“Juliet?”
Relief short-circuited every nerve she had left. She didn’t think. She didn’t even hesitate. “Caleb!” As the ruins swallowed her cry, she launched herself into the dark.
Strong arms closed around her. Caleb’s voice, thick and gritty in her ear, said something she couldn’t make out, but she didn’t have to. His mouth came down on hers, one hand cupping the back of her head.
It should have felt wrong and wildly out of place. She kissed a man in the rotting remains of an abandoned city, but Juliet didn’t care. It was Caleb. He was safe. He had the devil’s own luck, but he was safe.
She twined her arms around his neck and threw all her weight into his embrace. She offered her mouth, met his fervor and matched it, opening her lips for his tongue to dart in and taste her. For hers to taste him, richer than anything she’d ever known; spicy and dangerous and so familiar, she shuddered.
His groan echoed from the dark. Echoed in her head.
Her heart.
The heat of his mouth, of his hands and body, warmed her. “Thank God,” he murmured against her lips, his voice harsh, raw. “Thank hell. I don’t care.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Don’t ever,” she whispered between kisses, “do that again. Don’t ever.”
His laughter softened, and something wild and sizzling released low in her belly. He cupped her face in his hands, angled her head and slid his lips over her own in a slow, drugging kiss.
For this brief, pulse-pounding, toe-curling moment in time, everything was all right.
His forehead touched hers, hands tight in her hair. She couldn’t see anything in the dark, but she heard the tension in every breath. Felt his heart slam against his chest, as fast and hard as hers.
A tear slid over her eyelashes. Trailed a whispered line down her cheek. “Caleb.” It trembled.
“We need to—”
“How many people did you kill, Caleb?”
He went still, silent save for the rapid thud of his heart beneath her hands.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “How many?”
The silence stretched. Then, quietly, he said, “Three, by myself.”
“When you do it, what happens?”
She felt him withdraw, stepping away until his fingers left her hair and she shivered in the cool, damp air. “Why are you asking?”
“What happened when you killed them?” she persisted. She forced herself to sound calm, to betray no trace of the tears spilling over onto her cheeks.
Get close to Caleb and you’ll be close to your sister.
She was, after all, just stupid.
“They die,” he said harshly. A light clicked on, a faint glow illuminating his hands. The shadowed planes of his face, callous. Remorseless. “And a part of them belongs to me.” Me. Not them. Not the witch.
Me.
The responsibility claimed in that single word knotted her throat. Grief, anger.
Juliet shoved her knuckles into her eyes. How could she be so blind?
Why didn’t she know?
The sound that erupted from her chest keened, ragged and wordless. She launched herself at him.
Caleb’s eyes gleamed, blue fire deep within shadowed sockets. He batted her hands away, mouth set into a hard line, flung up a forearm to block her wild left hook and seized her shoulders.
Her teeth snapped together on his hard shake. “What is wrong with you?”
“What did you do to my sister?”
Caleb froze, his fingers biting into her upper arms. There’d be bruises later, she knew, but she couldn’t summon the energy, the willpower, to care.
Her laugh cracked on a broken sob. “I thought so.”
“I don’t know what you’ve been told,” he began, but she wrenched at his grip, twisting until he let her go.
She staggered back, rubbing at her arms as if she could wipe away the memory of his touch. Tears thickened her voice, now, and she couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t calm it. “Nobody told me anything. Not until right fucking now.”
Caleb was a statue, immobile, his hands fisted by his sides.
“I kept looking,” she continued raggedly, staring at his shadowed face, willing herself to see through the dark, see his expression. Read him. “Even after everyone else had given up, I kept looking, but she’s dead, isn’t she?”
His voice was empty. “What makes you think so?”
“Oh, fuck, Caleb!” Juliet scraped her fingers through her hair, shaking. “Alicia said it.”
“You believe—”
“I don’t know,” she said wildly, fists clenching on hanks of her hair. “She said getting close to you meant I could get close to Delia, you tell me what that means.” Her head throbbed, throat aching with it. Grief. Betrayal.
Again.
Caleb was silent.
Something raw welled in her chest, razor sharp and desperate. Juliet huddled in on herself, arms cradling her head, hair caught in her fingers. “You can harvest the lifeblood from anyone, can’t you?” she whispered. “You can collect power from people. Nonwitches.” Her jaw locked so hard, pain shot through her temples as she gritted out, “Cordelia.”
The faint blue light picked out the shape of his shoulder, flexing once.
Laughter bubbled up beneath the grief. The fury. “A shrug,” she said weakly. She stared at him, helpless. Hopeless. Willing him to deny it.
To say he’d never murdered anyone.
But even as she thought it, even as he opened his mouth, she knew how badly she lied to herself. And how stupid she really was, to have fallen for a killer.
Her sister’s killer.
Something fractured in her heart. Through her head. Fury overpowered grief. Dug in with venomous claws. “You used me. You always use me, and I am not—I’m not going to sit here and take it anymore!” She swung at him.
He caught her, ready for it, but she didn’t let herself be cowed. She lashed out with hands, feet, bared teeth. She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to make him bleed as she bled, make him cry out in answer to the screaming voice pleading in her soul.
“Stop it, Juliet!”
Twisting a hand out from his grip, she cocked back her fist. It collided with his jaw. Pain snapped through her popping knuckles, his head twisted. Mouth set into a thin, furious line, Caleb curled his fingers into her shirt and hauled her to her toes.
“That is enough.”
“Never,” she swore. “Never, not as long as I live. You can never make up for this. I don’t ever want to see you again, Caleb Leigh. Get out of my life.”
Pain shredded through her temples. The ugly knot of bile in her stomach surged, forcing itself through her chest. Her throat.
Her heart.
“You killed her,” she sobbed, wrenching herself away. The words poured out of her, an acidic torrent of grief. “You killed my sister, you killed her, oh, God, why? What did she ever do to deserve it? What did I ever do to you?” Her voice broke.
A muscle leaped in Caleb’s muscle. Even as he met her eyes directly, a pale glint in the dark, she knew what he meant to do. Heard it, sensed it, felt it coming as his features hardened to an icy mask. “You were born,” he said, and nothing else.
She was as stupid as they came.
And Delia had paid for it.
“Go away,” she said softly, closing her eyes. “Just . . . just go away. Leave me here. I’ll make my own way out.” Or die trying.
“I can’t do that, Jules. I need to get you safe.”
Safe? After learning that?
She laughed. Shoved her fingers again through her hair, seizing hanks of it in her fists, she laughed until the grief wrenched itself out of her throat, tore itself savagely free. She knew how to make him leave her alone.
She knew how to hurt him.
Screwing her eyes shut, she reached inside herself with her metaphysical nails bared. So much easier than she’d ever expected, she ripped the moorings of her skin loose. Magic welled up in a white-hot tide of sorrow and r
age.
She primed it. Focused it.
Let it free.
Caleb’s eyes widened. “Shit!”
When he moved, it was all Juliet could do to force herself to raise her arms.
Too late. Stony expression unreadable, he caught her by the collar and raised his free hand.
The world, already dark, spiked on a note of crystal, mind-altering pain, and then slid to nothing.
Caleb bent, sweeping his arm under her knees and catching her before she fell to the broken ground. Her weight curled trustingly into his chest, and though he called himself six kinds of a fool, he savored the weight of her. The shape of her.
It was something he knew he’d never feel again. Not while she was conscious.
His chest burned with everything he wanted to say. Everything he swore he never would.
Tears burned in his eyes.
They weren’t his. “She’s fine,” he muttered, his voice overly loud in the sudden silence. “No thanks to you.” His fingers stroked her jaw. “Or me.”
Not that it mattered. Talking wouldn’t make it any easier. The part inside him that was Cordelia wasn’t any less guilty than he.
I could have. . .
“What?” he said to Juliet’s pale face. To her lashes, thick and dark against her cheeks. “You could have what? There was never any way this could end well. We’ve lied to her since day one.”
Grief hit him in the chest, hard and sudden and so sharp, his throat closed around a hoarse sound. His arms tightened around Juliet’s still body, cradling her gently. God, what a mess. What a fucked-up mess he’d trapped her in.
“I’m so sorry,” he said quietly. Roughly. The shadows looming beyond the faint sphere of blue light ate the echoes. Swallowed them whole, stifling and abrupt.
Caleb sank to his knees.
She’s just a little rose. . .
In a nasty, killing world. What a fool he was. As much a part of this corrupted city of lies as the coven he tried to destroy.
Juliet slept in his arms, breathing, alive, and all he could do was hold her. Cherish the warmth of her skin, the solid beat of her heart.
Remember her tears, silvered tracks of grief. He’d done that.
It was better for her to think he’d done that.
How could he explain that Cordelia had known she was dying? That she’d sacrificed herself to save the little orphan she’d raised as a sister?
Would Juliet even understand?
No, and he couldn’t blame her.
Much better for her to think that Caleb had murdered her sister, give her something to focus on. Someone to bend all of her grief and hatred and revenge on.
She’d understand.
No, she wouldn’t. What fool in her right mind would?
Her breath caught in her chest, and Caleb bent his head over hers. His face buried in her hair, he fought back the urges assailing him.
Protect her. Cherish her.
Love her.
Not his to do.
You’re a liar.
Caleb always had been. Second only to his own sister and determined to see it through. He hated this city. These people. He hated the coven, the Mission, the goddamned ruins.
But Jessie loved New Seattle, in her own way.
And the Coven of the Unbinding had threatened that. Had threatened her. Killing them all had seemed the best idea at the time— Damn it, why hadn’t it worked? Why hadn’t they all died?
Why hadn’t he died?
Because she needed you.
He squeezed his eyes shut, teeth locking on a low growl. His fingers slid into Juliet’s short, tangled hair and he blew out a hard breath, his temple pressed to hers.
As long as Alicia was alive, Juliet was in danger.
He needed to end this, once and for all.
Matilda said she could heal Jessie. Maybe Juliet could live with her and Silas, rebuild a life for herself. Learn to live with her anguish if she had somewhere to direct it. Time cured everything.
Footsteps crunched behind him. A light shimmered, its wide beam focused at the ground by Caleb’s knees. “Leigh.” Silas’s voice rebounded back in a handful of muffled echoes.
Caleb unfolded, rising to his feet. “Take her,” he said.
“Is she alive?”
He met the ex-missionary’s foggy eyes, a muted shade in the ambient light from his flashlight, and saw suspicion. Concern. Fuck, sympathy.
“Yes,” he said flatly. “Take her, get her back to the sanctuary.”
The big man shifted his grip on the light as he approached. “You realize Jessie won’t like this, right?” He cupped his arms under Juliet and took her weight easily as Caleb stepped back.
Her black-capped head rested against Silas’s shoulder, hands tucked under her chin, and everything in Caleb snarled to rabid attention.
Mine.
He shook his head, deliberately straightened his fingers before they clenched into fists. “By the time Matilda heals her, it won’t matter. I’m going to end this, one way or another.” A ghost of a smile touched his mouth, tugging at the scarred corner of his lip. “For real, this time.”
Silas shifted her weight, but his gaze searched Caleb’s face. Intent, and too damned knowing. “You’re throwing me to the wolves, man.”
“I know.”
But they’d get over him. Jessie would know it when he died, and Juliet . . . Hell, she’d be relieved. Vindicated.
He tucked his fingers into his pocket. Delia’s ring, warmed from his own body heat, winked as he withdrew it. He held it out. “Give this to Juliet.”
Silas took it, eyeing it thoughtfully. Then he grunted. “Fuck me.”
Caleb said nothing.
“Fine,” he added after a moment. “What do you want me to tell her?”
“That her sister’s murderer is dead,” Caleb said, turning away.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” The man’s mouth tightened. “Don’t let me go back there and tell Jessie I didn’t do anything for you.”
“Just tell her you didn’t find me.”
“No.”
Caleb glanced over his shoulder. “Not even to spare her?” He read the truth in the man’s features before Silas said anything. Smiling crookedly, he shook his head. “Of course you wouldn’t lie.” He sighed. “Fine. Tell her the truth. Tell her I went to end this.”
“How—”
Caleb looked away. “Take care of them, Silas.”
The man hesitated. “I will.”
Without looking back—God, without looking at Juliet one more time, memorizing the way her hair fell over her forehead or the way her lighter eyelashes fanned her too pale cheeks—he stepped into the dark.
“Caleb, wait.”
Caleb paused mid-stride, foot raised, but he didn’t turn around.
The silence lengthened. Stretched taut. Then, Silas rumbled quietly, “There was a body fourteen months ago. A woman, carved to pieces. Blond hair, about—”
“Five-seven, long-limbed.” Caleb smiled humorlessly into the dark. “That was Cordelia Carpenter. Her sister, yeah.”
“Did you really murder her?”
He closed his eyes. Promise me. “Yes,” he replied, as simply as if he commented on the darkness, or the rocks beneath his feet. “She died brutally.”
He pushed into the smothering gloom before Silas could ask anything else, his heart slamming in his ears. Every step took him farther from Juliet. Farther from the accusation in her eyes, from the touch of her hands or the feel of her mouth under his.
Farther from the insistent ache centered over his heart.
Always a liar.
First, he’d track Alicia.
Then he’d make up for every mistake he’d ever made.
That won’t help her.
Ignoring the insistent pressure in his head, the voice at the edges of his mind, he gripped the pointed pendant hanging from a chain beneath his shirt and felt it warm in his palm.
This time, he would kill them all. E
very. Last. One.
Chapter Sixteen
She’d been saving the bottle of pinot noir for decades.
Matilda held the glass tumbler up, admiring the way the firelight scored through its diamond facets. The wine glowed a brilliant jewel red as she swirled it gently.
She adored the old world’s wine.
Relaxing into the embrace of the old wooden rocking chair, her aged bones fit into the carved slats in comforting familiarity. It was like leaning into the arms of an old friend, or a lover.
It was like home.
She sipped at the wine and swirled it in her mouth, wincing faintly at the aftertaste. Aside from the unexpectedly sharp finish, she tasted black cherry and plum. Notes of cedar, wild fruit, and fresh herb hovered on her tongue, and as she closed her eyes, she remembered what it was like to travel across a world still innocent and carefree.
What it had been like to link fingers with the man she’d loved while they mingled with others who enjoyed the fruits of the harvest as much as they had.
She remembered, as she often did, the time before the disasters. So different from now.
So much death.
So much to answer for.
Metal clicked. “Don’t move.”
In abject defiance of the terse, masculine order, Matilda raised her glass to her mouth once more. The wine slipped between her lips, warmed by her hand, and as fresh and plummy as the first taste. She swallowed, opening her eyes, and smiled into the barrel of a gun trained in her direction.
Hazel eyes met hers over the sights. They flickered in the light, dancing and crackling with the fire she’d coaxed to life in front of the house.
Matilda raised her glass in his direction. “I wondered when you’d get here.”
“You practically left out a welcome mat,” he said. It was a question, for all it didn’t end like one. “What the hell are you up to?”
She rested her head back against the rocking chair and sighed. The wine gleamed like blood in her hand. “It’s lovely to see you again, Simon.”
He stepped around the flame, gun held as easily as if it were an extension of his own hand. His black clothing made him as invisible as a shadow, but she didn’t need to see to know when the borders of her sanctuary were crossed.
That’s what magic was for.
All Things Wicked Page 19
