Authors: Christina Dodd
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal, #General
Storm of Shadows (35 page)
“No. Not that. But she was pursuing a prophecy, died unexpectedly, and whatever she had learned died with her.”
“I don’t care. I don’t believe it.” Rosamund pushed her hair back and glared. “I don’t know why you’re lying to me. I don’t know why you’re condemning yourself. Father said it would be dangerous if I believed any of those wild legends.”
“You are ignoring the truth with all your might.” Aaron waved a hand toward the west, toward New York. “Who do you think the people at Irving’s house are? What do you think is happening, with people chasing us, men being murdered in our wake, and a trail of bloody prophecies before us?” Striding forward, he picked up Bala’s Stone and shoved it under her nose. “This is a diamond, and it is magic. I am one of the Chosen Ones, and I have a gift.”
“You’re an enforcer. You force people to do what you want.”
“No. I’m a thief, because I can do this.” As she watched, he dissolved into his other self, into a dark mist that blended into the shadows.
She stood frozen, staring at the place he had been.
He moved behind her, touched her hair. “I’m here,” he said.
She whirled in a circle, hands outstretched. “Where?”
He moved in front of her, touched her cheek. “Here.”
“Aaron? Where are you?” Her voice shook. Tears rose in her eyes. “You’re frightening me.”
He took his human form again. “Good. You should be frightened. I am Chosen, you and I are in more danger than you can possibly imagine, and we
need to get out of this cave
.” Grabbing her wrist, he tried to drag her toward the entrance.
need to get out of this cave
.” Grabbing her wrist, he tried to drag her toward the entrance.
She fought him, wrestled herself free, and cried hotly, “So you’re one of
them
. You found me in the library, not by accident, I’m sure. You lured me to Irving’s mansion, you traveled the world with me, and you made love to me. You made love to me as a dark mist! Didn’t you?”
them
. You found me in the library, not by accident, I’m sure. You lured me to Irving’s mansion, you traveled the world with me, and you made love to me. You made love to me as a dark mist! Didn’t you?”
“Yes! And my dear, I didn’t need to see you to know you enjoyed it!” He caught her arms. “Mine. I made you mine, and more important—you gave yourself to me, and you made me yours.”
She yielded. Just for a moment, but she did yield, softening against him, and he thought he’d won. Then that logical brain kicked in, backed by her father ’s strictures and her father’s last warning, and she pushed herself away. “How do I know you’re one of the good guys? How do I know you’re Chosen?”
He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe her. He felt as if she had stabbed him through the heart. After all they’d said and not said, all they’d done and not done—and she doubted him? “You don’t believe me? You think I’m lying to you? That I’m one of the Others?”
“You’ve convinced me. My mother died because of her work with prophecies. Probably my father died because of that, too, and he warned me. Texted me.
Run
.” Her pale skin flushed with fury. “Yet you want me to trust you? After you’ve lied to me about who you are?”
Run
.” Her pale skin flushed with fury. “Yet you want me to trust you? After you’ve lied to me about who you are?”
She was furious? Well, so was he. He had given her himself, his true self, and she rejected him. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her close, and bent her backward. “I’ll leave, if that is what you truly want. But you’ll never forget me. Never.” And he kissed her. Kissed her in despair, in torment, because the woman he loved didn’t love him back, and never again in this world or the next would he have a chance to make her feel the truth and believe in him.
“Damn you, Rosamund Hall. Damn you for doing this to me.” He strode toward the entrance, intent on one thing, getting out of here and leaving Rosamund to her research and her prophecies and the safety of knowing he was gone and she could be alone.
Beneath his feet, the ground trembled. The movement intensified, deepened, made the earth groan in anguish.
He turned, and as he watched, the ceiling shivered and began to collapse over Rosamund.
Then he knew the truth.
If the Sacred Cave could not have him, it would take his love.
Chapter 34
A
aron threw himself at Rosamund. She yelped in surprise.
aron threw himself at Rosamund. She yelped in surprise.
He knocked her off her feet, slammed her to the ground. Her head smacked the rocky floor. She saw stars, and when she cleared her head, his body was gone and she was again seeing through a dark mist.
Through
Aaron. He had wrapped himself around her to hide her while they escaped Fournier ’s mansion.
Through
Aaron. He had wrapped himself around her to hide her while they escaped Fournier ’s mansion.
Now he wrapped himself around her to protect her.
Rocks as big as basketballs slammed down, aimed for her head, her chest, her hips.
She threw her arms over her face.
She heard Aaron grunt. She felt the compression as the rocks struck him. But nothing touched her. The stones hit the mist that was Aaron and rolled away.
His voice sounded in her ear. “All right?”
“Yes. Aaron, I—”
But before she could apologize, tell him the truth, tell him she loved him, she heard a strident scraping, like the sound of gigantic fingernails on a cosmic blackboard.
Aaron’s voice was tight with pain. “Brace yourself.”
She looked up—and screamed.
With a rain of stones and a roar, the ceiling of the Sacred Cave collapsed.
She must have blacked out, because when she came to consciousness, she heard nothing but a deadly quiet, and the sound of something dripping beside her ear.
Her eyes sprang open.
The ceiling was gone. The front wall was gone. The late-afternoon sun streamed in, illuminating the dancing molecules of dust.
Aaron was in human form again, sprawled on top of her.
“Aaron. Come on.” In a panic to get away, she shook him. “We have to get out of here.”
He didn’t move.
“It’s dangerous. We have to get out of here.” She shook him again.
Still he didn’t move.
Again something dripped beside her ear.
She pushed her glasses up on her nose. She turned her head and looked.
Blood pooled on the floor, and as she watched, another dark red drop splashed into the puddle.
Then she knew. She knew.
She knew.
She knew.
“No.” Grasping Aaron’s shoulders, she rolled him off of her, onto his back, onto the rocks. “No. Aaron. No.”
Beneath the smears of blood, his tanned, proud, Indian face was pale as parchment. His eyes were half closed. His head lolled on his neck.
She pressed her fingers to his neck over his carotid artery, trying to find a pulse.
Nothing.
She picked up his wrist.
No pulse.
Putting her head onto his chest, she listened for his heart.
No sound at all.
“Not you. Not you. Please, I never meant for you to become one of my . . . I’m sorry.” She stroked his hair back from his face. “God, don’t let this be true.”
Desperate and determined, she dragged him into the one place where rocks had not landed—in the spot where she had lain, where he had protected her. She cleared his air passage, then began CPR, compressing his chest, blowing in his mouth, compressing his chest, blowing in his mouth. . . .
Panting from the effort of slamming her fist to his chest, she kept doing the CPR long past the time she knew the truth.
He smelled like Aaron. He looked like Aaron.
But the flavor of his blood touched her lips, and she knew this wasn’t Aaron.
Aaron was gone.
This couldn’t be true. It could not be true.
She collapsed onto the floor beside him. She put her forehead onto his chest. And tried, oh God, tried to hold off the emptiness she knew would claw itself up from inside her, expand, take her over and leave her with . . . nothing. Because Aaron was gone.
Gone
.
Gone
.
The last thing she’d done was fight with Aaron, yell at Aaron, reject Aaron for what he was. She had told him to go away, and now the man she loved was dead.
They had traveled across the world, chasing a prophecy she had cheerfully assumed she would find. But instead she had failed miserably, and the man she loved was dead.
She would have to go back to New York, tell Aaron’s friends the truth, that Aaron had flung himself on her to protect her, and for that brave deed, the man she loved was dead.
Lifting her head, she looked into his face, stroked his hair off his forehead, kissed his lips. “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me.”
The cave creaked ominously.
But she wasn’t afraid. She was mad. “You stupid gods. You are so proud of your stupid Sacred Cave. You think this is about you.” She stood and lifted her fists toward the blue sky where the rock ceiling had once been. “A sacrifice? You wanted a sacrifice? Well, you can’t have him!”
The cave groaned again, the sound coming from the back where the floor sloped down into the hole that funneled deep into the earth.
“No. I will have his body, at least.” Grabbing Aaron under his arms, she strained with all her might. He moved a few inches, the rubble from the collapse rolling under his prostrate body. With another heave, she turned him, dragged him around the boulders, through the place where the entrance had been, and out onto the path.
There she placed him in the warmth and let the sunshine bathe his proud, high cheekbones, narrow nose, and broad, stubborn chin. Even battered as he was, he was handsome. He had been strong and brave, with hair so black it shone with blue light. He had been an Indian warrior, knowing full well the Sacred Cave and all its cruelties, yet returning to do what had to be done for the Chosen Ones, and for her.
Kneeling next to him, she gathered him into her arms and held him. Just held him, and pretended he was still with her. The old grief at her mother’s death, and the new grief at her father’s, came at her in a wave. Her anger at her father built on that; if he had told her the truth, she wouldn’t have been caught unprepared. She wouldn’t have been naïve.
At the same time . . . her father had always known what predators stalked them, and everything he’d done—the way he’d raised her, the cool discouragement with which he had greeted her eager interest in her mother’s studies, even hiding the stela from her—it had all been to protect her. In the end, he had returned to find out the truth about his wife’s cruel demise, and for that, he paid with his life.
And he had told her to . . .
run
.
run
.
She heard the sigh of her father’s voice.
Run.
“No. I won’t. Daddy, I won’t. I can’t leave him.” Something clear splashed onto Aaron’s still face. Another something. Another. She put her hand to her face and found it wet with tears. “Oh, God. What have I done?” She wiped Aaron’s face with the edge of her jacket, then pulled his still body close and rocked him in her arms. “What have I done?”
Chapter 35
R
osamund didn’t know how long she sat there, but the sun had started to set behind the mountains when the older lady they’d met in Sacre Barbare came hiking up the path. Men with stretchers followed her. The woman knelt beside Rosamund, put her hand on her shoulder. “Do you remember me?”
osamund didn’t know how long she sat there, but the sun had started to set behind the mountains when the older lady they’d met in Sacre Barbare came hiking up the path. Men with stretchers followed her. The woman knelt beside Rosamund, put her hand on her shoulder. “Do you remember me?”
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