Chapter 4

Dense trees hugged the lovely mansion in Midnight Springs, encasing it in walls of foliage and spring-rich bark. And a hundred feet from him sat Alistair Thorne, one leg propped up as he sipped a glass of wine and spoke to the pretty human at his side. In the low light of a lantern, her skin was warm, rich brown, sliding in a lovely contrast against Alistair's paler skin. Their fingers twined together now and again, as if they occasionally reached out to remind themselves that they were not alone in the night.

Using the arcane toolkit Armina had made for him years ago, he'd detected the edge of the witch's protective barriers. She'd told him to expect weaker spells at the farther reaches, with stronger spells close to the house. That's the way the Grand Guild teaches, she'd said with the tiniest curl of her lip. The glass globe on his compass-like device had lit up bright when he neared the trees, with another twenty feet or so of forest before the clearing began to their yard.

Vampire hearing let him hear the conversation clearly even from fifty yards away. The couple talked for a while about Shoshanna's health; whatever she'd done last night to reach Scarlett had taken quite a lot of energy out of her. Alistair was concerned, making her promise to be careful and let Misha help her.

Misha?

Had the court brought in another Russian? A wry smile tugged at his lips. Well, he'd left. After all these years, Sasha needed someone to talk to.

"I know I got to her," Shoshanna insisted. "She heard me."

"And Armina got to you," Alistair fretted. "I'm not like Julian. If I lose you, I won't survive it. Promise me you'll be careful."

Kova's heart ached, and he realized that whatever had once bonded him and Lucia also bonded Alistair and the witch. And?—

No!

He shoved her name out of his mind, refusing to entertain her as a human being.

But what if she could stop Armina once and for all? He might be able to help her, giving insight into Armina's tricks and ways. And maybe the evil bitch would finally fall.

But his Lucia… If they failed, then Lucia was doomed forever. Could he put her fate in those fragile human hands?

Eventually the conversation turned to Julian. Alistair tried to reassure her that it was not her fault if they failed to save Scarlett. His lovely paramour insisted that she knew that, but that wouldn't make it any easier.

Of all of them, Kova understood Julian the best. He'd never had a chance to put a ring on Lucia's finger and swear before everyone he loved that he would take care of her forever. But his love was etched in stone, shouted to the heavens all the same.

Perhaps uncharitably, he sometimes thought that Julian had it easier; at least Brigitte had died. She suffered only briefly before that cruel, ever-turning wheel caught her again.

But Lucia…

Foolish and vain, Kova had promised to rescue her as she went colder each day, her breathing shallow and fast with her bones fused and lungs freezing. No more graceful steps, no more delicate laughter.

I will fix this, he said over and over again, as if repeating the magic words would make it so.

He failed.

He watched her eyes dim to cold gray stone in those final moments. She went silent and still, and the world was empty.

For weeks at a time, he couldn't sleep, unable to bear the thought of her suffocating, screaming silently for help, for Kova to save her like he said he would.

It was too little too late, but he would keep his word.

Soon, the conversation quieted into the murmurs of hungry kisses, broken here and there with sultry laughter. There was a little whoop of surprise, and the sound of doors closing as Alistair took his paramour inside.

His compass flared with a little spark, and he briefly saw a shimmering aura around the house. Something had sealed when they went inside. Good to know.

Kova noted the time. Five fifteen in the morning. Alistair was probably taking her to bed for a good tumble in the sheets before he had to go to sleep with the sunrise. Lucky bastard.

He considered moving now. They'd be unprepared, thoroughly distracted with each other. But some sentimental part of him still remained, and he thought, Let them have one last night.

There in the trees, he waited until a silent alarm alerted him that sunrise was imminent. He darted through the back of the property and out to the road, running another mile to his parked car.

Sliding into the UV-tinted protection of his car, he drove back into town to the chain hotel where he'd rented a room for a few days.

Tomorrow night, he'd take her out. Before sleeping, he checked the windows and hung out the do not disturb sign. After stripping down to his boxers, he took out the delicate little cross that had belonged to Lucia. He didn't dare wear it, though he had carried it for over a hundred and fifty years.

Clasping the little pendant in one hand, he knelt on the carpet and prostrated himself, as if he could somehow earn divine favor if he just humbled himself enough.

His voice trembled as he spoke in Czech, wishing she could hear how much he had improved over the years. His accent was flawless, as he'd deluded himself into thinking that someday he would have the chance to talk to her again.

"Lucia, I am coming for you," he murmured. "I know that I have no right to ask your forgiveness for what I must do, but I ask it anyway. I made you a promise, and I will make good even if it is too late. This is for you, my love."

And despite the turmoil in his mind, he crawled into bed. His preemptive guilt faded with the grim satisfaction of knowing that Lucia's suffering would finally end. For once, sleep came swift and gentle, and he suffered no nightmares.

When Kova woke at sunset, he responded to Armina's request for a status update with a simple, terse message:

Doing it tonight.

He laid out the tools she'd given him. Several had been part of his toolkit for years, while others had been built specifically to deal with Shoshanna York. After he'd helped the Shieldsmen raid his brothers' stronghold at Infinity, Kova had collected broken tiles and drywall marked with Shoshanna's spell work. Armina said that magic had a fingerprint, and she was able to analyze Shoshanna's work from those little fragments, giving them an advantage.

In addition to the compass that detected magic barriers, Armina had built him an amulet designed to push back Shoshanna's power. The protection would not last long, but it would conceal him when he crossed into her territory, not allowing her magic to take hold of him. There was also a nasty little glass globe that would turn Shoshanna's magic against her for a few seconds, long enough to let him get the drop on her.

Trying not to think about the reality of his task, Kova packed his things, adding a sharp knife in a sheath, along with a gun loaded with wooden bullets for Alistair.

He'd considering attacking during the day while Alistair slept, but daylight would put Kova at an equal disadvantage. Furthermore, the last shred of his honor told him to give Alistair a fighting chance, so he'd know he'd done his best to protect his love.

Kova tucked Lucia's necklace into his pocket, then got in the car to drive out to the isolated house. It was a small blessing that the witch and his brother lived so far from the others, rather than in the hive-like apartment building so many of them had shared before it was burned down.If he'd had to go through the entire Shroud, he wouldn't stand a chance. But this…he could do.

Instead of driving to the far edge of the property, he parked at a gas station a mile away and walked the rest of the way, letting himself blend into the night.Soon, he took out the iron compass, which thrummed with energy as it detected the magic laid into the ground. A few yards from the brick wall around the property, the compass lit with a soft ember on one point, and he saw the subtle shimmer of light where the protective wards began.

He fixed his gaze on the house, checked the time, then said one last prayer.

Lucia, forgive me. I promise I won't let her suffer like you did. And when it's done, I hope you understand why I had to.

This was wrong. He knew it was wrong, down to the core of his soul. In every cell of his body, he heard his own voice and Lucia's and Sasha's and all the rest of them saying don't do this.

No matter how much he lied to himself, he couldn't see her as just the witch. Alistair loved her. She was a human being who cared enough to work with his brothers, and she was a threat to Armina Voss. That alone made her worth saving.

But if the choice was between stopping her or ending Lucia's suffering…it was no choice at all.

Before doubt could talk him down, Kova darted across the massive lawn. His amulet heated against his chest as glowing yellow lines illuminated across the lawn around him. A fiery vine surged from the ground to ensnare him. He dodged its grasp, but a sense of lethargy washed over him as it slapped against his leg.

Traveling in bounding steps to avoid the magic, he practically flew over the manicured grounds. A few yards out, he leaped and caught a windowsill, launched himself onto the roof, and listened.

Inside, he heard a male voice rumbling. Kova dropped onto the brick patio where he'd watched them sharing drinks. Their scents lingered, a lovely mix of vampire and human, tinged with warm desire.

No sentimentality remained now that he was on the hunt. He kicked in the French doors, shattering out glass panes. Magic exploded from the doorway in a blinding flash. Another vampire might have recoiled at the burst of flame, but Armina's curse had made him nearly unstoppable.

Standing there in a huge, open living room was his brother, Alistair Thorne. His brother's brow furrowed as his eyes turned deep crimson. Perhaps fatigue or confusion were to blame, but Alistair stood frozen, and that gave Kova all the advantage he needed.

Kova drew and fired on Alistair. Two quick shots, one to the leg and one to the face. Alistair reacted just as the second shot winged his ear. Scrambling backward, he roared, "Shoshanna!"

A crystalline sound reverberated, like someone pinging a fork off a wineglass, and the house began to rumble. Furniture rattled against the polished wood floors, and something shattered across the room. The crystalline sound crescendoed, piercing and maddening.

Gritting his teeth, Kova darted for Alistair and slammed him into the grand piano with a noisy clank of keys. Alistair threw a brutal punch that snapped Kova's head back.

Kova managed to get one hand free and drew his knife, then slammed it into Alistair's chest. The other man let out a cry of pain, then finally stared up at him in confusion. "Kova? Stop this, you must?—"

He knelt on Alistair's chest, then snapped his neck with one vicious twist. His brother's fingers twitched against the floor as if he was playing that damned piano. A low groan rumbled from him, and there was the tiniest thunk as he lifted his head and dropped it again.

"Allie!" a woman's voice shrieked.

Brilliant light exploded through the house, like the sun had just crashed through the roof. Searing threads and ropes tangled around him, but he tore through them. His shirt sleeves ripped, leaving raw flesh beneath, but he didn't feel a thing. The amulet on his chest was disintegrating. He had to get the job done before her magic overwhelmed him.

The witch rushed into the living room, head whipping around until her gaze caught on Alistair. Her jaw dropped as she let out a wordless cry.

Kova lobbed the glass globe from his belt at her feet. Putrid black smoke erupted in her face, and suddenly Shoshanna was screaming in ear-shattering wails. The tendrils of gold light were wrapping around her now, cocooning her and pulling her to the floor.

His heart pounded as he approached her. Her petite form was curled in a ball, smoke rising from her scorched clothing. Shame twisted in his gut as her terrible cries pierced his soul. He hadn't intended to cause her so much pain.

The light went out.

Thick, deafening silence filled the house.

For one strange moment, as that overpowering, sensory overload of magic faltered, he smelled her. He smelled Lucia. Not a distant memory, but alive, as if she was in the next room.

Focus, he told himself.

A blur of movement caught his eye as Shoshanna threw up her hands, which glowed with strange, lacelike markings. Liquid fire spiraled out of her palms and speared through him like bullets. The impact knocked him back, and he felt the vague shift of something inside him, of blood pouring down his back. Thanks to the curse, he felt no pain, but he was keenly aware that he couldn't go on like this indefinitely, especially if she severed his spinal cord.

She sprang to her feet and ran into the kitchen. Drawers rattled as she cursed under her breath.

As he got to the kitchen island, thunder cracked, and a bullet ripped through his shoulder, then another into his chest. His left hand went limp, and he imagined she must have exploded through a nerve. "Fuck!" he swore. He felt no pain, but his frustration flared like hot blood between his lips.He reached for her with his good hand.

"Kova, stop it!" she screamed. "You don't understand!"

He faltered. She knew his name?

He feinted right, and she swung toward him. The witch was clever and powerful, but she was still human, and therefore painfully slow. By the time she shifted her weight again, he was on her. Sliding across the counter, he caught her bythe hair and yanked her back against him. She screamed, both hands finding his. "It'll be quick. I promise. I'm so sorry."

Heat licked against his skin, but instead of burning him, her power seemed to push into him, shoving its way up his arms, into his chest, up his spine, and blooming in his head like smoke. Chimes rang, and he felt as if he was standing inside a church bell as it echoed its morning call.

And then he saw her in the darkness of his mind, the prettiest dream he could conjure.

Lucia. Blonde hair falling in soft waves around her face, running toward him across cobblestone streets. "My Kova!" she cried.

He tried to wrench away, suddenly aware that the witch was in his head. Her vanilla-sage scent crammed itself up his nose, overpowering him."Stop it!" he shouted as she pried at his hands.

One twist of his arms and she would be dead instantly. Just one little flick.

He didn't.

He hesitated.

Why was he fucking hesitating?

"Kova, listen to me," she said, her voice shaking with every word. "Lucia is alive."

"You lie," he seethed, fingers twitching, ready to break her fragile little neck.

"Listen to me. She was a stone statue, and I broke the curse on her months ago," she protested, trying to turn her body with him to spare her neck. "Please just let me go. I'll get her on the phone right now. You don't have to do this."

Just kill her. Don't let her get in your head.

"I don't know if you know this, but Lucia is your soulmate," the witch said. Her heart pounded so hard it echoed back into his chest, as if it was his own. "She's bonded to you by magic, and she turned into stone because you were cursed and Armina made it so your soulmate would be affected. It happened to me with Alistair. It happened to your brother, Sasha, too."

At that, he jolted. "Soulmate?"

"I swear. I know Armina is controlling you somehow, and I don't think you want to kill me," she said.

Keeping one hand on her thin wrist, he whirled her around, still holding his gun with his free hand.

Her big brown eyes searched him. Tears streaked her cheeks, but she still stared at him, her gaze intense. "Did you kill Alistair? I still feel him."

He shook his head. "He's incapacitated. I…I wanted to give him the choice when you were gone."

"Okay," she said calmly. "I appreciate you not killing my soulmate."

His whole body trembled as he stared down at her. Any chance of seeing her as a faceless target was gone. Now he took her in; the warm brown eyes, the dark curls mussed around her face from the struggle, the scorched marks on her skin from her own magic. And he hated himself more than he thought possible; if someone had touched Lucia like this, he would have killed them.

Despite everything, she smiled at him and said, "Please put your gun down. I want to help you. Okay?"

"You promise you know where she is? And she's not cursed?" he dared to ask.

"I promise," she said. "Just put the gun down."

He hesitated, then laid the gun on the counter, still holding her wrist with his other hand. Her head tilted toward the kitchen island. "My phone is in the drawer. Can I get it, please?"

He released her wrist, watching as she rifled through the drawer, her small form bent over it. Just at suspicion tickled at his mind, flame exploded in his face. As he grabbed blindly for her, something slapped against his belly, and his legs went heavy. She backed away with a needle glinting in her hand. That awful chiming she'd set off in his head earlier clanged now with a vengeance, disorienting him, freezing him in place.

Clever little witch.

His eyes crossed, and he fell back into blackness.

When he woke,his mouth was dry. He was hungry, and he imagined any vampire not cursed by a damned Night Weaver might have been in quite a bit of pain. His left hand didn't respond, and he felt the dull sensation of something pinning his wrists. Both arms were wrenched behind him and secured. His ankles were tied, too, and when he shifted his hips, he couldn't get away from the hard-backed chair.

Not for the first time, he said a silent, bitter prayer of thanks for the magic that had taken all his sensation from him.Blackness surrounded him, but he stuck out his tongue and found, as he suspected, his face was covered with fabric.

The air was cold and dry, smelling of old blood. Tilting his head, he listened closely. No heartbeats, but there was a tiny whisper of fabric as if someone was shifting nervously. He smelled Sasha and Paris, mixed with someone he didn't recognize.

"Come on, boys, you know pain isn't going to work on me," he said mildly. The witch had seen to that.

Ever since being cursed, he hadn't felt pain or pleasure in nearly two centuries. Imagine his surprise when Armina bound him and sent that first heatwave of agony up his spine. After being cold and numb for years, the sensation was almost a relief, though even a tiny pain was agonizing after growing unaccustomed to it. The witch did not stick to tiny pains for long, using those terrible bindings to drive spikes of agony right through his nerves, as if she held a direct, live wire into his brain.The only pain he felt came at her hands now, and she was nowhere in sight.

It was quiet.

"Where's Lucia?" he asked, tugging at the manacles. "That was a lie, wasn't it?"

A familiar scent hit him right as the bag was yanked off his face. Staring up into familiar blue eyes, he breathed, "Sasha."

His brother's brows furrowed. "Kova."

"You remember me now," he said. The last time he'd seen Sasha was with the Shieldsmen, when the witch's curse still shredded his memory. He'd tried to warn Sasha away, doing his best to skirt Armina's orders.

"I do," Sasha said, looking sad.

"Where is she? Where is Lucia?"

His brother looked suspicious, and he could hardly blame him. "You don't intend to ask about Alistair, who you nearly killed?"

"I left his head attached, did I not?" Kova asked mildly. His vision darkened as a fist cracked against his cheek. White noise filled his head, and when he drifted back into consciousness, he found half a fang rolling around his tongue. Now Paris glared down at him. "Hello, Phillippe. Where's Lucia?"

"I should?—"

"All of you have every right to hate me," he interrupted, raising his voice over Paris's protests. "I am doing what I must to save Lucia. Your witch told me she is alive. I want proof."

"You are in no position to make demands," Paris said. "You're lucky Alistair isn't awake yet."

Kova shrugged and braced himself for the next jaw-cracking blow from Paris. Thanks to Armina's curse, the blood and cracked bone he spat on the floor were the only evidence that he'd been struck. "The only purpose that's serving is making you feel better."

"Self-pleasure is always worth the trouble," Paris said, but there was no warmth on his carved features, just cold fury.

"Show her to me. And if you're telling me the truth, I'll tell you everything I can about Armina Voss," he said.

At that, Paris's expression shifted. Then he took out his phone, swiped at it, and held it up to Kova's face.

He froze as he watched her on that little screen. Dressed in black, a long filmy skirt showing the shape of those graceful dancer's legs, Lucia practically floated across the scuffed white of a dance floor. Not on pointe, but with those delicate arches impossibly high. Her hair was down past her shoulders, big curls flowing around her like they were floating on the wind.

Watching her move made him ache as if he'd been stabbed. Every step was precise and controlled, her turns so elegant and poised. When she danced, it was as if gravity was her doting partner, releasing her now and again to marvel at her grace. And the way she smiled; she was an angel.

Anguish ripped through him and exploded in an ugly, clipped sob. "Swear it's real," he wept.

"I swear," Paris said coldly.

Deep down, some part of him had been convinced she was gone forever. He knew Armina would eventually betray him again or grow tired of her games and simply kill him. Then he would never have to face Lucia and the depth of what he had done.

But there she was. The love of his life, his soulmate. Alive and free. And he had so thoroughly corrupted himself that he didn't deserve to look at her, let alone love her.

His entire body shook with his sobs, and he was startled when Sasha knelt and put his arms around him. He spoke in Russian, quiet and calm. "Brother, she is safe. We want you to come home, though you must understand why we cannot trust you. But I swear on my life, Lucia is safe. I have seen her with my own eyes. Touched her hands, heard her heartbeat. She asks for you. She still loves you."

Kova lifted his bleary eyes and saw Sasha smiling, calm as ever. In those bright blue eyes, he found the tiniest flicker of hope. "Keep me chained. I'll do whatever you ask."