“It’s not my favorite thing, no,” Bastian said. “What I saw on the island disturbed me as much as it did you. I’m only suggesting Andromeda is safer with both of us looking out for her.”

  Silvan blinked slowly. “You think I need your permission to protect her?”

  “Only as much as I need yours.”

  “Toush, asshole.”

  “It’s pronounced too-shay, but that’s neither here nor there. I can count on you?”

  “I’m not doing this for you!” Silvan bounded forward. He felt his shoulders slowly rip. Not now. “Let’s get that really fucking clear right now, Bastian. I would never, and I mean never, take an order from you. And if I see you hanging around the Garden District, brooding about like a Dickensian orphan in need of a second helping, you can fucking bet I won’t have the same restraint I do now.” With a devious grin, he added, “You can thank her magical pussy for calming me enough not to kill you. Later, asshole.”

  Silvan shifted and bounded away.

  CHAPTER 18

  we’ve got some mysteries to solve

  Using a food processor, distilled water, and a touch of olive oil, Romy created a paste from the roses they’d collected. The recipe was from the Divina Maledictio and was so easy to make she questioned why it was such a secret. Why would anybody keep medicine from the sick if not to control? Why murder a man like Dr. Clive Rice, who only sought to help all preternaturals? Romy’s answer was in the questions. All preternaturals. The stark reality was that the coven—her coven—deemed themselves as chosen, superior beings. And her ancestors, specifically her grandmother, Alizon, had generated a totalitarian empire where witches reigned superior and other races were second-class citizens.

  Delacroix royalty had always been a running joke Romy assumed no one took seriously, but they did. When she became high priestess, she would work to change their reputation. Silvan and Bastian would help her.

  Dane would too. That was the reason she went to his apartment instead of making the paste at her house. Her parents would freak out over her going to Mar Island with Silvan, but Romy was certain they'd understand that part since they were also looking for Fenrir’s Rose. But placing herself in mortal danger? Running for her life and fighting horrifying creatures? Nope. They’d never come to terms with that. Despite the urgency to heal Thora, Romy couldn’t get the creatures out of her mind. She didn’t believe they were preternatural. Maybe long ago they had been, but they’d certainly been corrupted by a black magic practitioner with the intention to destroy. She wasn’t familiar with using blood in spell casting. Hell, she didn’t know much about spell casting period, but she was certain blood was primarily used for evil. And those creatures… definitely evil.

  The magnitude of all she’d overcome in one night was overwhelming. Had Silvan and Bastian not been there with her, Romy would have died. Had her powers not manifested, they might have all died. The candescence was a miracle, but her gift was a marvel—at least in her eyes. All witches had elemental control but traditionally favored one over the others. Secretly, she’d always hoped hers was fire. Selene had been the last fire witch born into the coven, and when the time was right, Romy looked forward to learning from her aunt.

  Romy had told Dane everything, minus the interlude in the clover, but he no doubt suspected it. Despite his position as her Chosen, he didn’t seem upset when Romy told him that both a lycan and a vampire had come to her aid. Actually, he was intrigued. He’d leaned in, inquiring about the details of their adventures, paying careful attention when Romy described Silvan’s shifting or the way she heard Bastian’s voice in her head. If she didn’t know better, she would swear the two men turned him on.

  If so, that was erotic as hell.

  “Coast is still clear, Ro.” Dane peered in the door of Thora’s bedroom. He’d offered to come to Delacroix Manor and be Romy’s lookout while she gave the medicine, and though she was thankful for the assistance, she needed moral support even more—a skill Dane had in spades.

  “And I’m just supposed to put it under her tongue and on her gums?” This seemed too simple. There had to be a catch. No way a paste made from flowers and oil could heal a dying girl.

  “That’s what the book said.”

  Thora didn’t stir when Romy applied the medicine. No change in her vitals on the monitor, and no movement except the slow and steady rise and fall of her chest.

  “It’s not working.” Dread gathered in the pit of her stomach. She was nauseous. “Dane… it’s not working.” Why had Romy believed it would? Why had she wasted her time gallivanting to a stupid island when she could have spent valuable time with Thora?

  “Have you put your magic to it yet?”

  “I… mean… kinda?” She enunciated each word slowly. “I’ve tried, but I just can’t replicate what happened on the island, can I?”

  “Well… sure.” He slipped inside Thora’s room and shut the door. “We just have to get you in the right frame of mind.”

  “This is hopeless, Dane.” Embarrassed, Romy hung her head. Silvan had assured her that she’d manifested her magic, yet she was still as inept as before her candescence. She never assumed the experience would transform her completely, but having more self-confidence than before the change would have been nice.

  “Fire magic is special. Think about it. Fire is the most destructive of all the elements. A fire chemically changes anything it touches, which can be a gift in the right hands. But in the wrong ones…”

  “A tragedy,” she finished.

  “Exactly.” Dane stepped closer to Romy, then placed his hands on either side of her face. “But it’s more than that, Ro. It’s you. If you believe in yourself half as much as I believe in you, Thora will be kicking our asses in Monopoly again before the morning. You don’t have to channel what’s already inside you. All you need to do is find it.”

  Deep within, Romy sensed the same feeling she’d felt before she and Silvan scaled the ravine, when his and Bastian’s power joined with hers. A power that seemed to intensify even more with Dane.

  “Your eyes, Romy…” Dane’s hand went to her lower back, and he moved them in front of Thora’s mirror. Her irises were no longer green but a shimmering amethyst. “Try now.”

  “I won’t hurt… this won’t burn her?”

  Water pooled in Dane’s palm. “Won’t let that happen.”

  Disregarding all the limitations that told her she couldn’t heal Thora, Romy climbed on top of the bed and straddled her sister’s lower half. Hands on the girl’s knees, she closed her eyes and went to the flame, separating her spark. The violet blaze grew quickly—wildfire—and spread over everything. Then she was inside her sister’s body.

  Romy recognized Thora’s sickness—a dark orb residing in her stomach that gathered good cells and nutrients for itself and released a poison with each beat of Thora’s heart. And there was something else… something that nearly terrified Romy to the point of stopping. Fenrir’s Rose.

  This disease had been caused by Fenrir’s Rose.

  Before she pulled back from Thora, she considered the creatures on the island—if they’d been corrupted with black magic, then it was possible Thora had been too. Possibly by Fenrir’s Rose. The how and why were a mystery, one she’d have to put aside solving for now. The flower had healed before, and there was no reason to believe it couldn’t again. She could heal Thora. She would heal Thora.

  The bed groaned beneath her as it levitated off the ground. Heat radiated from her fingers into Thora, into the disease. She could see evidence of the paste she applied, now in fluid form and boiling from her fire, engulfing the orb. Like a blaze incinerating a forest, one second it was there, the next it was gone.

  Romy looked up. In the corner of the room, Dane smiled.

  “That was the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” He helped her off the bed, and when her knees buckled, he carried her to a nearby chair.

  “But did it work? Please… this has to work.” Romy didn’t know who she was praying to. She didn’t care. Any god who would listen. Any god who could heal.

  “Romy? Is that you?” Thora said, her voice small but resolute. “Romy?”

  Forgetting her exhaustion, Romy rushed to Thora’s side and gathered the girl in her arms. “Oh gods, Thora… you’re awake. You’re… alive.”

  “Ro… I can’t… see.” Tears pooled in the corners of Thora’s eyes and fell onto Romy’s shoulder. “I… can’t see.”

  Thora will be different. Silvan had warned her this could happen, that Fenrir’s Rose might alter Thora somehow. Whatever the cost, it was worth paying. He was right. If her sister was blind, at least she was alive. “We’ll figure it out, sweetheart. I promise you.” She glanced over her shoulder. “My parents, Dane. Can you get them?”

  “On it.”

  Moments later, Cassia and Cyril embraced Thora, reassuring her as Romy had that they’d find a solution to her blindness, but no debility could take their joy.

  “Aren’t you going to tell them you healed her?” Dane whispered.

  “No.” She shook her head and caught her father’s gaze. Cyril suspected something, and if he had questions, it would only be a matter of time before Cassia did too. Romy needed to find those answers. “Not yet. We’ve got some mysteries to solve first.”

  Romy waited as long as she could stand it. She had to see them. Both of them.

  First, she went to Bastian in the Dusk Gardens, their gardens. She was certain he’d be there… he was always where she needed him to be. Always. Romy wanted to say so much to him, yet words seemed too fragile to explain what had transpired between them. Palm to palm, lifetimes together flashed before them in the darkness. She saw him as a boy and her as a girl wading along the Orkney coast, curtains of color swaying in the night sky. She saw them atop a limestone cliff in Rocamadour—an elderly couple sojourning to the land of their ancestors. And she saw them in the future, lying together on a bed of stone… but they weren’t by themselves. Silvan and Dane flanked their sides. Each one there for Romy—yet it was more. They were more. There was lust, but there was love. So much love.

  Bastian’s fingers squeezed tighter and tighter as if she was the only tether in this world keeping him to the ground. He knew she would go to Silvan after she left him. He knew what they would do, yet he remained. He squeezed her hand seven times.

  You are mine, and I am yours.

  Romy closed her eyes and exhaled. When she opened them, she’d be at the shack next to the dock where Silvan had tied their boat. Bastian would watch them.

  When the sun set behind Lake Salvador’s horizon, Romy opened the door to the shack. As it had been with Bastian, she knew Silvan would be there… ready for her. Ready for them. She looked to her left. Bastian nodded, offering Romy the approval she didn’t need but desired. He wanted this as much as she did. He wanted her happiness, her ecstasy. He wanted her fantasies fulfilled and her dreams realized. Even if he wasn’t the source of it, Bastian wanted her to know this intimacy, and for the first time in her life, Romy knew someone—a man—loved her thoroughly, completely. And she loved him.

  “I didn’t know if you’d come,” Silvan said as she stepped inside. Hundreds of candles blazed before her and gave the room a heavenly glow. “I hoped you would.”

  Her voice was husky when she spoke her first words. “I had to see you.”

  “How’s Thora?” He took a large step to close the distance between them.

  “Blind.” She placed her hands on his chest and felt the muscles tense underneath her touch. “But alive.”

  His lips pursed into a frown. “I’m sorry. There’s a chance it could eventually resolve itself. Did you tell your paren—”

  Romy’s thumb went to his lips, and her head moved back and forth slowly. “I didn’t tell them. I will, but not now. We have so much to discuss, but I don’t want to talk, Silvan. Do you?”

  “No,” he exhaled, his breath hot on her neck. “I don’t. What do you want to do, Romy?”

  “You know.”

  “Tell me,” he persisted. “Tell me what you want me to do to you, Romy Delacroix.”

  “I want…” She blushed, embarrassed of her desires. No. Romy would not be ashamed. These longings were genuine and valid. Her feelings were real. His race only mattered because other people said it did. “I want you inside me, Silvan.”

  Silvan stepped even with her and caressed her face, a finger trailing from her mouth. “Are you sure?”

  “Completely. I’m scared, Sil. Because I’ve never done this before, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you. So don’t stop. Never stop.”

  Romy watched as he transformed. A mortal man. A carnal wolf. Her man… her wolf. Silvan was hers. And she was his. With skilled hands, he laid her down, careful to kiss each place he uncovered. He tugged at her bra, exposing a nipple, taking it to suckle. Romy moaned from the pleasure that rippled within. Wave after wave, her need built until finally, he lapped at one side and pinched the other in tandem, and she came. His mouth trailed downward to her sex, licking her exactly the way he had on the island, except now there were no inhibitions to hold him back. In error, she’d assumed the first time would be the best time, but the instant he stuck his finger in her mouth and then worked it slowly into her ass, Romy knew she hadn’t even begun to indulge in what this man could offer.

  With his finger in her ass and his tongue lapping at her pussy, Romy spread her legs wider. “More, Sil. Please, more,” she begged. “You. I want you.”

  Silvan sat up and licked his lips, then wasted no time pressing his rock-hard cock inside her entrance. He moved back and forth on his knees, teasing her with the head.

  “Oh fuck… gods, yes, Silvan. Please.”

  “Let me hear it again, princess. Beg for it, love.” Hand on his member, he slid the tip inside and tilted upward. She felt the pressure all the way in her shoulders.

  Both hands palmed his chin, and Romy leaned up to kiss him. He tasted like heaven. “Please, Silvan Rincewind, I want you to fuck me slow and hard. Can you handle that?” she dared.

  “Fuck, Ro…” His head bent, resting on her breast. “I’ll do anything for you.”

  “Then fuck me. Slow. And hard.”

  “I want to come inside you. Do you want that?”

  “Will you lick me afterward?” Romy didn’t recognize herself. These were not her words but the words of someone in control of herself, her sensuality. These were the words of a woman.

  “Hell yes… are you on bir—”

  “Yes!” she screamed, arching her back so his cock would plunge deeper. “Yes. I’m on birth control. Now, fuck me… please… gods, Sil… please… fuck me.”

  Silvan didn’t respond with words. Instead, he did exactly as she asked and buried his cock deep within her core. Romy’s head rolled back, and she saw Bastian at the window. Watching. Touching himself. She didn’t have to see it to know his hand was on his cock. He’d climax with them as he saw Silvan filling her with his seed. She’d climax thinking of Bastian watching.

  Silvan grunted. He was getting close.

  She felt his cock twitch, and when he paused for her to contract, she leaned up to kiss him again. “I want you. All of you.”

  “Oh, Romy… yes…” He pumped hard and let out a roar, now more animal than man, and exploded deep within her pussy. True to his word, Silvan kissed a trail from her neck all the way down and licked between her legs until she came all over his face.

  At the window, Bastian nodded his approval.

  Romy tilted her head back and sighed.

  She’d never felt more alive.

  epilogue: bastian

  Bastian had never liked Mar Island. It was more the history of the place than the place itself, which appeared like every other island in the deep swamps of Louisiana.

  When one had lived as long as Bastian Marchland, though, matters of necessity had little intersection with matters of desire.

  Thus, it did not matter how the island left him cold and unsettled because he needed to be there, so he went.

  If either Silvan or Andromeda had seen what he’d seen, they would have returned as well. In the throes of fear, they’d witnessed only the remnants of danger, an undead army sent to dispel by any means necessary. But they’d failed to see what that army was protecting. What was happening in the shadows at the very moment they were running from their lives.

  Bastian hadn’t always been able to split his consciousness. It was one of the rare ways he could feel pain, for one, but it was also terribly rude. He offered respect to every moment that was his, and it was an affront to his intention to be perpetually present.

  Yet, at times, necessary.

  Once certain Andromeda was safe in her bed, lost to her dreams, Bastian pulled his own corporeal form from slumber. He preferred the astral realm, not least because it was where he could be with her but also because it was safer. A witness did not bear the same risk as a participant. One protected his life, and the other exposed it.

  Though how many millennia had he survived, despite the inherent risk to a semi-fragile bloodsucker?

  Vampiric bravado, an old love had called it, and he was rather chuffed by the moniker, though that was mostly due to his love of the one who had said it. She never remembered it, though, when he found her later, and he always found her.

  The shadowed figures he’d seen in the forest now stood over the altar, confirming his suspicion. The night he’d shepherded Andromeda to safety, Bastian had realized what Silvan and she had not. In their terror, they’d interrupted that morning’s sacrifice. They’d been watched, and now whoever was behind the killings would know their faces. Their names. Their secrets.

  There was no use toiling over it, though. None of that could be helped. What had been, had been. What would be was still being defined.

  The figures wore all black, head to toe. They were almost caricatures of villains, dressed as they must have thought terrible people should dress. Bastian could make out nothing of use about them, but he very much recognized the poor bloke huddled, naked, on the altar.

 

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