Chaos and Moonlight (Order of the Nines Book 1) (35 page)

“He may be correct,” she sighed. “Surely the maestro will come looking for his bride and will stop at nothing to get her back.” Morrigan looked at Zillah and snorted. “Or at least whatever pieces of her we leave behind.”

Analyzing his handiwork, Roman walked around Zillah, who hung her head. During the entire ordeal, she had not cried or begged for mercy. She did not scream or shout; she only looked up at Bane with her violet eyes, saying all that needed to be said when their gazes met.

Why? Why this?

After the first time he tried to help her, the conversation changed.

I forgive you
.

“You know, my dear,” Roman said as he rounded to face Zillah, her small body nude and covered in a mangled cloak of her own blood, “I rather liked you.” He lifted her chin with the cast iron end of the whip. “It is such a shame that we had to break you, but, in our defense, you did put yourself in harm’s way. We were ready to leave, Zillah, but you—” Roman stopped and clicked his tongue, “—you had to track us down.”

“Enough,” Bane said. “They are coming.”

Roman ignored him, his eyes still fixed on Zillah. He ran a finger over her shoulder and into one of the deep cuts left by the lashing. She did not wince, but through the blood Bane could see the muscle flexing in her jaw and the tears welling in the corner of her eyes.

“Perhaps we should stay awhile and wait for your husband and the others. I wish I could have been there when Rhiannon followed the trail of her husband’s body parts. Such a strong one, that Fraser, but love made him soft, just as it has made Judah soft.” Roman dug his finger deep into Zillah’s cut, only to pull it out and stick it in his mouth. He closed his eyes and moaned as he licked her blood off of his hands.

A subtle
thud
in the distance made Bane’s hair stand on end. The burning in his gut and the tingling between his shoulders signaled to him that the remaining members of the Order had arrived.

And to hell with it…

“I do believe that the cavalry has arrived, Roman,” Morrigan said, making her way to the door. “We need to leave. Now.”

“Agreed,” Roman replied, but not before taking Zillah’s chin in his hands and shaking her head. “The fun must end now, my pet.” He leaned in and kissed her hard on the mouth. “I hope Judah enjoys his present.”

Roman swept out of the room, both he and Morrigan calling out for Bane to follow. Panic and anger welled in his gut. In a flash of adrenaline-fueled rage, he pulled at Zillah’s chains, but they barely budged. Crying out, he tore off his shirt and did his best to wrap it around her body.

“I did not know what they set out to do,” he said as he tied the fabric loosely around her shoulders. He did not have time to heal her, but if she bled out any more, she would surely die. There was little time left before Roman and Morrigan would come calling for him, and even less time before the wrath of Judah arrived. His lips peeled away from his teeth and he bit his wrist, opening a vein so that Zillah might live until she could be rescued.

Gently lifting her head, he opened her mouth and pressed his wrist to her lips. She did not hesitate, but took greedy pulls from him, her eyes locking with his in yet another silent, painful conversation.

I will not forget your kindness
.

Holding the back of her head with his other hand, Bane touched his forehead to hers.

“I am so sorry,” he whispered. “Please, believe me when I say that I did all I could to help you. No matter what happens, remember that. Please, always remember.”

I will
.

Bane pulled his wrist away, sealing the cut. He could hear the sound of fighting in the battlements above. It was only a matter of time before they discovered the secret dungeon where Zillah was kept.

“Go,” Zillah whispered through cracked lips. “Do not let them find you.”

Bane moved toward the door, but turned back just in time to see Zillah’s body begin to convulse. It was shutting down despite the blood he gave her. He knew all too well from watching his father die that the pain was unbearable. He could not stand the thought of her suffering any longer. With regret in the pit of his stomach, he did the only decent thing he could think of: Bane picked up the heavy whip that Roman had dropped on the floor. He stepped behind Zillah—still in the throes of agony—lifted his hand, and brought the end of the whip down on her head. Her shaking ceased instantly.

In that moment, all that was good and decent within him died.

This book, and ultimately this series, would still be sitting on my hard drive were it not for Theresa Cole. You’ve been a stalwart supporter since day one and I love you every minute for it. Were it not for my mother handing me that first romance novel, I never would have wanted to be a writer, so to my gorgeous mother, I give my heartfelt love and thanks. To my sister, who—though she isn’t wild about vampire novels—encouraged this book and actually enjoyed it. I love you. To my father and my brothers, for showing me what strong, loving men really are. To my son, for giving us a reason to leave. To my stepchildren, who’ve brought the most loving kind of chaos into my life. To Samantha, Jane, Debbie, Fiona, and the lovelies at Full Fathom Five Digital, for taking a chance on me. To Pat and Julie, for loving this story when it needed to be thoroughly edited. To Jill and Sarah, for being the best movie date night buddies a gal could ever have. Milkshakes will never be the same. To the Minions, for being patient, kind, and understanding through the stormiest weather. Your loyalty is why I persevere. To my Crowley, for enlightening me as to what great paranormal television is really all about. To Patsy, because vodka. To JenSev, because whisky. To Diane, with whom I possibly share a soul. You may not realize it, but you are the greatest patron an artist could ever hope for. To my wonderful and extremely patient husband; my demon-slayer, my knight in camouflage armor. I am the weirdest person you’ve ever met. I know, you’ve told me, but through it all, you love me just the same. I thank God for you every day.

And finally, to you, the reader. Writers would be extinct if there were not amazing readers like you. Whether you loved my book or not so much, you read it and that is reason enough to be thankful and to acknowledge you. Keep reading. Read good books, books that open your mind and transport you to places you’ve never been, or books that encourage you to see something in yourself that you didn’t know was there.

Know that I am always and ever grateful to God for the talent and the opportunities given to me.

A.D Marrow is a registered Sapiophile, a proud Geek since before Geek was chic and believes that everyone deserves a happily ever after. She lives in the foothills of North Carolina with her ridiculously hot and amazingly supportive husband, three kids that rock so hard there should be a national holiday for their awesomeness, two really stupid dogs and a plethora of Post-it notes with book ideas to last her until she’s 90. Her childhood dream is realized in the fact that YOU have cause to read her bio. She hopes that one day, it lends her enough credibility to live out her second dream, which is to write an episode of Doctor Who. Her personal mantra echoes that of Morticia Addams:
“Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly.”

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