Haunted by the King of Death (29 page)

Snow broke the silence for him. “We have books from a phantom mage… and we need one spell in particular. One that will turn Isla corporeal, and hitting Grave with the same spell probably wouldn’t hurt.”

He ignored the obvious pleasure Snow took in saying that, slanting him a warning glare, but his cousin just smiled and shrugged his broad black-t-shirt-clad shoulders.

“We’ll take a look.” The silver-haired female that had been introduced as Elissa, Payne’s mate, stepped forwards and took the sack of books from Snow.

She jerked forwards when he released them and the sack hit the floor with a boom that echoed around the double-height room.

Payne chuckled until she shot him a black look. He schooled his features and rushed to help her, easily lifting the heavy sack and swinging it over his right shoulder, flashing the line of markings that tracked down the underside of his forearm.

Grave willed himself to become solid. Isla had explained during the journey that items often became solid before their physical form did, which saved on energy and meant phantoms had to feed less often in order to keep up their strength. The sack of books he carried across his back shot through his body and hit the floor beneath his feet with a thud, and he ground his teeth to suppress the shudder that wracked him in response to the feel of something weighty suddenly going through him.

Isla casually turned completely solid in order to set her own sack of books down at her feet, her blue leathers replacing her white dress for a heartbeat before she turned phantom again.

That stab of envy returned, piercing straight through his heart.

Apparently, he couldn’t turn himself fully solid because he was low on energy and needed to feed.

Not on blood, but on a soul.

A single soul would give him enough power to turn solid a handful of times.

The thought of drinking blood had no effect on him, but the thought of consuming someone’s soul? Isla had explained how it worked, and what happened to those a phantom fed from.

He curled his lip. It wasn’t exactly his style. He killed on the battlefield, and sometimes he killed when feeding, but he had never condemned anyone to life as a ghost or worse, to eternity in a black abyss without any form.

But if Elissa and Lilian couldn’t find the right spell, or couldn’t perform it in time, he would need to feed to keep himself strong enough to fight the demon prince.

They were making preparations to evacuate the theatre, moving everyone into two separate safe houses, but travel arrangements were proving difficult, slowing the process down. Night had reached out to Bastian to ask for use of his private jet, and Bastian had been nice for once and had agreed, but even that wouldn’t have enough seats to transport everyone at once. They had to evacuate in groups, with those with children going first.

Snow, Payne and Night helped Elissa and Lilian with the sacks of books, carrying them over to the small area of couches near the stairs that led up to the staff quarters, and the roof, leaving him alone with Isla.

“I did not realise you had a brother,” she whispered, her blue gaze lighting on him for a moment before it returned to Night.

Grave couldn’t tell whether she was upset that he had never told her about his family or not. He had his reasons for keeping the existence of his two brothers secret from most.

She slid her focus back to him and smiled softly. “Family is not a weakness, Grave.”

He almost smiled at how well she knew him.

“But it is something an enemy can exploit… as proven by the demon who killed yours and is now hunting mine down.” He looked away from her, settling his gaze on his younger brother, and sighed as he thought about what had happened to Isla’s family, and felt an echo of her pain deep in his heart. His eyes roamed back to her, and that heart ached when he found her watching his brother, a look of longing and hurt in her eyes. “I am truly sorry, Isla.”

She forced a smile and dragged her eyes away from Night, settling them back on him. “It was not your fault. Not really. I began this chain of events—”

“No,” he interjected. “I began them.”

She dropped her gaze to her boots and then lifted her chin and met his again, a flash of something in her eyes, something that had always enchanted him. Strength. Courage. Darkness.

“Melia was right and it was my fault Tarwyn was taken from us by the demon, and I will not hear another word saying differently. I am the reason my sister and nephew are gone, and I will avenge them.” She heaved a sigh and stared off into the distance beyond his left shoulder. “I was wrong to attempt to avenge Valador… but my phantom blood demanded it… even now when I can see it was not the right path. It was not personal for you. You are a mercenary and the war against Valador was nothing but a job to you. You are given a target and you take that target down… and you did not even know why I seduced you and turned you phantom. Frey was right about that.”

His mood had already been darkening as he listened to her speaking of him as if he had no heart, was as merciless as his reputation and led some sort of twisted existence where he would kill anyone for the right price, but it took a nosedive into a black abyss as he heard the last sentence leave her lips.

He glared at her. “Who is Frey?”

She rolled her shoulders. “No one of interest to you.”

That only made his mood take a turn for the worse. She was protecting this one called Frey, this one she spoke of with affection in her eyes and her voice.

“But someone of interest to you,” he bit out and regretted it when she scowled at him and planted her hands on her hips.

“If he was of interest to me, why would I be here?”

“For revenge. You said it yourself. You want to avenge your sister and nephew. Your phantom blood demands it… just as it demanded you avenge Valador by turning me into a phantom, by making the heartless mercenary suffer for his sins.” He swept away from her and, gods, he felt like a bastard as she muttered a ripe curse behind him and her pain echoed on his senses.

He knew she hadn’t meant to make him feel as if he was something low and unworthy of her, a male who led a shallow existence making a living by killing others, skulking around Hell and taking down targets, but she had and he couldn’t bear it.

The Preux Chevaliers was everything to him. It was a noble and beautiful institution, whether she could see it or not. It was in his blood, blazed in his soul, and kept his heart beating.

The strongest of vampires coming together to serve a common cause, loyal and courageous, tested in battle and shaped by war into men worthy of leading their bloodlines.

Valiant.

Only the bravest, most powerful survived.

Brave. Powerful.

Not low. Not unworthy.

He wasn’t hiding in the shadows, sniping targets from a distance, making an easy living off life as a mercenary. He led the charge, clashed hardest with the enemy, broke bones and tore flesh in close quarters combat, dancing with death each time he took on a job and took down a target.

He growled under his breath, the only way to vent his anger and frustration now that he couldn’t pace.

Isla’s eyes came to rest on him and for a moment, he thought she would say something, but then she turned away.

“I can help.” She drifted over to sit with the others, drawing their focus away from him.

Grave floated around the room, back and forth between the stairs and the end of the corridor that led up to the foyer, but drifting did nothing to work off his tension. Pacing just wasn’t pacing when each stride he took didn’t echo with the force of his boots striking the floor.  

Isla’s gaze burned into him again, stoking the fire in his blood, but not with fury this time. She made it blaze with need, with a fierce desire to go to her and apologise, and take her lips with his, and just drown in her.

He drifted across the room to her, drawn towards her as she leafed through a tome, but the words he had wanted to say got stuck on his tongue when she looked up at him and he ended up just staring down at the stacks of books, unsure what to do with himself.

He was used to having a purpose and a direction, but suddenly he had neither. He couldn’t help find the spell, because he wasn’t a witch and he wasn’t familiar with the spell in question as Isla was. Even if he had known it, he didn’t have the skill to consistently turn his hands solid in order to leaf through a book.

Snow rose from the couch as Aurora appeared on the stairs, her white dress flowing around her legs as she hurried down them. He met her at the bottom, scooped her up into his arms and kissed her as he carried her up the stairs.

Isla watched them until they disappeared from view, a look of longing on her face that echoed in his heart. Gods, he wanted to do that with her. He wanted to be able to hold her again and take her to a quiet room somewhere and kiss her until she melted in his arms and begged for more.

Until every inch of him was reassured that she was safe now, back with him, and that she wanted only him.

Not this Frey person she had mentioned.

She glanced at him, he had the sensation that she blushed, and then her eyes were back on her work as she flicked through another one of the books.

Night leaned back in his seat beside Lilian and yawned so hard Grave had a superb view of his tonsils. He arched an eyebrow at his brother, who issued an unapologetic look in response and rested his arm along the back of the couch behind Lilian.

She looked across at him. “It’s gone dawn. You should get some rest.”

Night huffed and looked as if he wanted to refuse her order, but then he pushed onto his feet and dropped a kiss on her brow. “Don’t fall asleep on the books… come sleep in my arms… it’s way better.”

Lilian smiled and leaned her head back. Night took the invitation, pressing his lips to hers in a slow soft kiss that had Grave teetering on the verge of tearing them away from each other in a fit of jealousy when they finally broke apart. His brother placed his hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze, and then walked around the couch, trailing his hand off her.

“Don’t expect such sweetness from me,” Payne murmured against Elissa’s neck and she giggled and tensed, her shoulders coming up, lifting the hem of her blue starry halter-top away from her jeans.

He growled and playfully nipped her bare shoulder, and she pushed at his arm.

“Go to bed… Luca is probably still up waiting for his story.” Elissa nuzzled Payne’s cheek and clearly hadn’t been around vampires long enough to know how sensitive their hearing was, because Grave got an earful that he wished he hadn’t heard as she whispered to her mate, extremely detailed and explicit promises that turned the ache for Isla into a fierce roar in his veins.

Payne flashed Elissa a wink and disappeared.

Leaving Grave alone with three females and feeling like a fifth wheel as they all stuck their heads back in their books.

Unlike the other vampires in the building, the rising sun hadn’t made him tired. Because he was more phantom than vampire right now?

He idly drifted around the double-height room, managing to somehow pass an hour, and then exhaustion finally caught up with him and he couldn’t stifle the yawn that hit him.

Isla showed no sign of emerging from her book, and he had the feeling she was hiding in it to avoid him for some reason. Because he had snapped at her? Or was it the same reason she had avoided looking at him back at the tower?

He was too tired to press her for an answer, so he floated up the stairs to the room he had used before. The second level was quieter this time, no sign of life on it other than Night. His brother was still on his senses, and Grave didn’t have the heart to wake him just so he could have some company. Lilian was right and his brother needed to rest, to recover from whatever had happened to him. He would find out about that as soon as his brother woke.

For now, he left him alone and ghosted through the wall and into the bedroom, and lay down on the bed. It was odd drifting a foot above it, but sleep soon stole away any concern he had about it, replacing it with strange dreams that slipped through his grasp bare seconds after they had materialised, fading to nothing and being replaced by the next one. He clung hardest to the ones of Isla, but even those escaped him.

He woke more frustrated and lost than when he had gone to bed, and frowned as he focused on his surroundings, trying to pinpoint the hour.

It was still early.

His vampire abilities warned the sun was still out, but lower in the sky now, signalling the approach of evening. Normally, his senses would have told him of danger, but curiously he felt no such sensation this time.

Grave swung his legs over the bed and drifted to his feet. He ghosted through the wall and followed the dimly lit corridor to the staircase. Rather than going down to check on the females, he went up, passing the uppermost floor where his cousins were still sleeping, and heading up to the door that led onto the roof.

He hesitated, facing the plain door, his pulse jacking up as he used his senses again, stretching them far and wide, waiting for his vampire instincts to tell him to back away.

They didn’t.

He sensed no danger at all, yet the sun was still shining. He could feel the residual heat of it coming off the door, could smell it even.

It was daylight outside, something he had never stood in before. He had never felt the sun on his skin. He had never witnessed a sunset.

The thought that he might be able to do such a thing, could assuage his curiosity about part of the day that so many other species could experience, gave him the courage to push forwards through the door.

He flinched away as bright light assaulted his eyes and back-peddled towards the door, a sudden spike of fear piercing him. He focused on his body, convinced he was going to burn at any moment.

A pleasing sort of warmth spread over him wherever the light touched, but it didn’t hurt him.

He slowly opened his eyes and looked around him at the flat roof of the theatre and then the city beyond, taking it all in as he stood in the sunshine.