The Sweetest Burn
“But you still want Ivy to sacrifice her life,” Adrian said, and the bitterness in his voice broke my heart. “Even now, Zach, you still don’t care enough to help Ivy save her life. Instead, you want to help her to end it.”
“Adrian, please,” I said, reaching out to him.
“No,” he said sharply, and the look he gave me chilled me to the bone. Those weren’t his eyes. They were his father’s eyes.
Just as suddenly, Adrian’s gaze softened, making me mentally lash myself for ever thinking such an awful thing. Then he held out his arms, and I gratefully ran into them.
“You’re right, I’m blaming him and it’s not his fault,” he said, kissing my face with light brushes of his lips. “We’ll figure something out with the last weapon. We always do. You’ll be okay, Ivy. I promise.”
“I love you,” I replied in a choked voice. “No matter what, I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he said, his voice deepening with single-minded intent. “More than you’ll ever know. We’ll get through this, I promise you. Both of us.”
I held him tighter, glad for what had to be soothing lies despite his promises that he’d only tell me the truth. We both knew how this would end, but at the moment, I needed reassurance more than I needed honesty. Maybe Adrian did, too. He sounded like he really believed what he was saying, even though we both knew that he was most likely wrong.
Still, right now, we had each other. Life was only lived in the present, and so I’d put everything I had into whatever present we had left. From the tightening of his arms around me, I knew that Adrian would, too. Besides, it could take months or years to find the spearhead. I could grow stronger by that time, perhaps even strong enough to withstand the final weapon’s devastating effects. Maybe, just maybe, I would beat those million-to-one odds. After all, destinies were sometimes made to be broken.
EPILOGUE
ADRIAN STOOD IN front of a large mirror. He touched its smooth, unbroken surface, thinking that it had been years since he’d seen his reflection this well. Other reflective surfaces, like water or windows at night, never revealed things in such clear detail. In those, he wouldn’t be able to see the hard set to his jaw or the flintlike look in his eyes as he spoke the name of the demon he’d never hated as much as he did now.
“Demetrius.”
His reflection blurred and the mirror rippled as if it had become water. Then, in the center, a dark form appeared, growing larger until a very familiar man filled the frame. When Adrian saw the bright lights of a modern cityscape behind Demetrius, he let out a harsh laugh.
“You managed to avoid getting trapped in the realms along with the rest of them. Why am I not surprised?”
“Because you know me, my son,” Demetrius said, a small, sly smile curving his mouth. “And if you didn’t think I had a contingency plan in the event that the little Davidian succeeded, then you don’t know me as well as you should.”
“Let me guess. Cursed earth?” Adrian asked, with an ironic glance at the ground Demetrius stood on.
The demon’s dark eyes gleamed. “Remember, I’m the person who taught you all your best tricks.” Then he looked beyond Adrian. “You summon me from a church so that I cannot leave this mirror to come to you. Do you still fear me, even now that you know the truth of who I am?”
“No, I don’t fear you,” Adrian replied. That was the truth, even as he fought to make his tone light. He’d never let the demon in front of him see how tortured he was by doing this. Demetrius would only use it to his advantage, and Adrian had almost nothing left as it was. “But I sure as hell don’t trust you.”
Demetrius’s shoulder lifted in a concurring shrug. “I suppose I do tend to misbehave.”
Adrian stifled his snort. Demetrius would characterize untold millennia of horrible deeds that way. “I didn’t come to banter or to catch up on what you’ve been doing. Real father or no, I still hate you, and I’d kill you if I could.”
Instead of being angered, Demetrius grinned. “If not for your regrettable honesty, I’d be proud of you, my fierce, vengeful son. However, let me impart a word of fatherly advice. Next time, don’t warn someone that you want to kill them. Tell them all is forgiven, then rip their heart out as soon as they turn their back.”
Adrian gave him a pointed look. “My honesty comes from my mother, and I’m keeping it because it’s all I have left of her.”
Demetrius let out a sigh. “You say that as if I enjoyed killing her. I didn’t, even though she deserved it by hiding her pregnancy and your birth from me. When I finally found out about you, I tried to reason with her, but she summoned Archons to fight against me. What choice did I have?”
The one where you didn’t kill her, Adrian thought, but he didn’t bother saying it. Demetrius’s mind simply didn’t work that way. Adrian would have a better chance explaining poetry to a cockroach, and he didn’t have long until Ivy expected him back.
Ivy. Adrian steeled himself for what he had to do next. It felt vile, as if he’d dunked his soul inside a vat of filth, but if he didn’t do this, she would die. He didn’t care that he’d probably die with her, despite overhearing Zach’s assurances that his Judian and demon natures would be strong enough to withstand her loss. What Zach hadn’t said, and yet the cunning Archon undoubtedly knew, was that without Ivy, he wouldn’t want to go on. But most of all, after everything that Ivy had been through, he couldn’t let her sacrifice herself this way. She deserved a chance at happiness, and he hadn’t been able to give her much, but he’d damn well make sure that he could give her that.
“I’m soul-tied to Ivy now,” Adrian stated, although he suspected that Demetrius knew that.
His father winced as if the words had injured him. “Yes, I can sense the stink of her soul around yours from here.”
“That means whatever happens to her happens to me, too,” Adrian went on. Demetrius should know that, but he was taking no chances by guessing. “You might be a twisted, evil bastard, but I’m probably the closest you’ve ever come to truly loving someone. When Ivy was dying after wielding the staff, I almost died, too. Ivy recovered because she siphoned enough of my strength through our tie to survive.”
“And you only had that strength because you are my son,” Demetrius said, emphasizing those last two words, as if the truth wasn’t enough on its own.
Adrian met his father’s gaze without flinching. “Yes, and you want me to live. I won’t, not with every demon and minion still topside gunning for Ivy. I know you aren’t the only one who got out before the gateways closed, but remember this—if Ivy dies, then I die, too, whether by the power of the spear or by my own hand. I won’t live without her. I refuse to.”
“Ivy.” For a moment, hatred blazed in Demetrius’s gaze as he said her name. Then, it vanished and he shrugged as if he didn’t care. “The other thing you get from your mother? Deplorable taste in lovers.”
Adrian didn’t crack a smile at Demetrius’s backhanded insult to himself, although that was the closest he’d ever heard his father come to being self-deprecating.
“I can misdirect the other demons on this side from hunting Ivy down. As for the minions, I’m sure you can handle them on your own,” Demetrius said. At Adrian’s doubtful look, the demon waved a hand. “I’m not lying. Unlike the prior two weapons, I don’t care if the little Davidian uses this one. Let her save some of the wretched meat bags trapped in the realms. She can’t hurt my people with it, and they will eventually find a way to punch a hole though the walls and return on their own.”
“But if Ivy uses the spearhead, it will kill her,” Adrian said, hating himself but loving her enough to do this. “I’ve tried to convince her not to go after it, but I can’t change her mind or stop her. As her abilities have grown, so has her need to save people. It’s almost a compulsion now.”
“Of course it is, it’
s her destiny,” Demetrius said dismissively. Then he cocked his head, understanding dawning on his pale features. “But you don’t want her to find the spearhead, let alone use it.” A statement, not a question.
Adrian forced the single, damning word out between his gritted teeth. “Yes.”
A slow smile spread across Demetrius’s face, and it was filled with so much triumph that Adrian almost smashed the mirror right then. You’re wrong, he thought savagely. I’m not doing this to betray her. I’m doing this to save her!
“Well, then, my son,” Demetrius drawled. “It seems that we have a lot to talk about.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from THE BEAUTIFUL ASHES by Jeaniene Frost.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A BOOK STARTS out as one person’s idea, but with help, that idea turns into a written adventure that can be shared with thousands. That’s why I’m so grateful to pen another acknowledgments page, because it means this particular adventure is now ready to be shared. As always, my first thanks go to God. Among many other things, He blessed me with a sufficiently strange mind, and let’s face it: if I were normal, I probably wouldn’t be able to think up this stuff *wink*. Endless gratitude also goes to my husband, who is my daily reminder that love is real and worth fighting for. Thanks also to my editor, Allison Carroll, for her careful attention to detail and her many helpful comments. Deepest thanks once again to my agent, Nancy Yost, for her fabulous business savvy as well as her support these past several years.
Since this is getting long, I’ll try to be briefer, but I couldn’t possibly wrap this up without thanking Melissa and Ilona for their encouragement and insight; to my family for their unconditional love; to the wonderful folks at Harlequin for their enthusiasm and support; to Blackstone Audio for making this story also available in audio format; to bloggers, reviewers and librarians for talking about my books and thus spreading the word; and last but certainly not least, to readers for taking the leap and trying them. Thank you forever for that. As I’ve said before—without readers, I’d still be telling these stories to myself.
“Frost’s fast-paced paranormal romantic thriller is a pure stunner... Frost skillfully balances passion and peril in an attention-grabbing story that’s exciting from the first page.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Beautiful Ashes (starred review)
Follow Ivy and Adrian’s story from the start in
The Beautiful Ashes
The first installment in the stunning Broken Destiny series by New York Times bestselling author Jeaniene Frost.
Sometimes falling in love really is the end of the world...
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The Beautiful Ashes
by Jeaniene Frost
chapter one
I’m twenty, and already, I’ve got nothing left to lose. That’s why I didn’t care that Bennington, Vermont, looked like a postcard for autumn in the country. The two-story bed-and-breakfast I pulled up to was no different. It even had a white picket fence and a steady swirl of sunset-colored leaves drifting down from the many trees in the yard.
My picturesque surroundings were in stark contrast to how I looked. If I hadn’t been exhausted from grief and stress, I might’ve cared that my brown hair now resembled greasy mud. Or that my breath was in desperate need of a Mentos, and don’t get me started on the coffee stains decorating my WMU shirt. Since I had more important things to worry about, I didn’t even bother to cover my head against the downpour as I left my car and ran into the bed-and-breakfast.
“One moment!” a cheery voice called out from farther inside. Then a heavyset older woman with graying red hair came down the hallway.
“Hello, dear. I’m Mrs. Paulson. Are you—oh, my, you’re soaked!”
“It’s nothing,” I said, but she bustled out of sight, returning moments later with a towel.
“You sit down and dry yourself off,” she ordered in the same tsking tone my mother had used a million times before. A surge of grief had me dropping into the chair she waved at. The things you didn’t realize you’d miss until they were gone...
“Thanks,” I said, determined not to cry in front of a total stranger. Then I pulled out the Ziploc bag I’d carried around most of the day. “I’m looking for two people who might’ve stayed here the weekend before last.”
As I spoke, I pulled out a picture of my sister, Jasmine, and her boyfriend, Tommy.
Mrs. Paulson got a pair of glasses from her apron pocket. Then she sat behind a large antique desk and accepted the picture.
“Oh, what a pretty girl,” she said, adding kindly, “just like you. But I’ve never seen either of them before, sorry.”
“Thanks,” I said, although I wanted to scream.
I’d spent the day showing Jasmine’s picture to every hotel, motel and inn in Bennington, yet no one had recognized my sister. She’d been here, though. The last texts she’d sent came from Bennington, but the police already hinted that they thought she’d sent them while driving through. To them, Jasmine was an impulsive eighteen-year-old who’d gone on a road trip with her boyfriend. My sister might be impulsive, but she wouldn’t have disappeared for over a week unless she was in real trouble.
I stuffed her picture back into the plastic bag and rose, so upset that I barely registered what Mrs. Paulson was saying.
“...can’t let you go back out in that, dear. Wait here until the rain stops.”
I blinked in surprise at her unexpected kindness. Every other proprietor had been anxious for me to leave once they knew why I was there, as if losing a family member could somehow be contagious. My eyes stung with a sudden rush of tears. Maybe it was. My parents’ funeral was the day after tomorrow.
“Thank you, but I can’t,” I said, voice husky from emotions I couldn’t let myself feel yet. The shock helped with that. Ten days ago, my biggest concern had been making a bad impression on my Comparative Revolutions professor after my text message alerts kept going off in his class. Then I read Jasmine’s texts, and everything had changed.
Mrs. Paulson gave me another sympathetic smile. “At least let me make you a hot cup of tea—”
A dark, hazy double image suddenly appeared over the reception lounge, making it look as though it had aged over a hundred years in an instant. I stifled a groan. Not this again.
The pricey antiques vanished, replaced by broken-down furniture or nothing at all. The temperature also plummeted, making me shiver before movement in the hallway caught my eye.
A blonde girl walked past the decrepit-looking reception lounge. Her face was smudged with dirt and she was bundled up in a tattered blanket, but I didn’t need a second glance to recognize her.
“Jasmine,” I whispered.
Mrs. Paulson came around the desk and grabbed me, coiling shadows suddenly darting across her face as if she had snakes trapped beneath her flesh. Jasmine continued to walk by as if she wasn’t aware that we were there. If not for the innkeeper’s surprisingly strong grip, I could have reached out and touched my sister.
“Wait!” I cried out.
The house blinked back into elegant furnishings and warm, cozy temperatures. Just as quickly, Jasmine disappeared. Mrs. Paulson still held me in a tight grip, although the shadows on her face had vanished. I finally managed to shove h
er away, heading down the hallway where I’d glimpsed my sister.
Before I made it three steps, pain exploded in the back of my head. It must’ve briefly knocked me out, because the next thing I knew, I was on my knees and Mrs. Paulson was about to hit me with a heavy picture frame again.
Get out! The single, emphatic thought was all my mind was capable of producing. My body must’ve agreed. I don’t know how, but I was suddenly outside and slamming the door shut on my Cherokee. Then I sped away, wondering what had made Mrs. Paulson turn from a kindly old lady into a skull-smashing maniac.
I drove back to my hotel as though on autopilot. After I parked, I sat in the car with the engine off, trying to fight back nausea while I figured out my next move. I could call 911, but I didn’t want to admit that I’d had another weird hallucination right before Mrs. Paulson attacked me. If I told anyone that, I’d be signing up for a stay in a padded room. Again. Second, the cops in Bennington already didn’t like me. As soon as I’d arrived this morning, I’d bitched them out for not doing enough to find Jasmine. They’d probably take Mrs. Paulson’s side and assume I’d done something to provoke her.
I paused. Had I? I didn’t remember getting away from Mrs. Paulson. What if I’d done something else I didn’t remember? Maybe something that had scared her so much, she’d hit me in self-defense? The idea that I might be having blackouts in addition to hallucinations soured my already bleak mood. I got out of the car and went to my hotel room. Once inside, I dropped my purse as though it were a fifty-pound anchor, then flicked on the light.
Everything in me stiffened. The couch should’ve been empty, but a guy with hair the color of dark honey sat there, his large frame taking up most of the space. Strong brows, a straight nose, high cheekbones and a sensual mouth made up a face that was striking enough to adorn billboards. He didn’t look startled by my appearance, either. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear he’d been expecting me.