A Vampire's Soul (23 page)

“No!” he barked harshly. “Along with your fixation about dying, Rowan, I'm starting to think you have something of a hero complex. Gabriel, Laycee, a little old lady crossing the street. You can't save everyone, and you have to realize that not everyone wants to be saved.” Staring at me, Sebastian softened the harshness of his tone with a smile. “Some decisions must be allowed to reach their own conclusions, Rowan. This is one time when you must accept that your concern would do more harm than good.”

I flinched at the rebuke. He made it sound like I was the town busybody, poking my nose into things I shouldn't be and stirring up trouble. He must have sensed I was about to step back because his hand shot out and he caught hold of my arm. Those long fingers, which hadn't bothered me before, now seemed menacing as they overlapped my wrist. He flexed his fingers, and all I could think of were the small bones in Laycee's wrist grinding together as they were broken. She had to be on her way to the hospital by now, if not already there. I prayed Gabriel was with her. She would need someone to make sense of all she'd been through. It ought to be me, and I was suddenly furious that Sebastian had taken me away.

“What's happening to you, Sebastian? You're changing.”

“It's being here. I cannot be this close to the Void without feeling its effects.”

Sebastian was struggling with something; I had no idea what, but I didn't think it would be a good idea for me to hang around while he dealt with it.

“How do I do it, Sebastian?”

He stared at me, and I could tell he wasn't sure exactly what I was asking him. And then his eyes cleared and he understood. Lifting his head, he gestured to the abyss behind me. I turned. Of course. I had to give myself to the Void.

“There is another option,” he said in a whisper.

I swung around to face him. “What other option?”

“You could always offer yourself to the Wraith in exchange for Gabriel.”

I snorted in disbelief. “Sebastian! Gabriel is an angel who is now an Original Vampire. He has offered to remain in the Dark Realm! What could I possibly have that would make the Wraith choose me over him?”

“You're a Promise with an angel's soul still in your safekeeping.”

“But you said a celestial soul can't remain in the Dark—it will return to the Light of its own accord.”

“Once it is released. But if that did not happen, if it were to remain with the Promise . . .”

Oh shit. Sebastian was suggesting that I could secure Gabriel's release from the Dark Realm if I offered myself in his place, but only with his soul still in my possession. Where was the sense in that? The whole point was making sure Gabriel could get his soul back. Apparently being this close to the Void was affecting Sebastian's critical thinking. Why else would he think that I would consider offering myself under such a condition? If I was going to remain in the Dark Realm, then I was prepared to be like everyone else there—soulless.

Suddenly I didn't know what to believe. Was Sebastian lying to me now, or had he been lying to me previously, or had he just been lying all along? Averting my eyes from his too-sharp gaze, I did a hasty mental rewind of everything he had told me about being a Promise. My purpose was to safeguard Gabriel's soul, even if that meant giving it up. I wasn't going to allow myself to become some sort of sick trophy the Wraith could gloat over whenever the mood took him. I grabbed Sebastian by the arm.

“If Gabriel's soul is released it
will
return to the Light—that was the truth, wasn't it?”

“I . . . I . . .”

Sebastian looked as if he was in pain, and his wings began to rustle alarmingly. He clutched at his head as his eyes began rolling wildly.

“Sebastian!” I yanked on his arm, pulling him back. Grabbing hold of his face, I made him look at me. “It
will
return to the Light?”

“I . . . yes,” he hissed at me. “It will return.”

Good, that was all I needed. I let go of him and turned away. I was out of time and out of options, although there really hadn't been any other choice. As I turned to face the Void, I felt long fingers snapping around my wrist.

“No, Rowan, don't! I can't let you do this.”

“Why not? You said it was the only way.”

“I was wrong!”

He was lying. There was a wild look in his eyes, and I wondered how I could have ever mistaken them for something as beautiful as a sunrise or sunset. They were the fire pits of hell. I felt his fingers tighten on my arm and realized he was going to try and stop me from throwing myself into the Void, which meant he had been telling the truth about this. Giving the Void my life would offer Gabriel a chance at redemption. Choosing to take it was entirely up to him, but regardless, he was worth the sacrifice.

“Sebastian, please let go of my wrist. You're hurting me.” You would have thought I'd asked him to pluck out his wings feather by feather from the look on his face. “Sebastian . . .
please!
” I gave him a pretty convincing wince. “I sure as hell can't outrun you so long as you have those.” I gestured to his wings with my free hand. It took another ten seconds of internal deliberation before I felt his fingers loosen, and I made a big show of rubbing my wrist.

“I'm sorry, Rowan, I never meant to hurt you.”

I stared at him, and saw that he was sorry, and for a moment he looked just like the Sebastian who had gotten me a blanket and tucked it around me. And then I saw something else in his face. A resolve that said, for reasons I knew nothing about, he was going to prevent me from doing what I needed to do.

I don't know if it was intuition, my non-poker face revealing my hand, or just a change in my body language, but Sebastian became suddenly wary. For all I knew, he was able to sense the determination that now rose up inside me. I was still running my thought process through to its conclusion when I felt his hand on my shoulder. I let myself be turned around so I was now facing him. His eyes were glowing like small twin suns.

Timing was going to be crucial, but I'd recently taken a vampire by surprise, so I figured my chances were just as good with an angel. It was possible for a girl to get lucky twice in the same night, wasn't it? I made a show of looking Sebastian over, hoping it would confuse him enough to drop his guard. I let my eyes linger on his taut abdomen, and then do a lazy drift down his waist and hips. Thank God his jeans were tight! I was only going to get one shot at this, and if I missed, there would be no second chance. Ever.

This was the moment I wished I was one of those girls who could make their eyes swim with tears on command because I really needed a little extra something right now, but you have to work with what you've got. Gabriel always told me that pulling my teeth over my lower lip was a big turn-on. I prayed he was right.

“Sebastian?” I took a step back, looking up at him and wearing what I hoped was an expression of anxiety, remorse, and confused sexual longing. He dropped his hand.

I dragged my teeth across my lip. He licked his. His face became flushed, a sheen of moisture appeared on his upper lip, and he had what I was hoping for. An erection.

“Sebastian?” I said his name again, making my voice low and husky.

“Yes?” he said, swallowing once . . . twice.

“Fuck you!”

I raised my foot and kicked him squarely in the groin. His eyes widened, and his mouth become a silent O of shock as he fell to his knees, hands clutching at himself.

I took off.

I
was never one for sports at school. I hated gym. Couldn't climb a rope if my life depended on it, and fell off the balance beam enough times to know I might have difficulty passing a sobriety check sober. I also developed an acute aversion to anything that had to be played with a ball—volleyball, basketball, softball, or soccer. Not sure about tennis (no one at my school actually knew how to play), and of course football was a no-no. Back then the only padding a girl wanted was in her bra.

Oddly enough, I did like track. I wasn't very good at it, but there was something about running in an oval and keeping in your assigned lane that appealed to my sense of order. My high school coach would have burst his spleen in joy and disbelief at the acceleration I achieved sprinting away from the angel.

It was forty, maybe fifty feet to the edge of the abyss. It could easily have been a mile, it seemed so far away, but once I committed, there was no point worrying about distance. I was either going to make it or I wasn't. And not making it wasn't an option. I don't know if Sebastian thought screaming my name at the top of his lungs would make me stop, but it didn't. Guess that was another disappointment I'd dealt him. Keeping my arms tucked close to my sides, with my focus firmly fixed, I forced my legs to pump as hard as they could, propelling me forward. I heard a
whoosh
of air behind me. Shit! Sebastian had recovered from his kick in the balls a lot faster than the last guy I'd done that to. As this last thought fizzled in my head I saw the Void, and it seemed a part of it rose up to meet me in welcome. I didn't know if Sebastian could follow me down, but I was going to bet he couldn't. The Void was for those who had a soul to add to its numbers. I was betting that having a soul that was adrift didn't count.

Seeing the edge, I called on the last of my reserves and exploded like a human cannonball, throwing myself out into the space above the murky flow beneath me. My hair streamed out like a banner, and I felt something catch the trailing curls. It was Sebastian's long fingers. I tried to pull away, but the angel tightened his grip, and I felt my hair being twisted in his grasp. I gulped back a sob. It was exactly what I had done to Katja in order to save Laycee. Sebastian was going to pull me out of the Void and back onto solid ground, where I doubt my blow to his pride would go unpunished.

And then everything just stopped as a mighty roar rose up from beneath me, filling every inch of the cavernous space. Like a jealous lover, the Void didn't believe in sharing. Recognizing I had already offered myself, it was not going to let Sebastian take me away. I watched in awe as a sonic wave pushed the angel back across the cavern floor. He got to his feet in an angry rustle of feathers, a bewildered look on his face. Poor Sebastian! He really had no idea why I was doing this.

I closed my eyes and lay suspended in midair, waiting for whatever was going to happen to happen. Was I supposed to say something? Make a formal declaration of my intention to give my life, my soul, to the Void? It crossed my mind that perhaps the Wraith had put some sort of whammy on me, one that meant the Void wouldn't take me, after all. Would it be better or worse to spend eternity dangling a thousand feet or so in the air?

“There you go again, Rowan,” I murmured to myself, “rushing headlong into something without knowing the consequences.”

And then gravity kicked in. My arms began pinwheeling, and my legs kicked wildly as I went into free fall. I could feel my heart jackhammering behind my ribs, and the sudden change in pressure made my ears pop. The air rushing past me was hot, almost unbearably so, and I could feel the inside of my nose dry out as my lips began to crack. I closed my eyes, fearing they might boil up and pop out of my head like some grotesque cartoon caricature.

I don't know how I was still able to breathe, or what I was dragging into my lungs, because air, or anything like it, did not exist down here. All I could feel was the most terrifying rushing sensation. My stomach had lodged itself somewhere behind my left knee, and I was actually too scared to be scared. I should have been thinking about Gabriel, about how much I loved him and what my sacrifice would mean for him, but all I could think about was Alice falling down the rabbit hole and wondering if it had been this bad. And as I continued my downward spiral, the oddest thought occurred to me.

 

I could see the brilliant light even though my eyelids were closed. I wanted to turn away, but I wasn't sure if my head was still attached to my body because I couldn't feel anything from the neck down. If I was now in the same predicament as poor Oscar, then getting my retinas fried by a dazzling white light was kind of a moot point. As a disembodied head, what difference would it make?

I told myself that my head had to be attached to the rest of me because my brain was still working. The apparent numbness did not necessarily mean I was missing anything vital, like arms or legs. I performed a mental checklist of my extremities. Picturing my fingers in my mind, I moved them one at a time, grateful when I felt them respond. My physical inventory revealed nothing broken or missing, and I appeared to be lying, if my sense of touch wasn't impaired, on velvet cushions.

Gingerly I opened my eyes. The last time I had been in the presence of a brilliant light, the result had changed the course of my life. I wasn't going to rule out the possibility of a similar outcome this time. I blinked—and did it again a few more times just to make certain what I was seeing wasn't a mirage. And then I pinched myself—a lot harder than Sebastian had. Nope, nothing changed. Everything was still there. I was lying on a half-dozen multicolored velvet cushions in a garden.

I love the orderly disorderliness of an English country garden, and that was exactly what I was slap bang in the middle of. The grass, an amazing shade of lush, velvety green, was just begging to be walked on with the bare soles of my feet. Flowerbeds overflowed with a riotous array of color as plants jostled leaf and stem with their neighbors for growing room. The heavy scent of roses drifted on the air, mingling with honeysuckle, lilac, and lavender. And those were just the fragrances I recognized right away. There were other heady perfumes that, given time, I was certain I could name. I cast my eyes over the almost orgiastic display of color. My brain was able to name pansies, carnations, and marigolds as well as peonies, delphiniums, and foxgloves. Unfortunately, there were more blooms that I couldn't put a name to, flowers I'd never seen in any gardening magazine. But I had no trouble recognizing the roses. What self-respecting garden would be complete without them? Only this one seemed to have every variety and color imaginable. The sheer spectacle threatened to send me into sensory overload. I told myself that if I was to die right now, at this very instant, I would be content. If the last sight my eyes beheld couldn't be Gabriel's face, then this would be my second choice.

Thankfully that perceptive insight was put on hold as a voice coming from above my head said, “How nice to see you, Rowan. I wasn't sure if you were going to make it.”

Shielding my eyes with my hand, I stared up. He had his back to the light, so his face was in shadow, hiding his features, but he held out a hand. It seemed a strong, capable hand, and as his fingers curled around mine, I noticed the nails were beautifully manicured. You can tell a lot about a man from his hands. As I got to my feet, he reached down and brushed a leaf from the skirt of my dress.

I don't usually wear dresses, and this girly number was definitely not something that would ever find a home in my closet. It had puff sleeves, a sweetheart neckline, and a bodice decorated with pearl buttons. The full skirt draped over what felt like three miles of tulle. I looked down at the froth of material billowing around my calves, wondering what had happened to my own clothes. And then I recalled Gabriel's emergence from the Void and figured it was probably best that I was wearing something else. Whoever my thoughtful provider was, he had not included underwear to go with my new outfit. Shoes either, which meant I got to walk barefoot across the grass, so it wasn't a complete loss.

“You should wear dresses more often,” my host said, leading me over to the shade of an elm tree, where a table and some chairs were grouped beneath the boughs. “You look positively enchanting.”

No one, not even Gabriel, had ever used the word
enchanting
to describe anything about me. I found it old-fashioned and courtly, and perfectly appropriate for the setting. I remembered to straighten out the back of my skirt before I sat down in the chair that he pulled out for me. I became mesmerized by the table. It was set exactly the way I imagined it would be for afternoon tea provided by the kitchen of an English country manor house. All the china was the same floral pattern, with just the right number of knives and forks with which to spread jams and savories and eat pastries.

The sandwiches, and there were several plates of them, were properly de-crusted and cut into triangles, and they sat next to smaller plates of tarts filled with preserves and alongside cakes dusted with powdered sugar and bowls of crystallized fruit. There were even scones and—my goodness!—clotted cream. I had no idea if I liked scones or clotted cream, which, now that I thought about it, sounded kind of gross, but I knew you couldn't have one and not the other. They went together, kind of like pancakes and syrup or steak and fries.

“One lump or two?” my companion asked, holding a cup and saucer in one hand and some sugar tongs in the other.

I had always thought sugar tongs were nothing more than a fancy prop. But grasped inside the metal teeth was a single cube of dazzling white. The bowl of the fine china cup was translucent enough for me to see exactly how much of the dark liquid it held. I don't drink hot tea, so I had no idea how many lumps was proper, but as I always drink iced tea sweetened, I figured I'd take hot the same way.

“Three?” I said hesitantly.

I received a smile in response and heard a pleasant plinking as the sugar cubes hit the side of the bone china cup. If I was being horribly greedy, then my host was far too charming to say so, and in my defense, the sugar cubes were awfully small.

“Sandwich?”

A plate of the little white triangles was held out to me. My stomach was still trying to settle itself, and I couldn't guarantee I was going to be able to keep the tea down, much less a sandwich. The prospect of upchucking all over my new dress seemed too risky a chance to take, so I politely declined. The plate was returned to its designated spot on the crowded table, and I busied myself with my teaspoon in my cup. Even stirring was an art—too vigorous and I was in danger of sloshing the contents over the rim and into the saucer.

Surreptitiously I looked at my host. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, he was undeniably handsome, with an aura of urbane sophistication about him. His pinstripe suit was, no doubt, custom tailored and was beautifully accented by a crisp white shirt, blood-red tie, and matching silk in his breast pocket. He looked like some wealthy Wall Street executive or the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. He even wore a tiepin and cufflinks, and the stones decorating both matched the larger one in the ring on his pinkie. I thought they looked like rubies.

“Where am I?” I asked.

He looked at me as he stirred his own tea. I didn't notice how many sugar cubes he had put in. And when he smiled, his eyes glittered like pieces of jet. “Do you like it? I created it especially for you.”

I had no idea why he would say such a thing. Perhaps he told everyone he brought here the same thing. Especially the women. But if he wanted to impress me, then he'd done a good job, and I wasn't about to be a rude guest. His reasons were his own, and knowing them would not change my appreciation of the beauty that surrounded me. Someone had gone to a lot of effort.

“It's lovely,” I told him. “Everything I could have wanted and more.”

A bee, its legs already heavy and yellow with pollen, found its way to the vase of fresh flowers on the table. It settled on a rose, content to meander through the crimson petals, seeking to add to its load. Any more pollen and getting airborne was going to be a serious challenge.

Following my host's example, I raised the delicate china cup to my mouth and took a sip of tea. Gaaack! It was awful! I almost spat it back into the cup. People actually drank this stuff? Maybe the Founding Fathers had been on the right track dumping it in Boston Harbor. Masking my distaste as best as I could, I put my cup back on the table. My host raised an eyebrow of concern.

“My apologies, Rowan, would this be more to your liking?” He waved a hand and my cup and saucer was instantly replaced by a tall glass filled with amber-colored liquid. A slice of lemon decorated the rim and condensation beaded the outside. “I forgot your preference when it comes to drinking tea.”

Taking a sip, I had to admit it was, hands down, the best glass of sweet iced tea I'd ever tasted. I removed the slice of lemon from the rim, twisting it over the open glass and dropping it into the liquid. And I found myself looking across the table at my host. Despite the splendor of the scenery all around us, he commanded my attention.

“Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to stare?”

My mother hadn't stuck around long enough to tell me much of anything, but I couldn't expect him to know that. “Actually no, it was my father who told me,” I said, “and I'm sorry if I'm staring, it's just that you bear a very strong resemblance to someone.”

“A former beau perhaps?”