Icarus; The Kindred (A Paranormal Romance)

by J. S. Chancellor

  "Oh, wow." I'm drooling. This really is a castle, complete with stone walls, turrets, arched courtyards and huge fountains. I think I see a garden in the distance and maybe a lake—I can't tell because my eyes are misting.

  "Makes Tristan's place look a bit shabby, huh?" Jacelynd grins.

  "Shabby, no, this makes his place look like a cardboard box on Broadway. After a rainstorm."

  We apparently took the long route, because the others seem to have been here a while. I touch the hoods as we pass the other cars and they're cool to the touch. It's a habit from years of tracking subjects. Jace notices.

  "You don't miss much, do you?"

  "Did I before?"

  "No, but Jessi," he laughs, "you weren't an assassin. You haven't changed, but … you've changed."

  "Hmm. Nice and vague. Just like I like it." I loop my arm in his as we walk up to the ridiculously gorgeous front doors. I couldn't tell you what kind of wood they're made from, but the artistry, the characters that are carved into the panels are unbelievable. They appear to be fairy tales of some sort. The one on the right has a bear, a squirrel and a dragonfly. The one on the left has dragons and winged warriors. Both are stunning.

  Quinn bursts through a side entrance before Jacelynd's hand reaches the handle.

  "We've already been through the house. It's all clear." He yawns.

  Something about the nonchalant way he says this makes me worry. Jacelynd seems to take it at face value.

  "You've checked the vaults?"

  Quinn nods. "Yup. So, we'll catch up this evening after everyone is rested?"

  Jacelynd wordlessly agrees then places his hand on the small of my back to usher me inside. I shrug, figuring these guys know this place better than I do right now. Besides, I have a lot to digest and I'm dying to see if my dreams were right about everything else here.

  After passing through the entry hall, we come to a tremendous room that has been converted into a den. Who knows what it had been at one time, I flunked history. It's now just as I remember it from my dreams, two couches facing each other with a huge antique coffee table between them, all framed by a fireplace large enough to roast Harry in.

  Jacelynd leans down to whisper in my ear, "Welcome home."

  And I feel at home. I also feel like I'm at Biltmore Estate and I almost ask if there is a bowling alley here, but Liv waves me over before I get a chance. She, Blake and Nico are milling around the kitchen. I can't imagine why we have a kitchen. We must like entertaining humans. Ah, and maybe there is a coffee maker exquisite enough to have its own room? One can only hope.

  "Does anything feel familiar?" she asks way too excitedly.

  "Some things do."

  Jace points up the stairwell. "Go to the top of the stairs and all the way down the hall. Our room is the last one."

  Our room.

  I wouldn't have told you I knew the meaning of the phrase, "warm and fuzzy" before, but I'm beginning to change my mind. "Are you coming?"

  "I'll be up shortly. Take a few minutes to let yourself adjust, see if anything comes back to you." He smiles before kissing me on the cheek and following Nicodemus.

  I make my way up the stairwell and meander down the hall. At the end is a door that matches the front entryway. It's much taller than I thought it would be, nearly ten feet at least. And when I open it, I expect the usual setup of any master suite: four-poster bed—this is a castle you know—fireplace, wardrobe, etc. And that's all there, but what I didn't foresee, since I never saw past the den in my dreams, is my emotional reaction.

  At the foot of the bed is a pair of size 6½ sandals. On the nightstand, a journal lies open with a pen in the crease. The cap is still on the end. A long-sleeved blue t-shirt is crumpled on the floor near the closet, covered in dust. I know without picking it up that it's mine. There is a dressing table in the corner. A beautifully decorated window seat holds a blanket that somehow I know I loved. I walk to it and run my hands over the fabric. It's old; several million places have been patched. And I wonder—did Jacelynd sit here after I was taken? Did he bring it to his face to breathe in my scent? I sit down and pull it into my arms.

  "Comfortable?"

  How did I know this was going happen? Quinn and I are going to have a rather intense conversation concerning his definition of "all clear."

  I laugh, "Yeah, actually. Care to join me?" I turn and though I knew I'd be looking at Iris, I didn't quite know how much she'd changed.

  She's burned. And I don't mean burned like my scars, which by comparison are like paper cuts. She's horribly disfigured. Okay, that's a bit too kind. She's breathtakingly unattractive. And I should feel awful, my heartstrings should be pulled. The connection between us should suddenly come flaring to life. Blah, blah, blah. Problem is, I'm me and I think this is just fine and dandy. So I laugh, because well … that's what I do.

  "Sucks, doesn't it?" I ask.

  She doesn't respond well to this. It might have something to do with her resemblance to Freddie Kruger.

  Iris is toting two pistols. I have said at least on one occasion that a gunshot won't kill me—we're going to assume she doesn't have steel bullets—but I've had enough bullet wounds to last me the rest of my life and I've so far been really lucky that none of them has been in a bad place, like say, my cerebellum. She lifts one of the pistols and takes a shot.

  It whizzes past my left ear and I'm reminded of my dream rendezvous and the Chinese throwing stars. "Damn, I'm glad you're a horrible shot." I have no weapons, but I might have powers left. As I am dodging her next three shots, I manage to jam the fourth round in the chamber using the same thread of power I channeled at Hades.

  "Have you thought about him, Jessi? Your son?" she hisses.

  "Leave him out of this."

  She fires another shot, this one from the second pistol. I'm so busy being irritated that this one actually catches my shoulder. "I was going to leave you a letter, but I wanted to see the look on your face," Iris sneers.

  "I was hoping we could do this a little more civilly, Iris, but that's apparently not an option."

  She doesn't anticipate my approach. Sentient beings usually run from guns. So, in a matter of seconds I am engaged in a battle over her weapons of choice and I'm kind of shocked by her strength and speed. But wasn't I surprised at her strength before? On the field?

  Two good clean hits to my face have me madder than hell and I wrench one of the guns from her. She starts whispering below her breath and the most unnerving sensation sweeps over me.

  Shit, this can't be good.

  She smiles, spinning the second gun in her hand like Clint Eastwood. "Shoot me. Go ahead. "

  Okay.

  I lift the gun, amused, and aim directly for her, only to watch the bullet completely shatter her head. That would be a beautiful end to this unnecessary confrontation, but unfortunately, her head comes back together.

  "What are you?" I stumble backwards into the dresser, knocking over a picture frame in the process.

  She laughs maniacally. I've never heard someone do that in real life and I don't care to hear it again. "You've yet to accept what our blood can do. It holds powers greater than anything in this world or the one we came from." She steps closer to me and suddenly I feel like all of those servants who used to trip over themselves to get out Trinity's way.

  That's how she's still alive, but what did she do to get this way?

  Jessica? Are you talking about Iris? Trinity asks.

  No. Cher.

  "I'm not here to kill you," Iris says. "I'm here to give you this."

  "Then why the hell are you trying to shoot me?"

  She tosses something at me before turning to the window. "Bullets won't kill you," she says sweetly. Then opens the window and takes a swan dive.

  I run to the window, hoping in vain to see Iris splattered all over the concrete. I'm not so lucky. There is no trace of her left. Worse still, I look down to see what she's handed to me.

  Trinity! Where's Lucan?


  He's back at the estate.

  Really? Because I'm holding his iPod in my hands!

  The door to the bedroom flies open and before I can think twice, I chamber a round and point the pistol at the door.

  "It's just me," Jacelynd says calmly.

  I lower the gun and breeze past him, down the hall and stop once I've reached the top of the stairs. "Quinn!" I yell.

  He comes running around the corner and grabs hold of the banister. He's two steps up when I stop him.

  "Will you please tell me what you meant when you said, 'all clear?'" I'm breathing hard and I notice, furiously, that I'm starting to feel cold again.

  He looks stumped. "What hap … you're bleeding."

  "Iris was here. She just took a leap out a second-story window." Oh, and the thing with her head.

  Jacelynd is standing behind me. He doesn't say anything, but I can feel the heat from his body.

  "She's dead?" Quinn asks dumbly.

  "No, I don't know what the hell she is. I shot her directly in the face, watched her head explode, only to watch it come right back together again. Our blood unchecked, remember? Somehow she's found a way to unbridle it."

  "The explosion," Blake says dourly. He's come to stand beside Quinn. "The gift must have been present in her, too. I would have said something, but I didn't know."

  I've heard Blake talk of this before, but I didn't think it meant anything more than opening or closing the gate. "Speak in layman's terms, please."

  "Iris had to die to unbridle her powers. She had to have kept them hidden her whole life. Consider it like re-birth."

  "So, if I die, will the same happen to me?"

  "It's not a sure thing. You could just die. She had to have sustained injuries severe enough to kill her," Blake says grimly.

  "She was horribly disfigured from the blast."

  "Then she'll feel those injuries the rest of her life. Everything has a cost."

  Well, that explains whys she was in such a foul mood. That and the whole thing about hating my guts and wanting me to die a painful and untimely death. "So, how do we kill her now? She has Lucan."

  "I don't know. I really don't know." Blake sits on the bottom step.

  Trinity, dear, we've got major issues. I can't fight you and Iris both.

  Then don't fight me, Jess. Once the army is secured from the other side, nothing can stop me from taking care of her. It won't be long now. We have no choice. Lucan isn't at the estate.

  Damn it! Why didn't you protect him? You know what, never mind. We can talk about this later, go do whatever Earth-ending thing you have on today's agenda. I've got shit to do.

  "She raised him as her son. Surely she wouldn't hurt him," Quinn says.

  "Lucan didn't seem to think too highly of her, so who knows what she's capable of. She's trying to lure me somewhere, but where? She handed me this, but what am I supposed to do with it?" I toss the iPod to Quinn, seeing as he is the resident expert on all things Apple.

  "I'll take it apart. It can be used as an external hard drive, maybe there is information on here that we can't see." Quinn tucks it into his pocket and disappears through the doors to the right of the stairs.

  "Oh my God," I breathe, looking at Jacelynd. "I don't know what to do first. Between Trinity's evil machinations, Iris' rendition of Night of the Living Dead, and your little bartering venture with the devil ... we're so screwed."

  Jacelynd touches my uninjured shoulder. "You do realize that you just said all of that out loud?"

  I can't even laugh at how absurd that comment is. "Yeah," I say slowly.

  No More Sorrow

  Jacelynd is trying to pay attention to what Tristan is saying. I'm trying to pay attention to what Tristan is saying, but it's all I can do to keep from staring at Jace.

  " … Lady Jesca of the House of Christianson." I come to as Quinn says my name in introduction and it's with a start that I realize he is introducing me to Jacelynd.

  I bow as I should before royalty and I vaguely hear Tristan speaking to Jacelynd's father. Jace takes my hand in his, brings it to his lips and dangerously lingers. I feel the hidden sweep of his thumb across my palm and I lose my breath.

  "Your Highness," I say with more sentiment than I should.

  Jacelynd merely nods in acknowledgement and I can tell by the look in his eyes that it's because he fears what will come through in his tone if he addresses me so soon after our arrival. We gather at the dining table, the elders among us still able to consume human food and drink. Blood is brought to the rest of us in wine glasses.

  Quinn squeezes my shoulder and leans down to whisper in my ear, "You're tense. May I ask why?"

  "No, you may not." I smile politely before taking a long sip. Jacelynd avoids eye contact with me for the most part, but when I do catch his green gaze, it's so powerful it makes me shiver. It amazes me how one simple being can elicit such reverence from me, such depth of desire and respect and awe.

  Dinner is consumed amid endless pleasantries, though we all know what we're really here for. Jacelynd asks me questions that he already knows the answers to. Tristan, visibly indifferent to the superficial interest Jacelynd has taken in me, confesses his excitement over our engagement. He's speaking mainly to King Nuada and Queen Elatha, though he spares Jace the occasional nod.

  "I believe an announcement is in order, your Majesty." Tristan's father rises to his feet. Tristan turns to me and smiles. I expect something ingratiating and false, a fluffed-up proclamation of loyalty or some such. Until Tristan rises and reaches down to take my hand.

  Tristan's father speaks. "The marriage of my son and Lady Jesca was set for next year in the month of December, but circumstances have changed and the reasons for the delay have been put aside now that we have come to terms and signed a treaty. Thus, the wedding shall be set for a fortnight from the Winter Solstice."

  Less than a month. The blood drains from my face and I have no choice but to smile at Tristan as he beckons me to stand beside him. He starts to kiss me, but I turn in false piety and grant him my cheek instead. He seems oddly touched by it and a small part of me feels guilty. If I know Tristan half as well as I think I do, he believes it is because I wish for such things to only be a private matter.

  Jacelynd seems unaffected by what has just been said. He rises and claps with everyone else and for a moment, I wonder if he really does harbor the feelings for me that he claims. Doubt floods my mind as he refuses to meet my gaze for the reassurance that I so desperately need.

  And it is that thought that keeps me awake long into the night. I stand at the door to the outer balcony of the room I've been placed in. We're underground, so only the flickering light of the external fires hits my skin.

  "Be merciful."

  I turn sharply at the sudden and wholly unexpected sound of Jacelynd's voice. I can't see him clearly from where he stands in the shadows, but his broad-shouldered frame and deep, rumbling voice have their usual effect on my heart. Still, I fear every move I make here could place those I love most in jeopardy; I need to see him before I say anything, lest I am mistaken and it's Tristan who has come to me this night. "Step into the light."

  He steps into the warm amber glow and I see a shimmer as the light reflects off his tear-stained cheeks. It catches me off guard to see him this vulnerable. I go to his side, but he doesn't reach out to me.

  I wipe his face with my hands, frightened by his lack of response to me. "Love? Please, say something. What do you mean, 'be merciful'?"

  Jacelynd pulls a sword from behind his back, the silver blade glinting in the light. He thrusts the handle into my hands.

  "I don't understand," I say fearfully.

  Jace takes my hands, still firmly gripping the hilt of the sword he's given me, and clutches them tightly in his own. "I cannot bear it. End this. End my life, for it isn't worth living if I must watch you betrothed to another any longer. Your presence, your love is as vital to me as breath, as blood and bone, and I will not see y
ou give yourself to anyone but me." He pauses as I let what he's saying sink in. "If you won't, I will do it myself."

  It does sink in and I pull free of his grip. The sword falls and he makes no move to stop it from loudly clattering to the ground. "Have you lost your mind?"

  "And my heart and soul and every breath I'll ever take … all of it to you."

  "Jacelynd." I press my hands against his chest and he starts to touch me, but a painful expression darkens his face before he can and he holds his hands away from me as though he's fighting the urge.

  The refusal burns like fire and I step back, unshed tears in my eyes. "Why are you doing this?"

  "Do you love him?" he asks.

  "What?"

  "Do you have feelings for him, Jes?"

  Those unshed tears spill over and there's nothing I can about it. "You know the answer to that."

  "Do I?" he asks low.

  I angrily palm the tears from my own cheeks, the fear and tension from the evening finally growing too much. "You're acting like I wanted this, like I had some choice in my betrothal, when you know the truth. You know I wasn't given a choice and now you cruelly throw it in my face?"

  "Your tears wound me, but I won't let them keep you from answering my question. Do you love him?"

  My heart breaks. Truly. I do love Tristan, but not in the way he wants. He has always been dear to me and there may have been a time when I was a little girl where I thought I loved him differently, but things have changed. I have changed. I walk up to Jacelynd, lay my hands on his chest and look into his eyes. "No, I don't. And damn you for making me say it." I turn from him, walk a few paces and face him again. "You want reassurance, yet when I so desperately needed it, you wouldn't even look at me. You didn't even flinch when Lord Elrick spoke."

  Jacelynd takes a step toward me. "Are you that blind? Or perhaps you're just blood drunk. Had I done as I wished, neither Lord Elrick nor his eldest son would be alive right now. Not after making such a claim in my house of my beloved. Seeing him next to you, watching him smile and openly confess his affection for you, do you not know how much it sickens me? I spared you the pain in my eyes, Jesca. I couldn't look at you. Had I done so, it would have been my undoing. Did you really think I wouldn't look at you because I don't care?"