Hearts Unleashed: A Limited Edition Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by C. D. Gorri

  “Where is Sophia?”

  Mila blinked, running Dorian’s words through her mind to make sure she had heard correctly. She opened her mouth to speak, but the delay of her shock had cost her. Fanti spoke before she could gather her confused thoughts.

  “Eve was never at fault for the apple,” he said thoughtfully. “It was the Serpent who decided it could not dwell in the same Garden as she who was created as the good and worthy helpmeet of man.”

  “What do you mean?” Dorian rounded on Fanti.

  “Who has nipped at your heels since the moment you arrived, attempting to either goad you further or dissuade you from your quest? Who would benefit from your distraction in order to take over the coven? Who followed you every time you went to meet your sweet, mortal girl?” Fanti’s voice turned harder. “Who was jealous of your affections for her and sought to hide her from you, relenting only when she knew you would not rest until you found her?”

  Dorian’s gaze wavered between Fanti and Mila like a pair of scales, and there was no telling which way the balance would fall.

  “I am afraid that you have nurtured an asp in your bosom,” Fanti continued sorrowfully. “The little mortal girl has been accused of using witchcraft to bring the ‘plague of bodies’ to Venice, and even now, she is on her way to our most dread prison island to meet a terrible end through fire. One member of your coven was there when Lady Abberley and Madame Bellefontaine were felled, when Sophia was found and taken.”

  “You cannot believe him over me!” Mila cried.

  “He has no reason to lie to me,” Dorian said with a shrug. His eyes burned with the cold of his hatred for her. She had no comeback for that, despite her innocence.

  Fanti said nothing, and she was hard put to restrain herself from launching herself at him with fang and claw. How casually he destroyed everything she had struggled to save! How quickly his words took root in Dorian’s suspicious heart!

  All the fissures in Mila’s heart fused into a deep, wide chasm that left her falling into darkness. She barely noticed Dorian’s question, Fanti’s answer, and Dorian’s departure. She was jolted back into the moment by Fanti’s firm, but gentle grip on her shoulders as he led her from the room.

  “Where has he gone?” Mila’s voice was pitched eerily high, her accent foreign to her ears.

  “Still, you think of him?” Fanti sounded disappointed as one of his hands slid from her shoulder to her waist. She didn’t know if it was further restraint or a simulacrum of affection.

  “He is my Maker.”

  “And you are a lover scorned.”

  “What? No!” she exclaimed, turning in his arms to face him. “I have never been his lover. Ever. There is no unrequited desire between us, no fruitless yearning. He takes mortals like the girl Sophia for that sort of thing.”

  Fanti’s expression tightened, pulling his scars into a web of pain. “You cannot hope to convince me that any man—mortal or not—could resist you.”

  Her laughter sounded ridiculous and hysterical even to her ears as she remembered Gavin’s rejection a mere hour earlier. “How wrong you are! Every man resists, some with surprising strength. Given another century, my repugnant nature shall become a byword among the sex!”

  She stumbled, suddenly realizing they were still descending the stairs, but now were down at a level that was partly below ground level. Small windows near the ceiling let in weak moonlight, but the slap of water against stone was heavy and hard.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, quickly taking in the short corridor lined with thick, iron-banded, oak doors.

  Fanti looked down at her, his height not a tool of dominance but rather as a simple fact of their disparity. No, it was not his tall figure that surrounded her, demanding her surrender. It was the tentative tenderness of brushing his knuckles against her cheek and the gentle way he encircled her waist with his other hand and drew her to him.

  “I am saving you,” he said, lowering his face to hers so their foreheads touched. “You are good and loyal to Dorian, more than he deserves. But you could be so much more.”

  “I have never dreamed of more.” She swallowed hard, pushing down a heady mix of fear, desire, and confusion.

  “More’s the pity that no one taught you the breadth of your existence or plumbed the depths of your heart,” he murmured, the rough, scarred tip of his nose brushing against hers. “I would be the explorer that maps those far reaches. I would have you be my lover, the mistress of this palazzo, my eternal companion.”

  Mila closed her eyes against the onslaught of his words. This new revelation of motives—she did not know him well enough to tell whether he was sincere or attempting to play another game—had the unintended effect of removing blinders that she had clung to.

  “There will be pain,” Fanti admitted without any hint of guilt. “Dorian will die in his quest to save that little mortal woman. You must accept that. It is what is necessary for you to fly free.”

  Mila’s knees gave out as his words echoed in her head like the ringing of the great Bourdon of Notre-Dame in Paris. Dorian would die. Her Maker would be no more. She would be anchorless, adrift in a sea of senseless, endless days. Free was only another word for lost.

  “Forgive me for this one night’s transgressions,” Fanti murmured, now running his lips from the shell of her ear, down the length of her throat, only to settle and move between the base of her throat and her collarbones.

  The mangled ridges of the crucifix imprint on his skull glowed livid in the moonlight as she dizzily tried to focus on anything that might burn off the haze of his thrall.

  “I will come for you,” he said, and she felt his chest rise and fall against hers. “In the morning, I will come, and you shall have all the time you need to mourn what you have lost and to accept what is to come.”

  She blinked, her vision suddenly, brutally cleared as Fanti released her. She moved, but she was half-a-breath too slow from catching him as he slammed the door of her dungeon cell closed.

  Trapped. Lost. Betrayed. Abandoned.

  She drew a deep breath, focusing on the smell of must and salt from the damp stone walls. There was one thing that they had all discounted.

  She was still here. Still thirsting. Still aware.

  Until she fell, she would fight.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Silence. Pain and fear drove Sophia to the brink of insanity. Clutching onto the last hope of Dorian and Gavin to form a rescue party kept her from committing an act so heinous death would be the only outcome.

  She thought of her grandmother and stories she told as a child. Death be to those who cross our path. Death be to those who hurt us and hex us. Death be to those who plant seed of doubt.

  Water continued to splash the sides of the boat, occasional droplets of water landing on Sophia’s exposed skin. It smelled of salt and fish. She opened her heavy lids, the stress from the fight of bounding her and bringing her upon the boat took its toll on her body. She slowly blinked as the blurry image began to solidify.

  Witch Island.

  The trauma of today’s events felt like a distant memory of a scene long since pased, but had it only been a few hours ago? The soldiers fighting her and Gavin, Gavin being drug away as he screamed for her...it was too much to consider, or think about. She closed her eyes and a tear slipped down her cheek. She could still hear Gavin’s voice as he screamed, the panic look on his face as he fought his fellow soldiers. She sighed heavily, the fight drained out of her.

  The boat came to a halt and with the abrasion on the underside Sophia knew they had arrived.

  “Incoming,” called one of the men as he jumped into the water. The boat moved again and Sophia looked up. The man who jumped in began to pulled the boat toward shore. Sophia glanced behind her and found a boat with the Doge’s flags headed their way.

  “Looks to be the Doge’s official boat coming in for the execution,” replied the other soldier. She felt his breath next to her cheek and his breath
smelled of death, tobacco, and ale. “Won’t be long now, you evil devil bitch,” the man whispered. She held her breath from the stench and watched the boat as it sailed.

  Dorian’s image came to the forefront of her mind and she closed her eyes once more. His smile, the way he kissed her, held her, made love to her...all of it now, lost.

  Gavin fought for her and for what? To be imprisoned?

  Mila, the traitor, all this is her doing, she told herself. But how? She knew of the oncoming attack. She had to orchestrate it. Jealousy? Sophia’s instincts were never wrong before, why now? What was it about Mila that she failed to see? She felt herself fall forward a little more in defeat to this realization. Everything she had ever known, or stood for, now came to question; was her own sanity on the line? Most likely. I’ve always been able to trust in myself, read a person, any person, but now, how much had been all in my mind?

  She thought of her mother and her heart broke a little more. Her mother would never have allowed anyone to come into her life that she could not have some sort of control over. If she had listened to herself, during the first vision...maybe none of this would have come to pass.

  Evil plague.

  Strangulation.

  Death.

  Vampires in the square.

  She opened her eyes as one of the men grabbed her by the arm and yanked her to her feet.

  “Stand, whore of the devil,” the man yelled out. Her knees gave out and she collapsed back on the boat. “Get the fuck up!” he yanked on her arm again and Sophia pushed as hard as she could on her legs, willing them to work.

  “I am trying,” she whispered. Her throat felt dry and she gagged from her throat sticking to itself. “Water, please?”

  “Water? I could shove your face in the water and drown you if you wanted a drink!”

  “Then do it,” she groaned. “Death by water would be more freeing than to be burned against a stake!”

  He bent over her and cut off the ropes binding her ankles and legs. She had a thought to kick him, but that would take too much energy. He pulled her from the boat and as the water hit her skin, a jolt of electricity bolted through her. Maybe it was the cold, maybe it was the possibility of her death coming. Whatever it was, she suddenly felt awake.

  Then the wind picked up as if a storm had been ignited. She glanced toward the ocean and found another boat began to follow the Doge’s. She narrowed her eyes as the wind pelted against her, along with the waters current. The Doge’s boat leaned to the left and right, the threat of the storm looking to take it over. The other vessel gained on them and as she stared at it, she realized the latter did not belong to the Doge’s like the former.

  Dorian? she thought to herself.

  A black sail pulled up the mast and her eyes widened. It was definitely not the Doge’s. The Doge’s vessel lurched forward, but the other moved faster. It gained on the first ship and Sophia decided it would be now, or never, to attempt an escape and rescue herself.

  Worst case scenario, they would slice her throat where she stood and they would have to answer for their crimes, or be hailed a hero.

  She lowered her head and closed her eyes, then began to recite passages of a book she knew in Latin. It was not a spell, but the soldiers did not need to know this. She spoke softly at first, then she grew louder, and louder.

  “What is she doing?” asked the first guard.

  “I don’t know, shut her up!” yelled the second.

  She grew louder and louder until she began to shout. The hoarseness in her throat made her want to cough, but she pushed through it.

  “Stop it!” yelled the first guard, “or I shall end you myself!”

  Sophia looked up to him through her lashes with the evillest grin she could muster. “The treatment of me has made the bad powers angry,” she growled. “You must unhand me and untie my bindings, if you wish to live through this day.” She paused and glanced between the two guards, while keeping her peripheral vision on the incoming boats. “If you wish for your immortal souls to not be damned to hell, you will release me.” She paused and when the men did not move, she yelled out, “NOW!”

  Both guards flinched at her words and their hands went for their weapons. The first guard pulled out his dagger and ran to her, the second screamed in horror.

  “Do not kill her! She will damn us!”

  “You fucking idiot,” the first one yelled back. “I am releasing her to save my fucking soul! What say you?” He took her wrists and cut the bindings on her arms and wrists. “Please,” the guard whispered, “I have a family back home, friends.”

  “Oh, but you felt it was okay to take my life?”

  The man took a step back. “Please,” he whispered.

  She reached forward and yanked his sword from his belt. She held it in front of her, pointed directly to his neck. “You make me sick. You know nothing of me, or about me, only what the Doge’s clerk wanted you to know! Get away from me before I curse you!”

  The man held his hands up and scrambled back to the other guard. She thought for a moment they would hug on one another. Their eyes were wide with fright and a part of her felt satisfied with this.

  Glancing down the shore for a possible way off the island, the boat she arrived on sat alone and unmanned. It floated and hope quickly rose inside her. If she could run to it and keep the soldiers held up long enough, she might be able to escape.

  She might capsize, but it would be worth it to die in the water than to be taken prisoner, beaten and burned. She glanced toward the incoming ships as the first one docked. Hysteria broke out as soldiers bolted from it. She stepped toward the row boat in hopes of breaking out into a full run. The men wore the colors of the Doge’s and her heart seized. She had to run. Now.

  “What are you doing?” yelled one of the incoming soldiers.

  “Stop her!” came another.

  “No, she’ll curse us,” one of the guards yelled.

  Sophia held her breath as the Doge’s guards closed in. A few of them looked to her as if she were nothing but a small woman, others on alert to the possibility she could hex them all.

  “You are fools,” yelled out one the soldiers. “She is a little woman, nothing to be frightened of! Witch or not, she needs to be captured!”

  She let the breath out she had been holding when she turned to make a break for it. The wind blew against her free strands of hair floated across her eyes.

  “Dammit,” she whispered and quickly tucked the hair away as she ran. Her feet sank in the sand and she feared the lack of speed would bring her certain demise. She still had the sword and would use it if she had to in order to free herself. If she lost the sword, well Gavin taught her how to throw a fisted punch.

  “Hurry and catch her before the others leave the ship!” yelled the same soldier.

  The orders and the yells of the men followed close behind her. She took a chance and looked to the other boat. She then came to an abrupt stop, just as the storm that had blown in ceased. She blinked and her eyes widened to the sight before her.

  Dorian leapt from the boat and with him, roughneck dockworkers and sailors, all carrying weapons: swords, daggers, and bow and arrows. She knew she did not have to run, that she would fight, that she could fight. And she would live! She smiled and turned back to her aggressors.

  The dockworkers, sailors, and Dorian closed in and attacked the Doge’s soldiers and guardsmen. A full out frenzy broke loose of blood, gore and screams. She lowered her sword and heaved a heavy sigh, but also knew, this fight would be far from over. Someone had to pay for the crimes accused, and that person would be the Doge’s clerk.

  She looked around the docks as blood splattered. The current smell of decay on the island would soon have new flesh added to it, and Sophia did not want to be around when the fighting ended. She needed to find the clerk, and find him now. She looked over and around the fighting for this man, who by all accounts, did not appear to be in attendance. Smart move on his part or he would meet his ma
ker. She gripped her sword and looked over the crowd for Dorian.

  And found him.

  A snarl ripped through the sound of silent fighting. He lifted his head up and screamed his war cry. She took a step toward him and her eyes widened with panic. Her hearing became mute and time slowed with each additional step she took. As he lowered his head toward the body once more, blood dripped from his mouth...and fangs.

  “NO!” She cried out her plea, but nothing registered to her ears. Dorian heard her though. His head rose and met her gaze, his eyes pure rabid heat of blood lust. As the revelation of being saved began to settle in, it vanished as fast as her worst fears came to pass. Dorian was a vampire.

  She could possibly survive the witchcraft accusation, but when the man she had fallen in love with and given her heart to was a vampire, how could she reconcile this?

  As if hearing her thoughts, Dorian stood tall. His war persona ended and his face grew somber. He stared at her, unblinking. She lowered her gaze and shook her head, then made her way toward the ship he sailed in on. She would not die today, this much she knew. Returning to the boat to await passage back to Venice was her plan, at least for now. As for what she would do when she arrived would have to wait. She needed to understand, and deal with, the turn of events regarding Dorian, how it would affect her relationship with Gavin, and how Mila fit into all this.

  Cheers rose up in the background and chancing a look back, she found the sailors and dockworkers with their fists and weapons high in the air regarding their triumph. Sophia clinched the sword close to her body as she boarded the ship. She passed a few of the hands who remained behind and one by one, they nodded to her.

  She stood at the stern of the ship and rested the sword against it, her fingers moved over the side wall. She leaned into it and closed her eyes.