Love Is Mortal Read online

  But maybe that wasn't quite right.

  Maybe that was the easy half-truth.

  Lucas had been drawn to her too. Maybe she was the flame. He’d stoked the fire, but she was the one who burned. Let the blaze get out of control.

  She opened her mouth to scream, and the water was thick as it spilled into her mouth. Absorbed into her pores. If she just stopped fighting, this would all go away. No more pain, no more unhappiness.

  No.

  She heard his voice. Not God, who never seemed to speak to her—but Lucas.

  Her lover.

  Her betrayer.

  Was it his voice deep inside of her that was telling her to fight? She had given him her body, her heart, her blood. And what was more generous than that? It wasn’t like borrowing a car or a twenty—it was blood. She needed that! And she’d given it to him.

  The water was frigid, and the pain in her body was indescribable. She was a sack of meat, her body a weeping and broken pustule of flesh. This was fatal. This small moment in time before she died for good, and she was still thinking about that asshole.

  Lucas.

  Fuck him. He didn’t deserve her thoughts. Didn’t deserve to be the last thing she thought of before she died. Her lungs burned, her body thrashed, and even though she knew it was certain death—her mouth opened, desperate for air. Water poured inside her mouth, but it wasn’t just water. It felt like…magic. This was the magic of Fey stealing inside of her, and replacing the air in her lungs with its power. She would take it into her like oxygen, and it would filter through her, be carried along her bloodstream until she was something else. Cerdewellyn had told her he would make her his queen—one way or another—but she could breathe, and it would be easy for she could say no, and it would be painful. This was fucking painful.

  Do not give in.

  Behind her eyes, like a fading mirage, she could see Lucas. Saw his eyes snap open wherever he was. He spoke her name in a whisper, and demanded again that she not give in. How did she fight this? Fight dying, drowning, and being taken over by magic.

  Valerie felt Lucas give her his strength. His own power coursing into her through the connection they had. His power was dark, had a hint of death, and if it had a color it wouldn’t have been black—but red. A red so dark, it looked like murder. A color so deep, it swallowed everything around it. And yet he was offering it to her. Something she could take to make her strong.

  But she didn't want to take anything from him. As if Lucas were there with her, she felt him after her—close. His lips pressed against hers in a phantom echo of reality. She wanted his breath in her lungs, his hands on her, holding her close and keeping death at bay. Valerie was too weak to fight Cerdewellyn’s magic on her own. If she didn’t have Lucas's help, she’d give in. She couldn’t fight everything. Fight Cer, fight dying, fight the pain, fight to say no, and fight Lucas too. Something was going to fail.

  She had to say ‘yes’ to something…to someone.

  I’m sorry, she heard Lucas say in her mind, as if he were trying to persuade her to let him help her. She felt his hands on her face, the large palms, his cool flesh as he pulled her closer to his soft lips.

  No.

  No apology would be enough. Pain ripped through her as she thought of Lucas. It was both physical and mental. She could never forgive him. She never wanted to see him again.

  Is Cerdewellyn a better option?

  Valerie didn’t know if that were her thought or his. She was light-headed, the importance of struggling and the reason for fighting was slipping away from her. Fighting was hard, hating worse.

  Please. Do not let me be the death of you.

  As if it were a dare, or something scary—she agreed. Making the decision and acting before she could have a chance to think it through. She reached for the phantom ghost of Lucas, kissed him, forced her way inside of him, taking him by surprise. There was a moment of struggle where he wasn’t kissing her back, wasn’t giving her what she needed to survive.

  She crystalized her intention, focused her will. Suddenly, he gave way, let her wash over him, drink him down and take his strength, plunder his mouth and his body as she pulled the darkness from him. His energy and his soul, everything he might give to her—she took.

  More.

  Valerie felt his power surge through her veins and begin to fix her. Her bones knit back together as she drifted.

  Floating.

  Waiting.

  Resisting Cerdewellyn’s magic. She'd be damned if she'd be his queen.

  Chapter 2

  RACHEL AWOKE to Cerdewellyn throwing her shirt in her face. She sputtered and sat up. He stood before her, hands on his hips, his expression cold. His black hair was disheveled, his clothes a mess, his black jacket torn at the pocket, his breeches covered with mud. A streak of dirt was on his cheek, and it was so unsuited to his uptight and stuffy perfection, that it would have been funny under different circumstances. She had no idea what those circumstances might be, but considering he’d just woken her up from a marathon night of sex, blood, and more sex with Jack; this wasn’t it.

  “Come along then,” Cerdewellyn said, and left the room, the sound of his shoes echoing faintly as he walked off without her. Expecting Rachel to follow him. And be quick about it, apparently. “Shit,” she muttered and pulled the shirt over her head. She dragged on her jeans and shoved her feet in her shoes as fast as she could.

  “Jack!” she said, through gritted teeth. No response. “Jack! Wake up, damn you!” Still no response. How long would he be out? Rachel left him there and stumbled after Cerdewellyn, trying to get her thoughts in order. He’d expected her to follow him, wasn’t waiting for her to show up or slowing down in any way to accommodate her.

  The pure arrogance of him wasn’t that surprising. He’d always been a king. Even if he had no subjects, he still expected people to fall in line and do his bidding. He started speaking, not even turning to make eye contact.

  “I have Lucas. He is gone, do you understand? Mine. And if I have it my way, he will be dead soon. If you try to rescue him—your wolf dies. You were Lucas’ creature. Now you are mine. I do not hold your vampirism against you. Not in such desperate times.”

  “You mean cause I’m the only witch around?” she said, sarcasm dripping from her tone.

  “Indeed,” he said seriously. His creature, huh? Lucas wouldn’t think Cerdewellyn was getting much of a bargain. She had been the worst, most treasonous creature he had. One of the many things she didn’t have time to dwell upon.

  “Is Lucas…hurt?”

  “Not really.” He sighed in exasperation. “The empath fed him; he is insensible, and locked away securely.”

  Rachel frowned. “Like in a dungeon?” Lucas was going to be fucking pissed.

  “Do not concern yourself with him. Your energy must go to pleasing me.” He entered the dining room, and all the torches flared to life, a lick of power making her shiver. The flames hissed, illuminating every spider web, all the dust, as well as the decaying tapestries.

  And then there were the bodies sitting at the dining room table. Desiccated and still. Their hair faded and thin. It was the sort of tableau Marion might find amusing. Drag up a whole bunch of bodies for a tea party. Rachel’s attention kept coming back to one woman in particular. Her hair was long, stringy and white, matted with cobwebs, her eye sockets huge, skin ill-fitting like a rotting apple. Her hand was open, a goblet no more than half an inch away from her outstretched hand. Had she just taken a drink or set it down? She wore white as though it had been her wedding day.

  Creepy ass shit.

  Cerdewellyn gestured towards them with an open hand. “These were my people. They betrayed me, and this is the price. They could not survive without me. I am the Fey King. All magic comes from me. The witches, the wolves, the vampires, even the empaths. All of it came from me.”

  “Then why did they betray you if they needed you?” Rachel asked, wondering just what he wanted her to do and hoping to
delay it.

  Cerdewellyn stopped near a chair, his hands resting on the back, a contrast of his healthy olive skin to the mummy before him. “I suspect they did not believe it. Most of them had heard of my power, but never experienced it. Not when it was terrifying. But it makes no difference why they did it. They were all my children. I blame Annika. And I blame myself for being blind.”

  He gestured to the middle of the table where a bundle of wet rags lay before her. Rachel stepped closer to see what the hell it was. Curtains fished out of the deep? Did he think she knew a good dry cleaning spell? It was covered with moss, stringy and dark. Oh fuck. It was a body, a woman, and clearly, she’d been dead for a long time.

  “You are a witch. You are to put her soul back into her body.”

  “She’s…dead.” Now that she knew what she was looking at, it was obvious that the thing before her was a woman. The rags were actually a dress; the moss was really her hair. The strange lumps were her shoulders and knees.

  Cer ignored her statement of the obvious. “I can do nothing with the remains as they are. Her spirit is here. She is Fey. You will combine your power with mine, and we will draw her spirit forward, so it may re-anchor to her flesh,” he said.

  What the hell? “Why? She’s gone. Even if this chick’s soul was lurking around, sticking it back into a dead body is…morbid. Torturous even depending upon what you believe. Sticking her soul back in her body will not bring her back to life.”

  He looked up from the body slowly and met her eyes for an instant. “I need Virginia’s spirit to be anchored to her own flesh. Come,” he commanded and extended a hand, broad palm turned upwards. She didn’t want to touch him. Although Rachel had never met a live Fey before this shitty trip, she’d heard stories, and was smart enough to know that touching one was probably a bad idea. Sensing her hesitation, he said, “I will take your wolf, and I will make him mine if you do not do it.”

  Of course he would. “Blood. I cannot do anything without blood,” Rachel said.

  “I have that too.” He shoved the table hard with one hand; the table so heavy it would have been immovable for a human, and yet he shoved it away with ease. Lying at the feet of one of the dried-out Fey women was a werewolf. Bloody, harmed and near death, the animal made no move to run away.

  “He comes back here. To his love. He is hurt and near death, and he comes to her. That is the power of devotion and love,” Cer said, voice hollow. “He should have come to me. To his king and maker.”

  The wolf looked at her with human eyes. His muzzle was coated with blood, his breathing labored. Blindly, she reached out and Cer clasped her hand. “I will say it first, and you repeat it. Here is the blade. Finish him when you need to.” He held a knife out to her, and she took it, the hilt warm from his hand. “He does not deserve to die by your gentle touch.”

  The Wolf whined, its tail thumping on the floor anxiously. “I would not save you, even if I could,” he said to the wolf.

  Here it was. Another death for her magic. If she didn’t do it, he would take Jack. He could. He was Cerdewellyn. Even diminished, he could shred her bond with Jack and make Jack his pet. What choice was there? This was what happened when one was vulnerable. When one had a weakness. It was exploited. I know better.

  Cer began to speak. She took a deep breath and tried to center herself. Tried to follow what he was saying. She repeated the words, her voice stronger than she expected. She felt the power build up inside of her. And then Cerdewellyn’s power lit along her nerves, combining with her own. His power was warm; if it had a texture, it would have been like soft moss, verdant and soothing.

  She felt the dark, cold stickiness of her own black magic, the way they mixed together, becoming something new and greater. Cer released her hand, but their connection held. He drew the rags and body towards the edge of the table, then lifted it and set them gently down on the ground. The wolf watched them, still wheezing, occasionally whining. But it didn’t try to run.

  She drew the blade across her forearm. Her blood welled and dripped down onto the bundle of bones. Cer dragged the wolf to his feet by the scruff of its neck. Power built within her, cresting close, ready to detonate.

  The light flickered. As though all the oxygen in the room had been consumed.

  She had the bizarre urge to apologize to the wolf, which was disturbing and ridiculous. Why would she apologize? She’d never done so before. All the deaths. All the murders. No reason to start now. She shut down the sympathetic pang, felt her lips pull back in a smear, and without flinching, she stabbed downwards. Through the rib cage and into the animal’s heart in one clean stroke. Only it wasn’t just an animal, but a person too.

  Damn it.

  Cerdewellyn scooped up the bundle of rags and bones, carrying it in his arms easily. He led them out of the castle, Rachel trailing along behind him. She supposed the other option was to turn and run away, but…it wasn’t a real option, was it? If she turned and ran she lost Jack. Her feet crunched on the gravel. She was finally here, at a crossroads. Metaphorically, of course. She had stuck with Marion for decades, followed along, not caused a lot of problems. And look at her now.

  Bound to Jack. So that she had an obvious weakness. One that would haunt her and make her vulnerable. But she couldn’t leave him. So she had to own it. Jack was her responsibility. Even when it was that time of the month, and he was howling at the moon, he was still going to be her problem.

  The feeling of vulnerability was odd and unsettling. As if she might come under attack at any moment. Cerdewellyn led them to a rocky beach. He set the bundle down on the ground and waded into the water. Waves surrounded his feet, his ankles and then his knees and thighs as he walked into the water. She squinted, wondering what he was doing. And then she saw another body.

  Valerie’s.

  Dead and floating, face down, her hair fanning out around her in a morbidly pretty way. Like Ophelia, perhaps. She was dressed and peaceful; she even had her sneakers on. The scene was so horribly wrong, so off on a fundamental level that Rachel had to steel herself to stay still, not to go forward and grab her, flip her over and try to save her, even though it was obviously too late. Valerie was dead.

  Jack would be devastated.

  Cer reached Valerie's body and pushed it away from him, back towards the breaking waves and away from shore. Her body floated out towards the deep, never sinking under the water, but staying on top. Like the tide had reversed and was going to take her out to sea rather than spit her out on dry land.

  Cer turned back, shaking water off his hands and pushing his dark hair off his face. He looked grim and harsh, his face pale and unhappy in the dim light. From several feet away he met her gaze, and she felt sick to her stomach. “She keeps coming back. She returns to the shore again and again. She is trying to save herself.”

  “I’m not sure your definition of saving herself would be the same as mine,” Rachel said, looking at Valerie’s corpse. Had her voice wobbled? Nah.

  “She is not dead, but undergoing a transformation. She should be at the bottom of the ocean, weighted down with my magic, filled with it to the gills. She should wake and come to me. Instead, she is here.” He carefully wiped his hands against each other, as though gathering his thoughts. “What was his connection to her?” Cer asked, crossing his arms. He was still in the water, waves breaking against his calves as he waited for her answer. His handsome features were hard, his black eyes absorbing all the light around them, perfect in this washed-out world.

  “Who?” Rachel asked dumbly.

  “Lucas. She is fighting, and I want to know how. Is it just her innate ability? How close is their bond?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t have said it was anything…special. He’s had an interest in her for a long time, but I assumed that was because of what she is.”

  “But it is physical. There has been blood exchanged. They have that bond.” Valerie was hard to see now, floating further and further away. The waves were p
allbearers carrying her away.

  She still had that goddamned urge to grab hold of Valerie and haul her back to shore. “Valerie is drawn to him. She desired him. He slept with her. Nothing more than that. And the blood…that was my fault. He was lying to her, and she wanted to know the truth. I told her she could make him drink her blood. He was keeping his distance, so he couldn’t have wanted her that much.” Was that the right thing to say? She still had some loyalty to Lucas, especially if it didn’t cost her anything.

  Cer stalked towards her, large steps bringing him close. She had to look up, and the smile on his face was almost a sneer, his words a growl. “But he succumbed. Why? Because of his natural gluttony? Because she was there and he was hungry, or because he feels something for her?”

  “Why can’t it be all of that?” she asked. Her gaze slid back to the ocean. Valerie was gone. The ocean dark and lifeless. It was dusk now, and she thought there was a storm coming too. She’s alone out there in the cold, Rachel thought, and then wanted to smack herself. Valerie was not her fucking problem.

  “She is fighting, and I want to know if it is him. If he is helping her, somehow.”

  She felt herself frown. “You think Lucas would sacrifice himself to help her? That is not his style. Plus, I don’t think she would accept his help, even if he offered it. Not now. After what he’s done. He was a bit of a jerk.”

  Cerdewellyn exhaled hard and turned around, crossing his arms and staring out to sea. “Good. She is down again. Give me your hand, I want to reconstruct my Virginia’s body.”

  “Yeah, that’s a great idea,” Rachel said flatly. Why the hell would he want to make the dead body look pretty? Did he have some kind of necrophilia fetish?

  She took his hand in hers. Warm, dry and firm. He gripped her tight, and she felt his magic coming towards her, spilling upwards from the water, invisible but tingling, like prickling electricity. He led their joined hands to the bundle. She felt sweat break out on her forehead despite the cold. The rags were slimy, and Rachel really wanted to let go. He closed her hands on the bundle of rags.