The Unhallowed (Book Five in the Witch Hunter Saga)

  “After four hundred years, I’d say that’s obsessive compulsive more than anything,” she said, screwing up her nose. “Wronged how? It must’ve been a doozy if they sent a zombie after you.”

  “I killed the daughter of their matriarch.”

  Isobel’s eyes widened, and she snorted. “That’d do it.”

  “It was a case of kill or be killed,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “Regulus helped… She was about to kill me and siphon my energy… Regulus freed me and allowed me my revenge.”

  “So that’s why you hung around him for so long?”

  He nodded. “Back then… I was lost. I didn’t… I didn’t have a purpose, and he gave me a reason to be what I became.”

  “A vampire?” she asked carefully, knowing it was highly likely Nye had never wanted to turn in the first place.

  “Yes.” His gaze lowered. “If you know one thing about me, Isobel, know that I never chose this life.”

  Her heart twisted, and she shifted closer. She wanted to take his hand in hers to give him at least a tiny sliver of comfort, but the fact he’d never deliberately touched her outside of their kiss had her hesitating.

  “If you weren’t here…” Nye said out of nowhere. “If you’d never met us… What would you be doing?”

  Isobel frowned. She could scarcely remember what she wanted anymore. A few days ago, she would’ve said she wanted to marry an archaeologist and travel the world having adventures deep in the Amazon jungle…but now? Life seemed richer closer to home. There was this whole world full of fantastical, albeit dangerous, creatures with their own histories and stories.

  “I’m not sure I want that anymore,” she replied. “I had it all planned out… I can’t see it anymore.”

  “Then what do you want now?”

  She shrugged.

  “When you go to bed at night and it’s dark and you’re in your own secret world…who do you dream about?”

  Who did she dream about? What was he trying to say?

  “Nye—”

  He shook his head before she could ask. “Answer the question, Isobel.”

  Why was he even asking her this? Was he trying to help her find a path away from him, her brother, and the whole vampire world? Now that she was among the chaos, she’d never be able to stop thinking about it. Unless he was about to compel her to forget. Vampires could do that.

  “Don’t,” she said, jerking away.

  Nye frowned. “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t compel me.”

  “Then tell me what you want, Isobel. What. Do. You. Want?”

  “You,” she said with a sigh, sick and tired of pretending. “I dream about you.”

  His gaze flickered to her lips and back up. “Nightmares.”

  She frowned, not understanding how he could keep pushing her away. She understood what he was, who he was.

  “Your dreams are nightmares,” he said with more force.

  He wasn’t getting away with it this time. She raised a steady hand and let her fingertips brush against the puckered tip of his scar, her gaze following their movement. Nye didn’t move or jerk away as she reached the bridge of his nose. He just sat there, watching…waiting to see what she’d do.

  Her fingers traced the scar through his eyebrow, and his eyes fluttered closed. He seemed to have more self-control than she did, she’d give him that.

  “Isobel,” he murmured. “I’m not good for you.”

  “Shh,” she crooned, shifting closer.

  His hand shot up and grasped her wrist, pulling her away from her tentative exploration. “Stop.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Isobel…”

  She moved closer, her body drawn by the mixed feelings she had toward him. She knew she was tempting fate, but she couldn’t stop herself even if she tried.

  Nye’s grasp slackened, and her wrist slipped through his hand until her fingers entwined with his. His skin was cool to the touch, his palm calloused and rough from the human life he’d led as a spy and soldier for the English in the sixteenth century.

  His eyes were a brilliant shade of earthy brown, dark around the outside and fading to a bright hazel in the center. Despite the scar that divided his face, he was handsome. No, not handsome. Beautiful.

  Leaning closer, Nye’s hand dropped from hers and curled around her waist. Then before she could gather her thoughts, his lips pressed against hers. Softly at first, but then as awareness washed over her, she increased the pressure, winding her arms around his neck like she would any other man she was attracted to. Nye was no ordinary man, but where there was lust, sense went straight out the window.

  He deepened their embrace, tugging her onto his lap as her lips parted to allow him control. His taste filled her human senses, making her giddy, and absently, she wondered if this was one of his vampire tricks. He was rather good at kissing.

  Her blood thrummed through her veins, pleasure building in all the right places as his tongue twined with hers. Faster and harder until she moaned deeply, never wanting him to stop. It felt so good… She’d never been kissed like this before, like she was the most desirable thing in the world, and it felt extraordinary.

  Before she could take another breath, Nye pushed her gently back onto the couch, positioning his body over hers. His lips moved along her jaw, skimming along her neck where he laid a thousand more kisses against her skin.

  Extraordinary.

  She was lost to the longing his touch had awakened in her when she felt him bite down…hard. Her eyes flew open as pain shot through her neck. Her heart began to race as understanding washed over her, dousing the passion she’d allowed to rule her body. He was… He was feeding on her!

  She felt the blood leaving her body, and she began to panic, writhing against him, but she was held tightly with no chance of escape. He’d tried to tell her…

  “Nye,” she cried. “Nye, stop… Please…”

  He didn’t reply, and she suspected he was lost to the taste of her blood as he drank.

  What was she meant to do? Her gaze fell onto the notebook and pen that sat on the coffee table beside her. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

  Fumbling for the pen, her fingers curled tightly around it and she stabbed, slamming the pointed end into his neck with as much strength as she could gather. It was either that or end up… Well, she didn’t want to finish that thought.

  Instantly, Nye let go and fell back onto the couch with a cry, his hand clutching at the pen that protruded from his flesh. Isobel scuttled backward, her hand closing over her throbbing skin. Beginning to tremble violently, she pulled her fingers away and stared at the blood that coated them. Her blood.

  Nye hissed as he pulled the pen out, his gaze meeting hers, and seeing his black eyes and bloodstained face, she realized he was right. He’d warned her time and time again about what he was and the things he was capable of doing to her. He’d warned her.

  Still, even though his eyes were total darkness, she could see the regret and pain in them. “Isobel…”

  He moved, and she jerked away instinctively, almost falling onto the floor. “You… You…”

  He thrust his hands into his hair and moaned like he was in pain. “What have I done?”

  He rose to his feet and stared at her, despair written all over his handsome features. His mouth opened and closed, and finally, he strode from the room faster than her gaze could follow.

  The door slammed closed, and she was left to curl up on the couch and cry, her neck throbbing.

  She was in the bathroom, poking at the teeth marks in her neck when Tristan appeared behind her.

  Thankfully, he’d made his presence known before entering. Otherwise, she would’ve stabbed him as well.

  Nye had disappeared, leaving her to seethe in his absence. He’d been trying to tell her the risks, but she wouldn’t listen. Her heart was screaming in her ear to kiss him, to let him have what he wanted, to give her pleasure, and he lived up to all the sinist
er promises he’d been making since she had arrived.

  Despite it all, there was still a part of her that wanted to keep pushing. There had to be some kind of light at the end of all this darkness, right? If there wasn’t, what was the point of anything? Of life…or what came after death.

  At least she’d had the guts to stab Nye in the neck. That was a new level of violence for her.

  Glancing at Tristan’s reflection, she sighed.

  “Are you okay?” the vampire asked.

  “It stings,” she replied, not elaborating any further.

  “Come,” he said, gesturing for her to turn around. “I can help you with that.”

  She turned just as he stuck his thumb into his mouth and bit. His eyes began to mist over much like Nye’s had, and she fell back against the marble benchtop.

  “You have nothin’ to fear from me, Isobel,” he said, holding out his thumb. “My blood will clear this right up. May I?”

  She swallowed and calmed herself. “Okay.”

  “Tilt your head to the side.”

  She did as he commanded, hissing as he placed his thumb against the bite marks and began massaging his blood into the wound.

  “This isn’t kinky at all,” she declared as the knight stroked her skin.

  Tristan laughed softly and continued until the sting had subsided. “All done. Do you feel better?”

  Turning, she peeked into the mirror and found her skin was completely healed, though she desperately needed a shower to get rid of the excess red stuff.

  “Incredible,” she breathed.

  “It does come in handy in a tight spot,” the knight replied, moving back into the bedroom. “Do you require anythin’ else? I can leave you to wash up…”

  Isobel hesitated, wondering if questioning Tristan about Nye’s feelings was appropriate considering the two men’s relationship. She got the distinct impression they’d loathed one another for a long time, and current circumstances was the only thing holding them together.

  In the end, curiosity won out.

  “Hey, can I ask you for some advice?” she asked, moving back to the couch in the bedroom. The scene of the crime.

  Tristan inclined his head and sat beside her. “To a point, I suppose.”

  “You’re a thousand-year-old vampire,” she said. “What do you think about all of this? Nye and…” She swallowed, averting her gaze. “Me.”

  Tristan leaned back into the arm of the couch. “Well, for starters, vampires feel things a hundred times deeper than a human. It’s why many of us choose to turn that part of ourselves off.”

  Isobel frowned. “What do you mean ‘off’? Just like a light switch?”

  The knight nodded. “It sounds callous, I know, but some vampires could never cope with their emotions in their human lives, so imagine that feelin’ of helplessness amplified.”

  Her mouth formed an ‘O’ as she began to understand. “Nye?”

  “He still has his,” he said with a chuckle. “Though sometimes I wish he’d tone it down.”

  “He can be intense under the smartass exterior, right?”

  Tristan laughed. “Yes, that’s true.”

  Isobel cast her gaze away, picking at the drying blood on her fingers. Perhaps this was Tristan’s roundabout way of explaining why Nye had lost control and bitten her. Maybe he couldn’t help it because of the things he felt for her. She was too afraid of acknowledging that a vampire might love her. If that were true, then he’d always love her more deeply that she would ever be able to love him. Not to mention the getting old part.

  “I’ve known Nye most of his vampire life,” Tristan said after a moment. “He lives very much in a gray area, Isobel. Neither good nor bad.”

  “Is that code for him being in it for himself?” she asked with a roll of her eyes.

  Tristan’s lips curled into a grin. “Sometimes, but I think he struggles when it comes to you.”

  That was the part she was hoping Tristan would skim over, but it was also the part she wanted to know the most.

  “If he would let me go home, he wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore.”

  “Do you really want to leave?”

  Isobel glanced up, meeting Tristan’s eerie gaze. Vampires were kind of creepy with their low blink ratio.

  If she was being honest with herself, then a part of her wanted to stay. If she was aiming for self-preservation, then she wanted to go back to her life in Oxford, finish her Masters, and go on to travel and research her way into old age. Perhaps she would marry an archaeologist and have fabulous adventures discovering ancient secrets together. That was what she’d once dreamed about—the dream she’d forgotten while being beguiled by Nye Saer—but then one night, Gabby Cohen had knocked on her door and changed everything.

  Isobel could only shrug. How could she vocalize that to a man she hardly knew?

  “Nye is hard on himself,” Tristan said, frowning at her response. “I’ve never seen him care for a woman before.”

  “You think he cares for me?” she asked, blinking hard. “And here I was thinking it was only a physical thing.”

  “To put it bluntly, Nye could’ve healed you himself and compelled the memory away, but he didn’t do that, did he?”

  She felt her cheeks heat and stared down at her hands. This conversation had done nothing but confuse her further…and give her many more things to blow out of proportion and overthink in her isolation.

  “You should clean up,” Tristan said, rising to his feet. “The blood becomes distractin’ after a while.”

  “Oh,” she exclaimed, sitting up straight. “I didn’t realize… I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” the knight said with a wink. “I’m much better at this than most. You’ve nothin’ to worry about.”

  “Well, it’s clear I still have a lot to learn.”

  “You will understand in time,” the knight replied, materializing by the door. “As well as you are able.”

  “You’re really wise, you know that?”

  Tristan laughed and eased open the door. “Some would say otherwise, but a vampire never forgets the definin’ moments of their human life. Sleep well, Isobel.”

  She smiled as he disappeared, beginning to feel much better about the night’s events. Nye had bitten her in a moment of passion, but Tristan had put it into perspective. Well, as much perspective as her human mind could understand.

  Chivalry wasn’t dead…it was just undead.

  Chapter 10

  The dark streets of London had become familiar to Tristan over the years.

  He’d worked in much the same position beside Regulus as he did Nye, and the city held a long-lost nostalgia when it came to his days as a squire for the Knights Templar. Of course, it was much changed, the players in his life long dead and buried, but the memories remain, clinging to the land like some kind of spiritual residue.

  Arrow, or Aya as she was known, had told him that once. The raven-haired woman who was unable to trick the human knight into thinking she was a man like the rest of their unit on the long road to Istanbul. Lady Arrow. The name had stuck long after she’d disappeared from his life. She was the one who’d taught him all he knew about being a vampire and witch hunter. She’d never returned his love, and that was a part of himself he’d only come to terms with recently. A thousand years was a long time dead.

  Turning his attention to the modern streets around him, he kept his senses sharp as he searched for the calling cards that told him the Unhallowed were lurking.

  The breeze picked up the closer he ventured toward the Thames and with it, the wind brought a telltale scent.

  Turning his head, Tristan breathed deeply. This time, he got a good whiff of the stench and screwed up his nose. It wasn’t just rotting flesh he detected because it all smelt the same. No, it had a definite tang that told him it was something more. He remembered it from the other night when that creature had forced its way into the mansion.

  Altering his course down the side al
ley, he kept his senses alert and eyes sharp. They were at a disadvantage considering they knew next to nothing about the witches, and any clue was worth its weight in metaphoric gold right now, so Tristan followed his nose.

  There was no way of telling what the symbol on the second corpse was for or if they had in fact stopped the spell from playing out. As Nye had commanded, Reed had burned the body into ash and tipped what was left into the Thames. It was quite possible they’d thwarted the Unhallowed this time. This time, because there was no doubt there would be a third attempt and a fourth and fifth…

  Then there was the fact that Nye had lost control and bitten Isobel. If anything, he’d seen it coming, but there was no telling Nye. The spy had reminded Tristan of his position many times already. Whatever advice he had about Isobel wasn’t wanted, and when it came to vampire-human relationships, he didn’t want to get involved in the inevitable fallout.

  The problem was he genuinely liked Isobel. She was strong, independent, and didn’t take any nonsense from Nye. Perhaps in another lifetime, they would have been good for one another. Who knew.

  Turning down another side alley, he caught the scent again—only this time, stronger.

  An unseen force slammed into his stomach, and he stumbled. Then he was moved back against the wall, his head cracking against the brick. Realizing he’d stepped into a witch’s web of wards, he tried to twist out of the way, but his movements were becoming more sluggish as he struggled. His body was sucked to the ground like he was being swallowed whole by quicksand, and he fell flat onto his back. He stared up at the sky, unable to move, no matter how hard he tried to struggle.

  A figure appeared over him, haloed in the light of the moon that hung over their position. Narrowing his eyes, he realized it was a woman. The witch who’d planted the trap he’s stupidly walked right into.

  “Tristan na Tri Tor,” she said, standing over him, his eye drawn to the dagger in her hand that was glinting in the moonlight.

  So it appeared he was next on the list. Lucky number three.

  He looked the woman over regarding her long, curly, brown hair and deceitful eyes and saw darkness inside her soul. He’d been walking the earth a very long time and much of that was spent beside the hybrid Aya, the infamous Witch Hunter, tracking down and putting an end to evil. Tristan knew a great deal about the way witches operated and the magic that corrupted them. This woman…she reeked with the stench of death.