you go all feminist on me, of course I know you can fight your own battles, but if you make an alliance with a vampire you’re going to have to deal with some primitive instincts at some point. I’ve done my best to control myself, but there it is. It’s done now and can’t be undone. Can you live with that?”
The torchlight flickered across her face as she looked at him, her eyes searching his. After a few moments she nodded. “I suppose so. As long as…I don’t have to claim you back or anything, do I?”
In spite of himself he felt a stab of pain. “No. Never. Even if you wanted to I wouldn’t let it happen. Don’t worry about that.”
“Okay, then.” Kit hesitated and looked down the curving corridor. “What’s next?”
“The last stage of our journey. We’re going to the throne room of Hades and Persephone. Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be. Is it okay if…can I still hold your hand?”
>
“Yes,” was all Luke said. But his blood sang as their fingers entwined, and he knew that despite what he’d told Kit, the protection claim, at least for him, was no minor matter.
It was the first step along a path he’d never traveled—a path that a Romany soothsayer had once prophesied would lead to his destruction.
Love will be the death of you, the old woman had said.
Merton had been concerned about the prophecy, but not Luke. “It’s another way of saying I’ll live forever,” he’d joked. “We both know love isn’t one of my weaknesses.”
Then he met Kit Bantry.
If love had finally found him, death might not be far behind—if he believed the prophecy. But in spite of that possibility, Luke’s heart was light as he and Kit took the last steps of their journey together. It felt right to be Kit’s avowed protector, no matter what the consequences might be for him.
And so they came at last to the great black doors.
They swung open silently, and Luke felt Kit flinch at the sudden brilliance. His eyes adjusted immediately, but he knew that Kit, who’d grown used to the shadows of the underworld, was almost blinded by the light of the throne room.
When he heard her gasp, he knew she could see clearly again.
“My God, Luke. It’s so…beautiful.”
It was beautiful. The creatures of the borderlands mined the underworld for gems and precious stones, paying them in tribute to the rulers of the dead. Over the eons those gems had been crafted into mosaics that glittered on every wall, jeweled tapestries showing scenes from the long history of the demons and their gods. After the shadow world they’d journeyed through, the rich tones of sapphire, emerald, ruby and amethyst were like a revelation.
Luke pressed Kit’s hand. “This is still the same world we’ve already seen.”
She nodded. “I know. I’ll try not to be dazzled, or whatever you’re warning me against. It’s pretty amazing, though.”
Luke looked down at her. “I must admit it’s the first backdrop I’ve seen yet that does you any justice.”
She met his eyes with a quick smile. “You should see me in a room full of computers. That’s where I really belong.” She turned her eyes back to the brilliance of the throne room. “Let’s go get this done.”
They walked slowly down the long aisle, their feet echoing on the marble floor. Thousands of candles and oil lamps—no torches in here—turned the jeweled walls and pillars into an Aladdin’s cave of glory.
The raised dais at the room’s end was an anticlimax. The dais itself, and the two thrones set upon it, were hewn from rough black stone.
Only the queen’s throne was occupied. Persephone sat before them as still as a statue, wrapped in a cloak of plain black wool. Her face was shadowed and hidden within the hood.
They came to a halt before the dais.
“My lady queen—” he began.
“Very polite, Luke, but I don’t think we need stand on ceremony.”
At the sound of the rich contralto voice he stiffened, and when the woman flung back her hood he gripped Kit’s hand so hard she hissed in pain.
It wasn’t Persephone. It was Hecate.
Goddess of night, of the dark moon, of magic and sorcery and all things hidden.
Hecate the dark beauty, her shining black hair framing her dead white face, her green eyes framed by arching brows. Her curving red-lipped mouth was capable of cruelty, but right now her smile was gracious and welcoming.
Before he met Kit, he would have said that Hecate was the most desirable woman he’d ever known. They’d shared one night together in the kingdom of the dead, and afterwards she’d asked Luke to stay with her in the underworld.
When he refused, she laid a curse on him. She made sunlight deadly to him, so he would know the darkness of her realm for the rest of his days.
“My hand,” Kit gasped.
He realized he was hanging on to her as if someone were trying to drag her from him, and he forced himself to let go. She flexed her fingers as she stared at him.
Luke had a sudden vision of a long, dark tunnel and Kit being pulled into it, out of his reach forever.
“You poor dear.” Hecate came swiftly off the dais to stand between them.
She took Kit’s hand in both of her own, murmuring over it, and talking to Kit as if Luke weren’t there.
“He can be a bit brutish, can’t he, love?”
“I….”
Luke could only watch as Kit gazed up at Hecate, hypnotized by her beauty, by the gentleness in her voice, and by whatever healing spell the goddess was working over the bruised hand.
“Queen Persephone, I’ve come here to—”
Luke forced himself to speak. “Kit, this isn’t Persephone. This is…”
“Oh, Luke, allow me.”
She took Kit’s other hand, so that both of hers were palm up and both of Kit’s were palm down, as if they were children about to play a game.
“I am Hecate. I speak for Queen Persephone in all capacities. And you—” she suddenly swung Kit’s arms wide, like a mother surveying her daughter’s prom dress, and gave a dazzling smile. “You are Catherine Elizabeth Bantry,” she said, letting the syllables roll over her tongue in her smooth-as-silk voice, just deep enough to resonate throughout the throne room.
Luke felt a little sick when he saw the look in Kit’s eyes.
“Call me Kit,” she said shyly. She glanced down at her right hand, the one Luke had bruised. “You healed it, my lady,” she said, flexing her fingers.
Hecate smiled almost tenderly.
“A minor service. Don’t mention it. I’m sorry the king and queen couldn’t be here to welcome you. Although, frankly, it’s probably just as well…considering some of your actions the last time you were here, Luke…”
Trying to shake off the foreboding that gripped him, Luke fumbled in his pocket with unaccustomed clumsiness.
“I came here in part to rectify those actions, my lady. At the behest of Miss Bantry, I’ve come to return the Gem of Fanor to the queen. And we hoped that the queen might be willing to entertain a request of Miss Bantry’s.”
Luke spoke quickly, almost abruptly, and he felt rather than saw Kit frowning at him, wondering what was wrong.
“Very generous of you, Luke. Of course you are capable of great generosity. Don’t you find that to be so, Kit?”
“Yes, he—I mean—it’s very generous of him to help me—”
Hecate brushed that aside. “I’m talking about as a lover, my dear. Don’t you find him to be a generous partner in that arena?”
Luke felt a coldness settle in the pit of his stomach. So this is it, he thought. This is the weapon she’s going to use.
And even with the intimation, he had no idea how to fight her.
“I wouldn’t know,” Kit said stiffly, glancing at Luke. “I take it that you…that you and he…”
“Have been lovers?” Hecate glanced from one to the other, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Yes, I have known that pleasure.” The smile grew wider as she focused her gaze on Luke, but her words were aimed at Kit.
“And ye gods, what a pleasure it was. Let me tell you, Kit, just as woman to woman: you’ve never experienced an orgasm until you’ve had a vampire driving into you while he pulls your blood from your veins.”
She let the cloak fall from her shoulders, and Kit gasped.
She was naked. And covering her pale skin was a network of paler scar tissue—the marks of a vampire, ravenous, insatiable, a slave to sexual desire and blood lust. The marks of his fangs stood out like brands on her soft flesh: her neck, her breasts, her thighs.
Luke forced himself to look at Kit, knowing what he would see in her eyes. The revulsion, the horror, even though he’d never lied to her about who he was, not really, not…
And then he knew why he had been afraid from the moment he saw Hecate. Why he had no defense against the weapon she was using.
Her weapon was simply the truth,
the truth of who and what he was. The evidence was on her body and in her words, describing a night of brutal passion between two immortals, as far removed from Kit’s innocence and sweetness and humanity as it was possible to be.
He took a step backwards, away from Kit, as if to begin the process of separation. What had he been thinking? She didn’t belong with him. And no matter what lies he tried to tell himself, he knew the truth now…now when the hopelessness of it stared him in the face.
She didn’t belong with him, but he belonged to her, now and forever. She would go back to Boston after this was all over, and get a job working with computers, and marry some fool, and have children, and if he had a spark of decency or courage in him he would stay away from her and never, never let her see him in the shadows, looking after her however he could, protecting her in any way she might need.
And even though her Fae blood would give her long life, eventually she would grow old and die. When that happened, Luke would lay himself down on her grave until the sun came to destroy him. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, was as close as he would ever get to Kit Bantry.
Hecate was going on, as he’d known she would.
“I would have asked Persephone to give him the Gem of Fanor, in exchange for the ecstasy he gave me, but I suppose the silly darling can’t help but steal things. Part of his nature, you know. He chained me to my bed—I sleep in the room adjacent to the queen’s chamber, to guard her when she’s there and her treasures when she’s not—and then he drained my blood until I passed out. The queen was away, and it must have been easy enough to slip in there and take the Gem. He’s a sly one, our Luke, no question about that. Oh, he’ll lie and cheat and steal to get what he wants, but I’ll wager you that every woman he’s ever been with, mortal or immortal, would agree it was worth it.”
She smiled again, first at Luke and then at Kit, as if they were having a pleasant conversation over tea.
“He…chained you to the bed?”
Kit’s voice was quiet, and Luke knew she was remembering how he’d handcuffed her to the bedpost in Paris. Only to protect you, he wanted to shout at her, but what was the use? Whatever she thought of him now was no more than the truth. What good would it do to tell her he’d let the skin be flayed from his bones before he would hurt her?
