The Warlord Wants Forever (Immortals After Dark #1)(28)
Author: Kresley Cole

But she wasn’t. Not yet. She was sick with terror.

One hundred thousand men, cut to pieces, blood like a river up to her ankles. "They were all brave," she said, peering around her, dizzily turning in circles as electricity rolled from her in waves. Sounding lost, she whispered, "How am I to choose? A beggar handing out coins…" She began trembling uncontrollably with fear.

He wanted to be there to protect her, comfort her.

Another memory. New to him. Could he withstand another?

Myst ran to him when he returned to Blachmount from some errand, and as he’d squeezed her up into his arms and kissed her, she’d thought, "I just ran to get in his arms. I just…Whoa. Whoa. Uhn-uh."

Wroth remembered she’d clambered down from him, looking flushed and panicky, joking about the Xbox, saying she felt "a little like Bobby Brown" for introducing him to the addictive game.

Now he knew why she’d panicked. Myst, along with all her sisters, had been taught that she would know her true partner when he opened his arms and she realized she’d forever run to get within them.

Wroth woke to his own yelling, thrashing over, clutching for her. Everything he’d thought about her was wrong. His chest hurt with the loss and anguish she’d experienced. "You’re free. Myst…"

The bed was empty.

He shot to his feet, scanning the room, finding a bloody note on the table by the bed, under the cross. A heart for a heart…

Dread settled over him, numbing his mind, even as panic was sharp, stabbing at his body like a blade. He half-staggered, half-traced into the study, eyes falling on the safe wall. To his horror, he saw no safe, but as he neared, growing more sickened, he found blood on the stone that had housed it, clawed away in a frenzy. She’d dug through it to get to her chain, to her freedom.

Wroth fell to his knees, head bowed as a guttural sound of pain erupted from his chest. At the first opportunity, he’d offered her torture, only to follow it by stealing her freedom from her.

And then…

A heart for a heart. She’d made his beat. Had he broken hers?

He’d lost her. And he’d deserved to.

Chapter Twelve

The coven met around the safe, all of them waiting for Regin to swing the Sword of Woden to cut through the vampire’s mojo-protected metal. Woden’s sword cut through anything. Well, anything but the chain, as Myst and Regin could attest to after one scary experiment that nearly made Myst a good deal shorter.

The sisters were still debating who would accept the responsibility of the chain because Myst was no longer allowed, not as long as Wroth lived. But no one wanted the thing, and killing Wroth seemed a bingo solution to them.

Regin raised the sword above her, and even the wraiths flying outside that they’d hired to guard Val Hall against intruders – like Wroth – seemed to slow their circling to catch a window. With a dramatic breath, Regin sliced through the safe as easily as powder, though sparks flew. When all was clear, Myst wearily reached forward to collect her torment.

She frowned to find a small, ornate box of wood inside as well. All of her sisters seemed to realize at the same time that it was about the size of those velvet jewelry boxes – because the room went quiet, then they dove for it like a wedding bouquet. "Shiny, in the box, shiny," one of the younger sisters whimpered. Myst was closest and snagged it and even if she hadn’t been able to she would’ve bitch-slapped anyone who made a run with it.

"Open it, then," Regin cried, out of breath.

Myst did.

And light seemed to blaze from it.

"Great Freya," someone breathed. "Diamond. Big. Glittery."

Another said, "That’s not a rock, that’s real estate. When did vampires start coming off with the bling? No. Really."

Myst closed her fingers over what had to be a perfect four-karat diamond, so she could look at the actual ring. It was inscribed with her name.

Suddenly feeling exhausted, she rose, dragging her feet to her room away from the excitement, though they booed her for taking away "My Precious." The chain was heavy and cold in her other hand. Nïx followed her up. She was a good listener and even though her lucidity came in erratic spurts, she’d been a boon to talk to.

Myst eyed her sister as she raised the ring. "You didn’t look surprised about this." Nïx’s pupils enlarged at it before Myst tucked it and the chain in her jewelry case. "You knew what was in the safe?"

"I’m not predeterminationally-abled for nothing," she said as she dug two bottles of fingernail polish and some cotton from her pocket. She hopped on the bed and set them up to paint each other’s toenails, patting the bed for Myst to come sit. Myst had missed this little ritual, but she had no interest just now. Instead she crossed to the window and said, "Nïx, why didn’t you come for me? You knew how to find me."

"You were fated to spend that time with Wroth."

Wroth. Who had found her so lacking that he’d needed to change her.

What had he seen that disgusted him so much? She’d wracked her brain for the last three days, but found nothing she’d be truly ashamed of, certainly nothing that would make a vampire lose his freaking mind. "He’s out there right now." Myst stared out into the fog-shrouded yard. "Watching this house, waiting for a chance to take me again. But if I stay behind the wraiths, then I’m just as contained here as I was there."

"Without the weakness of the chain, you could fight him, yes?" Nïx asked. "I even imagine kicking some vampire tail might be good for you."

A few moments later, Regin popped her head in. "Cara and I are going out to canoodle ghouls. You in?"

Myst frowned, then turned to Nïx. "Any reason I shouldn’t?"

She bit her lip, staring at the ceiling as if trying to recall a memory when it was just the opposite. "No, I think it would be just the thing."

Myst nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think I could use a little goo."

Regin beamed, then bounded across the landing to scream downstairs, "Myst is back online!"

Ready to fight, needing it, she quickly dressed as Nïx did a buff-job on her neglected sword. Myst had no doubt Wroth would be out there watching her and that she would sense him every hour. How long would he follow his "tarnished" Bride? she wondered, but she knew the answer, had felt the wild emotion roiling within him. He’d follow forever.

Wroth crept among the shadows as Myst split up from Regin and Cara at a sprawling cemetery. Myst easily vaulted to the top of a mausoleum to observe the field below her, where ghouls snapped and clashed against each other or lazed in the dampness of the night.