Three Heart Echo

  When I was finished, I returned to my room. I stared at the wall that housed the sorting unit, with those hundreds of little drawers. One by one I brought the dead forth. Paid honor to every one of those who had died before me.

  Slowly, the sun slid from one side of the sky to the other. The pace of my heart picked up. Echoes sounded in the back of my head. My heart twisted a little tighter.

  March third. On exactly the two hundredth anniversary of the slaughter.

  Alone, alone, once more alone, I ate dinner. I washed the dishes. I stoked the fire.

  Alone, alone, always alone, I now stand in the chapel, looking out over the town.

  The last of the sun’s rays slip behind the mountain.

  That feral, other-worldly yipping chirps once.

  Twice.

  Like a breath released from a hundred mouths, all at once, the town moans.

  And a scream rips through the night.

  I slip my hand into my pocket, and close it around the pendant, the bow, and the hair pin.

  “Sully,” a soft voice says empathetically. “You should have stayed away on this day. What is the point of staying here, witness to this cursed day if you don’t have to?”

  My sister stops at my side. Cheyenne’s soft face is filled with despair and concern.

  “She needs to be her own person,” I say, watching as homes are blasted apart. A loud shriek, the sound of a baby crying, cuts through the church. My eyes wince closed. “I have to let her discover who she is once more.”

  “She cares about you, son,” my father says. He walks forward, looking out over the town. He doesn’t say anything else, and I wonder if he’s thinking about how eight generations of cursed Whitmore men are finally coming to an end, with me.

  “Never mind outside sources,” my mother says, stepping forward. She reaches for my father’s hand, and then my sister’s. I cannot touch the dead, but the dead may cling to one another. “Our days together as a family are limited now. Let’s not waste a moment of them.”

  I look to her, disconnected from my family. But not for long. I offer them a sad smile, and go to stand beside them. Watching as the town of Roselock lives out its cursed anniversary.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  IONA

  Friday evening, after work, I load up a box of research books into my car, a weekend bag packed full of clothes, and take off in my car.

  But little tendrils of doubt begin wrapping around my brain, the further away I get from Ander.

  Here I am, again, going out of my normal, in an extreme way, for a man.

  About five miles before the turnoff to Roselock, I actually stop in the middle of the highway.

  I chew on my bottom lip.

  I’d nearly forgotten dinner with my mom on Wednesday. My heart leaped into my throat when I looked at the clock and remembered, and I’d looked like a fumbling idiot when I stumbled through the door five minutes late, clutching the grocery bags.

  And then Viola had to call me ten minutes before the movie was to start on Thursday, telling me she and Cressida were already at the theater. I’d been at the library, pouring over my research.

  I’d been trying to keep myself from running to Roselock. To keep myself from keeping Sully company as he suffered through the anniversary of the Battle at Roselock.

  But he’d asked me to stay away that night.

  I’d listened.

  Even though it hurt to do so.

  I doubt myself now, sitting there in the middle of the road.

  I’d nearly forgotten all those things with my family, because I was obsessed with finding a way to save Sully.

  I’d been obsessed with a man before.

  Cut everything off once before.

  This is different, a voice coming from my heart says.

  I will never trust my heart again.

  But I want to believe it.

  Sully is going to die if I don’t find a solution. I can’t let the man who saved my life die.

  I let off the brake, and continue down the highway.

  The familiar, terrifying sights of Roselock greet me when I pull off the highway. The rundown buildings. The line of pennies I carefully drive over. And then the sight of the church up ahead.

  And I dread the beats that each pound in my chest. Because every one that sounds, is another one counting down to May seventh.

  Something tightens in my chest when I step into the evening light. Brilliant sunshine casts down on the trees that surround me. The sun illuminates the roof of the church. It makes the old stained glass windows glow.

  My feet step forward. Propelled faster as my heart screams in my chest.

  Truth.

  Truth wants to speak to me.

  But fear and doubt are ever going to be my constant companions.

  The stairs squeal under my gaining weight as I climb them. The porch sags. But I actually smile, recalling the first time I feared I would fall through it.

  A lifetime ago.

  I knock loudly on the doors.

  It’s silent for a moment. And my heart sinks, worrying that I’m going to have to go and search for him.

  But then, heavy footsteps sound within.

  Anticipation burns in my veins.

  I shift from one foot to the other.

  I bite my lips together to contain the smile.

  I hear a hand land on the doorknob. And finally, it swings open.

  I actually press a hand to my chest, trying to still my heart. But my smile breaks free of my bite, and spreads on my face.

  Sully stands there, so different from the first time I knocked on this door.

  First, because his eyes are bright, hopeful. Happy to see me.

  And second, because he looks entirely different.

  He’s cut his hair. It’s now short, cropped, clean cut. And his beard has been trimmed, now short and groomed, with purpose.

  It fractures all those hard walls I was attempting to build when I stopped in the middle of the road.

  My body acts of its own accord as I surge forward, wrapping my hands behind his neck, and pull his face to mine.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  SULLY

  The floodgates are opened.

  The second I opened the door and saw her standing there, so permanently changed from the scared fawn I found standing there once before, everything came rushing in on me.

  I wanted this woman.

  I wanted her with me, wherever I was, wanted to be with her, wherever she might go.

  I wanted to fight for her, every day, and be there to remind her to fight for herself.

  And as she rushes forward and wraps her arms around my neck, I know this is where my heart is going to be for the short remainder of my days.

  Our mouths collide without hesitation. Hunger and passion rip through me like a tornado out on the plains. My hands go to Iona’s sides, slowly wrapping around her waist as she leans into me.

  A hungry sigh escapes her lips and I let her into my mouth, her tongue darting out, tangling with mine. Her lips mold to the shape of mine, promising bittersweet escape from everything in the world.

  She leans in harder, and I give two steps back into the church. She follows, her body glued to mine, inch for inch as we move. The door still sits wide open, because who would be around to witness? I slowly work us backward into the church.

  Iona’s kiss is not gentle. It is not hesitant.

  Every one of them claims me. Declares me hers.

  A violent and electric storm bites in my veins. Desire and the instinct to claim run savage in my blood as I twist us, backing Iona into the wall as we stumble from the chapel into the common room. Her tiny little body feels so much more feminine even after just two weeks as I grasp her hips and lift, pinning her to the wall.

  “Sully,” she sighs as she tips her head backward. But I don’t slow, can’t slow. My mouth moves from hers, over her jawline, down her neck. My hands curl from her hips, under her thighs, holding her up, holding her
legs around my waist.

  It takes every ounce of control in me not to pound my hips. To not thrust. To not claim this woman as my primal mate.

  Mine.

  Mine.

  Mine.

  A medieval voice screams the words through my brain.

  But suddenly I jerk back. My eyes go to Iona’s.

  Because that’s what Iona was to Jack.

  He owned her. She became him.

  And I will never, ever claim possession over her.

  “Is this what you want?” I pant, my chest heaving, my body trembling from head to foot. “You’ve only just found your freedom again, Iona.” I struggle to keep my words under control. To breathe evenly. “Is this what you want?”

  Those caramel eyes of hers stare back at me, searching, pouring over my soul like a fortuneteller looking through a crystal ball into the depths of my dark and twisted soul. Her breasts heave up and down, her lips already swollen and red.

  But there’s a stillness that settles over her. Calm. Serene.

  She brings her hands to either side of my face, never once looking away from my eyes. Slowly, her hands rise up into my hair, locking in what little is left of it.

  “You are a good man, Sully,” she says quietly. “I need good in my life again.” She pauses, searching me again. “This…this is what I want.”

  She leans in, slowly, so slowly surely I’ll soon be an old man, tortured and waiting for heaven. She presses her lips to mine. She breathes a breath into me.

  Every nerve in my body shutters with want. Need.

  Steadily, our lips move in sync. Assuredly, our mouths open.

  Iona shrugs her coat off.

  I kick my boots off as she squeezes her legs tighter around my waist.

  She reaches for the hem of her shirt.

  And I carry the both of us to the bedroom.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  IONA

  The dim glow of the sunrise tickles the horizon.

  I lie on my stomach, looking at the dirty window. It faces north, so my view of the eastern sunrise is blocked, but I can see a trace of light blue dancing behind the tree line.

  Sully traces a finger over my bare back. He’s quiet, just letting me sort through my thoughts, getting utterly lost in them. But the tip of his finger keeps lazing over my skin, as if drawing a map to some exotic destination where only he and I can exist.

  We made love last night. Soul crushing, soul healing love that went on and on through the night. At some point, I finally fell asleep, lying on Sully’s chest, skin to skin. When I’d awoken, I rolled over and just looked at his profile in the dim light.

  But the moment I turned over, Sully stirred, and then his fingers were there.

  My mind is a tangled web of thoughts and questions.

  This was different. So under my skin deep, so bend me backward, look at the sky and see to the stars and moon, different.

  But…

  But there is something broken in my mind now. Something fragile and scared, but willing to fight until my last breath.

  But I turn my head, looking back at Sully.

  His hair is wild, sticking up in all directions from my fingers endlessly running through it all night, and sleeping finally. But there’s peace in his eyes. Light. He leans forward and presses his lips to my shoulder. He takes a deep breath, breathing me in.

  I will be frightened. I will fight for myself.

  But the truth is there, nesting itself in the center of my chest, so obvious and large that I can’t ignore it.

  Sully and I. Me and Sully. An ache forms in me when I think of parting from him.

  I roll over to my back and look up at him as he hovers, looking down at me. I reach up, placing a hand on his cheek.

  “There doesn’t need to be words,” Sully says. He lies there with his head propped up on one hand, his elbow to the bed. His other he laces with the fingers of my other hand, resting on my chest. “There doesn’t need to be any promises. Just, whatever you need, Iona. And I’ll do it.”

  Peace.

  Real peace.

  And real happiness. That’s what I feel.

  That’s what courses through me as he leans down, gently pressing his lips to mine, bare chest to bare chest.

  I’ll never trust my heart again. Never, ever say the words again.

  But inside, in my heart, I know the truth.

  I love this man.

  Sully tromps around all that day, going about his duties. He takes care of the town of Roselock. He visits the graves of the dead. He clears debris and speaks to an old friend he summons from an old pair of spectacles.

  I watch him. At least once an hour, he finds his way back to me, kissing me deep and long, our hands all over one another. But he goes back out.

  I walk around the church, looking all around the base. In the light of day, it looks so normal. Just a crumbling foundation. Just weeds and bushes jutting out here and there.

  How…how does it bleed at night?

  How do the voices of the dead call out in the dark, for any and all to hear?

  How did the town curse Sully?

  That night, as we sit together, eating, I ask him, “Is there anything left of the tribe that used Roselock as the burial ground?”

  He looks up at me from beneath his dark lashes. “Why?”

  I finish chewing my bite. Keep his gaze. “Because there has to be an answer to this. I want to look for clues. Signs. Anything.”

  He stirs the stew in his bowl without looking at it. “Why?” he asks again quietly.

  I’m still as a statue. “Because I can’t lose you in two months and four days.” My features feel rock solid, unmovable. “I won’t lose you.”

  Sully is true to his word. No promises. No words. Just whatever I need. But I see it there in his eyes. That this means just as much to him as it does to me.

  I rise, leaning over the table and let my lips go to his. Letting two lonely souls find companionship.

  “Please, there has to be something,” I whisper.

  I think he suppresses a sigh as he leans back. “Come,” he says as he stands. “I’ll show you where they were all buried.”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  SULLY

  One perfect weekend becomes a week of separation, to be free again, to learn independence once more. And then another weekend brings emotional and physical fulfillment I’ve never in my life experienced.

  And then a trip to Ander for a few days before the call of the dead pulled me back to Roselock.

  For a month this was my life. Creating a balance of being with the woman who had come to inhabit my every thought, every direction of hope for me, and letting her find herself again, to reconnect with her friends and family.

  And Iona thrived. She laughed with her sisters. She got a promotion at work. She reintegrated into the town she’d lived in her whole life.

  But she also desperately searched for a way out of my fate.

  Through books. Through phone calls to shaman and priests and professors.

  I could only give her a hopeful, false smile, and feel gratitude that someone cared about me enough to go to so much exhaustive trouble.

  But I knew the truth. I knew the answer.

  There was no answer.

  Because the damage had been done, over two hundred years ago. There will never be any forgiveness for the Whitmore family.

  I’m a cursed man, forever.

  My rose continues to fade from red to white.

  But Iona never gave up hope.

  And it felt incredible to have someone fight so fiercely for me.

  Eight weeks after Iona was released from Jack’s black grasp, I drive straight from Roselock to Iona’s apartment. Parking across the street, I climb out and cross the street.

  The breath of spring whispers across town. Daffodils bud, ready to spring open any day. The trees are just getting their leaves. And the temperatures rise with every passing day.

  I walk into the building a
nd up three flights of stairs. Down the hall, and to apartment 308.

  Three knocks. I overhear laughter, and it brings a smile to my own lips.

  A moment later, the door swings open.

  Iona stands there in a red dress. Red lipstick. Her hair done up in an elegant twist.

  And she wears a smile that has changed my entire world.

  “Hello, handsome,” she says with a coy smirk.

  I step forward, my hands automatically going to her hips, and am about to press my lips to those tempting red ones, when someone standing from the table draws my eyes.

  “Hold it, hold it,” Viola says, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “You two can hang on for just a minute until I clear out of here.”

  Despite her teasing, she crosses the room and wraps her arms around me. “Good to see you,” I greet her, wrapping the woman into my arms for a quick hug. “You just get off work?”

  “What gave it away?” she once more teases, smirking down at her work uniform. “I’m glad you’re back, Sully.”

  I give her a little half smile.

  Viola chuckles and shakes her head. “I have to say, I think I miss the hair and the beard.”

  I give an exasperated laugh, dropping my hands. “You, too?”

  Iona laughs, coming to my side, wrapping her hands around my arm. “I don’t know what it is,” she says, beaming up at me. “You just looked so dangerous and wild before. It was…sexy. Now you’re just…”

  “Threatening outback man?” Viola suggests. She pauses in the doorway, looking back over her shoulder at us, giving a wink. “I’ll see you two later.”

  “Bye,” Iona calls and I give a little wave.

  “You know how long it took me to grow out all that hair you never told me you wanted me to keep?” I say, looking down at Iona as I wrap my hands behind her back.

  “Years and years,” she answers. There’s a playful smile on her lips. But there is also a look of fear that creeps into her eyes.