She was free, but she was also gone from my life forever.
I closed my eyes, took a deep shuddering breath, then slowly turned around and headed back to the hotel, where I finally let go of the pent-up hurt and anger, and grieved for the friend I’d lost.
A month later, just about everything had returned to normal. I’d gone back to work and found myself a new place to live—albeit one empty of everything I’d spent a lifetime collecting. Instead, my new place had little more than secondhand furniture and some basics borrowed from friends until the damn insurance people decided to pay me.
But the barren apartment was a constant reminder of everything I’d lost, and it just added weight to the loneliness that was crushing me.
My upbringing might have been rough at times, but the one good thing about it was the fact that I’d never really been alone. I’d had my brother, and I’d had Rainey, and I’d grown up used to having them there when I needed them. Now Rainey was gone forever, and Trae nowhere to be found. It felt like there was a chunk of me missing, and even now, long after I prayed for her soul and sent her on her final journey, I still found myself picking up the phone to talk to her. I kept expecting her to walk through the door with her wild red hair and big toothy grin.
But all that was nothing compared to the ache in my heart. Maybe it was even worse, because Damon was alive, and some small part of me refused to give up hope, even though I told myself a thousand times a day to get over it—to get over him—and move on.
And yet there were times when I thought I felt him close by. Times when the faintest whisper of a warm and familiar presence ran through my mind, teasing my senses and making my heart leap in hope. But no matter how often I looked, there was never any sign of him, and I knew it was probably nothing more than an overactive imagination combined with that never-say-die sliver of hope.
Life, I thought, sipping my coffee as I stared out the window, watching sunset flare across the building opposite and turning its windows a brilliant shade of bronze, was a bitch. Just this once, it could have given me the fairy tale instead of the nightmare.
The doorbell rang sharply in the silence. I jumped, and the coffee rocked over the sides of the cup, splashing across my hand. I cursed softly, then placed the cup on the sill and shook my hand dry as I ran over to the intercom.
“Yes?”
“So, would you like to explain how, exactly, you managed to burn down my apartment?”
The voice was warm and rich and familiar, and a grin split my lips. “That’s a rather long story, brother dearest. And where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to get hold of you for over a month.”
“I got sidetracked by a pretty lady in distress. I’ve brought her along so that you can meet her.”
That raised my eyebrows. Pretty ladies and my brother went together like bread and butter, but never before had he gone to the trouble of actually introducing me to one. This had to be serious.
I pressed the buzzer to let them in. “You’d better come on up, then. Apartment 408.”
I walked into the kitchen to turn on the coffeemaker—one of the few luxuries I refused to live without—then walked across to the door and opened it.
My brother, all rugged good looks, blond hair, and sunshiney disposition, walked into the room and gave me the biggest hug of my life.
“I’ve been worried about you,” he said, once he’d finally put me down. His blue eyes studied me critically. “Are you okay? You look tired.”
“I’m fine,” I said, and avoided the intent behind the question by looking past him. The woman standing at the door was tall and somewhat lanky, with eyes that were the green of a deep ocean and framed by long, thick lashes the rest of us would die for. Her hair was black, but highlights of dark green and blue played through it, as if the sea itself had kissed it.
She was a sea dragon. My gaze skimmed her body.
She was also pregnant. Very pregnant.
Meaning this really was serious.
“I’m Destiny.” She stepped forward and offered her hand. “And I’m the previously mentioned lady in distress.”
I moved past my brother and shook her hand. Her skin was on the cool side, but her eyes were warm and friendly, and dimples were lurking about the corners of her lips.
“You don’t actually look too distressed,” I said, waving them both into the living room.
“Oh, I’m not.” She smiled up at Trae as his fingers twined through hers. The love so evident in that brief glance had my heart aching. “Although your brother has been the cause of a fair bit of stress over the last few months or so.”
“He’s like that,” I said wryly. “No thought or concern for those who care about him.”
“Ha,” he said, seating Destiny on the one sofa I had before folding himself to the floor at her feet. “This from the woman who apparently got herself into so much trouble that she gave her mother nightmares?”
I raised my eyebrows as I sat on the chair opposite them. “Why on earth would Mom be worried about me?”
“Because she was getting visions of you in trouble, and no one knew where you were or how to get hold of you. And you weren’t answering your phone.”
“I broke it.” I hadn’t even thought to ring Mom, but even if I had, I wouldn’t have. Especially not after Rainey’s death. “So that’s why you’re here? So you can tell Mom that you’ve seen me and I’m okay?”
“That, and to tell you I’m going to be a dad.”
“Like that wasn’t obvious.” I glanced at Destiny with a smile. “You’re a brave woman to take him on. He’s a little bit crazy. You know that, don’t you?”
She nodded, green eyes twinkling. “I discovered that awhile back.”
Both of them were grinning broadly, and Trae was looking happier than I’d ever seen him, but even as my heart rejoiced for them, it broke a little more.
And Trae saw it. The brightness in his eyes dimmed a little and he frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, brother, I am.” I said it softly, forcefully, and even if I didn’t entirely convince myself, it seemed to convince him, because he relaxed a little. I pushed to my feet. “Now, while I grab us all some coffee, why don’t you tell me how you two met?”
So they did. And I wasn’t the only one who’d had a harrowing time recently, it seemed.
“So,” Trae said, several cups later. “You want to explain how you burned down both my apartment and yours?”
“That’s sort of a long story.” And it wasn’t one I really wanted to get into right then. Not when it was all still so raw.
He raised an eyebrow and gave me the sort of look that suggested he was prepared to wait a very long time indeed. “We have nothing to do for the next couple of hours.”
So much for him believing that I was okay. Thankfully, the doorbell chose that moment to ring. “Gotta answer that,” I said, rather unsuccessfully hiding the relief in my voice as I jumped up.
“We’ll just help ourselves to the contents of your fridge,” he said, voice dry. “And don’t think we’re going to be put off by whoever it is at the door.”
I flashed him a grin over my shoulder in acknowledgment and pressed the intercom button.
“Yes?”
“Mercy? It’s Damon.”
My body went hot, then cold, and my hands were suddenly shaking.
“Who?” My fingers reflexively touched the lotus pendant around my neck. I must have heard wrong. He couldn’t be here. Not after walking away. Not after all his fine speeches about being a muerte and wanting no one to care about.
“It’s me, Mercy.”
He sounded so heartbreakingly real, like he really was standing down there. But part of me didn’t want to believe it. He’d walked away. Surely he wouldn’t just walk back, like nothing had happened.
When I didn’t say anything, he added softly, “I need to talk to you.”
“Why?” I asked automatically. Then I remembered Trae and Destiny standing in my kitch
en, undoubtedly listening to every word, and I added hastily, “I’m coming down.”
I grabbed my jacket from the coatrack, flung an “I’ll be back” over my shoulder, then dived out the door. I didn’t wait for the elevator but took the stairs two at a time, slowing only when I neared the ground floor.
It was him.
He was leaning a shoulder against the wall of the building, staring off down the street. His sharp features were drawn, as if he’d been getting as little sleep as I had, and there were shadows under his eyes.
I slowed as my foot hit the foyer floor, wanting to drink in the sight of him just a bit longer, enjoy the feeling of him flowing through my mind. But he sensed my presence and looked my way.
Those dark eyes caught mine so easily, and yet they were completely neutral—showing nothing, revealing nothing. I stopped, suddenly unsure whether I really should open that door.
What if he wasn’t here to tell me he missed me?
What if he was simply here to sort out something relating to Hannish and the Jamieson king?
My stomach suddenly twisted. God, what if he was here to drag me in front of the council?
I took a step back, then stopped.
This was stupid. I was braver than this. I’d proved that time and again.
“What do you want, Damon?”
“I didn’t come here to talk to you through a glass security door, Mercy. Either let me in, or come out.”
“Why should I come out? You left.” My voice broke a little, but I sucked it up and added, “What more is there to discuss?”
“Plenty.” He paused, and a sweet, almost tentative smile teased the corners of his mouth. “I’ve arranged for chocolate cake …”
Despite my fears, I couldn’t help feeling a glimmer of amusement. He’d remembered. That had to be good, right? “I don’t see any chocolate cake.”
“It’s waiting in the restaurant down the street.”
“And why would it be waiting there?”
“Because I thought you were more likely to talk to me on neutral ground.” He paused again, and I swear fear flashed through the dark depths of his eyes. It made that small sliver of hope that had been with me since he’d left burst into a bonfire. “Please, Mercy. Come out and talk to me.”
“You have precisely twenty minutes,” I said, knowing even as I said it that he could have the rest of my life if only he said the right words. “I have guests waiting upstairs.”
I opened the door then grabbed the loose edges of my jacket and wrapped them around me—more to keep from reaching for him than any real need to keep out the cold.
But I couldn’t help drawing in the scent of him, letting the richness of it flow through my lungs, filling and warming me.
“This way,” he said, raising his hand to guide me, then dropping it before he actually touched my back.
We walked down the street like two strangers, and yet every time he moved, every time he breathed, I was aware of it.
He opened the restaurant door and ushered me through, once again careful not to touch me, then guided me over to a table in the corner. The place was small, homey, and packed. Our table was the only empty one.
A waiter came up immediately, depositing two coffees and a large serving of chocolate cake before removing the “reserved” sign and walking away.
I wrapped my fingers around the cup and drew it close, but I didn’t dare pick it up. My hands were still shaking too much.
“So,” I said finally, meeting his dark gaze. “What do you want to talk about?”
“How about my stupidity?”
“A good place to start,” I acknowledged, desperately battling the urge to smile. He didn’t deserve that yet. After a month of heartache, he owed me the full explanation. And perhaps a bit of groveling. “What particular area of your stupidity do you wish to discuss?”
“The part where I said muertes can’t get involved.”
I picked up the fork and cut into the cake. I had to do something, anything, to stop myself from giving in to the growing desire to reach across the table and silence him with a kiss. The part of me that had hoped for so long suddenly didn’t care about explanations; it just wanted him. But the stubborn part still wanted to hear the words; still wanted to hear him say them before I truly believed. “And why would you want to discuss that? You were very emphatic about it.”
“It was a lie when I said it, and it’s a lie now.”
He caught my hand, gently pulling the fork from it and enclosing it in his warm, firm grip. My breath caught and my heart began pounding so hard I swear it was trying to jump out of my chest. I was suddenly glad he didn’t seem to expect me to say anything, because right then I was totally incapable of speech.
“I tried to forget you,” he continued softly. “I tried to get on with my life and my job, but you’ve invaded every part of me—even my dreams—and there is no me without you. I love you, Mercy.”
I closed my eyes for a moment and savored the words, letting them wash away the loneliness and the fear of the past month. Letting them warm my soul and heal my heart.
Even so, it couldn’t end there. There was one more question I needed to ask.
“What about that whole speech you gave about the power of the muerte being the fact that he has no family—and no loved ones—to fear for? Are you saying that was a lie, too?”
“No. It’s as true then as it is now. But this last month has given me a taste of what it would be like to live the rest of my life without you. And I’d rather live with the fear of losing you than live without you entirely.”
“Are you sure, Damon? Because I’d rather live alone than live the rest of my life with the fear that you’ll walk away again.”
“I’m more sure of that than anything else in my life. Please, say you’ll forgive me. Say you’ll take the risk and become a part of my life.”
I studied him for a moment, aching to say yes but all too aware of the shadow that still stood between us—a shadow he hadn’t yet mentioned.
“You say you love me, that you can’t live without me,” I said slowly, “but I’m draman and that will never change. Where will your allegiance lie if the council issues an order that all draman are to have their powers ripped from them?”
“I doubt the council will order something like that.”
“But if it did?” I persisted.
“I would not let that happen to you,” he said softly, but with such determination it warmed the chill of uncertainty from my bones.
“And the other draman? Do you really think they deserve to lose their powers simply because the full-bloods are so insecure about our position in their lives?”
“I can’t promise that the council won’t vote to cull draman powers, but I can tell you that they’ve set up a scientific study of the coastal cliques in the hope of discovering just what is going on. They’ve also agreed, in principle, to a summit meeting between representatives of the draman and the cliques.”
It wasn’t acceptance, but it was certainly a whole lot more than I’d ever thought I’d see in my lifetime. “You did this?”
“I recommended it. Julio and several other kings backed me.” He shrugged, like it was nothing. Except it was everything, because I had no doubt he’d done it for me, to prove just how much he did care. He reached out and brushed my cheek lightly. “I’ve answered your questions. How about answering mine?”
Love and fear were in his voice, in his expression, and I couldn’t help the urge to tease him. “I can’t say yes. You haven’t promised me a regular supply of chocolate cake.”
A smile twitched his lips. “Oh, I think I can arrange that easily enough.”
“What about children? I want lots of them. Boys and girls—and no favoring the boys, thank you very much.”
“I promise.” He drew me across the table, his breath washing heat across my lips. “Anything else?”
“Yes,” I murmured, my lips brushing his and my gaze on his, losing myself in tho
se dark depths and the love so evident there. “Promise me we’ll fly every single day.”
“Forever and ever,” he murmured, his lips so close I could taste his words.
“Then you’d better come back to my apartment and meet my brother. He needs to approve.”
“He’ll approve. I’m a very lovable sort of fellow when I want to be.”
I laughed at that, and he grinned. Then the amusement twinkling in his bright eyes faded. “Do you promise to be mine, Mercy?”
“Forever and ever,” I murmured, then took his lips with mine and sealed our deal with a kiss.
Be sure not to miss
Darkness Unbound,
the first book of Keri Arthur’s thrilling new
Dark Angels series!
Read on for a special preview.…
Darkness Unbound
On sale Summer 2011
I’ve always seen the reapers.
Even as a toddler—with little understanding of spirits, death, or the horrors that lie in the shadows—I’d been aware of them. As I’d gotten older and my knowledge of the mystical had strengthened, I’d begun to call them Death, because the people I’d seen them following had always died within a day or so.
In my teenage years, I learned who and what they really were. They called themselves reapers, and they were collectors of souls. They took the essence—the spirit—of the dying and escorted them to the next part of their journey, be that heaven or hell.
The reapers weren’t flesh-and-blood beings, although they could attain that form if they wished. They were creatures of light and shadows—and an energy so fierce that their mere presence burned across my skin like flame.
Which is how I’d sensed the one now following me. He was keeping his distance, but the heat of him sang through the night, warming my skin and stirring the embers of fear. I swallowed heavily and tried to stay calm. After all, being the daughter of one of Melbourne’s most powerful psychics had its benefits—and one of those was a knowledge of my own death. It would come many years from now, in a stupid car accident.