HER SWEETEST DOWNFALL (Paranormal Romance / Fantasy Novella) (Forever Girl Series - a Journal) (5 page)

“Hungry?” he asked.

Ophelia turned to the counter and forced her attention to the food, allowing Ethan his chance to escape whatever had just happened between them. Her heart fluttered like a hummingbird inside her chest. She dipped a spoon into the preserves to taste how fresh they were. It was a blackberry spread, sweet with a little tang, just the way her father had always liked.

She peeked over her shoulder at Ethan, only to find him watching her intently.

“I would hate me if I were you,” he said.

She smiled to herself and kept herself busy by examining the bread. “I would never make it so easy.”

“How can you be so forgiving?” His serious tone held steadfast.

Ophelia chewed her lip. What was she to tell him? That despite it all, he had shown her more kindness than any man before? That she could not fault him for honoring something he believed in, even if she herself still failed to feel the same? That no matter what their situation might be, she simply could not help the way she felt about him . . . this attraction . . . much less fight it?

She hadn’t even considered forgiveness. 

“It’s easier this way,” she said finally. 

She closed her eyes to the silence for a long time, her mind overwhelmed. Her thoughts until now were to get home. Which was where, exactly? Lady Karina’s estate? Paxton? Britain? Did she still want to return? No, she decided, she did not. Nor did she want to do what the Universe had called her to do. What she wanted was to stay here, in this in-between, in this sensation of falling with Ethan, in these moments where she felt breathless and her heart fluttered in her chest.

Behind her, Ethan was mumbling to himself, and she strained to hear the words of the familiar cadence.

“ . . . winter bound her veins; so grows both stream and source of price, that lately fettered were with ice. So naked trees . . . ”

“ . . . get crisped ‘eads,” Ophelia said, still focused on the meal preparation. “And colored coats the roughest meads.”

Ethan had gone silent, and Ophelia turned toward him. 

“And all that vigor, youth, and spright . . . ” she said, and as she continued, he joined in, “ . . . that are but looked on by his light.”

Their gaze lingered on one another, Ethan’s chest void of the movement that comes with breathing. A watery-glaze filmed his deep brown eyes, and the fire shimmered against the golden hues. 

At last, he released the air from his lungs and shook his head. “You are a maid, and yet you recite Benjamin Johnson as though you were a scholar.”

“I am more than what defines me,” she said. “Aren’t we all?”

“Not all of us. Not me.”

Ophelia took the prepared plate of food for them to share and lowered herself to Ethan’s side by the fire. “I don’t believe that one bit.”

“You don’t have to.”

Ophelia placed her hand on his. “We are all more, when we allow ourselves to be.”

Ethan pulled his hand back and indicated the serpent’s mark on Ophelia’s neck. “How is the pain?”

She sighed. How foolish she had been to expect this man to open up to her. “The sting is returning.”

He nudged the dish from last night toward her. “There’s not much left.”

With one finger, she tugged the dish closer. A thin film of red remained at the bottom of the dish. “What is it?”

 “Cruor blood,” he said. “To ease the sting completely, that is the blood you need flowing through your own veins.”

“And for ye?” she asked. “It’d been the blood of the Ankou?”

“For me it had been nothing. I did not resist my calling.”

“Whose blood is this?”

“Don’t let it concern you.”

Ophelia remained firmly still. “Tell me.”

Ethan let out of a heavy breath. “The rule of the hunter is to never waste your kill. It’s not a sport. It’s a necessity.”

Ophelia crossed her arms and leveled her gaze at him. “So ye just killed some man, then? Ethan—”

“Some
man
?” His brow furrowed, and his expression grew dark. “You know as well as I what the Cruor are. I would hardly call him a man. I did what I had to do. Someday, so will you.”

So Ophelia was to become something seen as less than human? She closed her eyes for a moment, her thoughts swimming through her options. “If I were to do this—and I’m not saying I will—what would I need to do?”

The start of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. “You will do it. You know you must, and more than that, I believe you want to.”

She scowled at his amusement. “Why would I want to?”

“To honor your mother. This would be your chance to save many of her kind.”

“But kill how many ‘umans in the process? ‘ow is that any better?”

“There are other ways to hunt, if that is all that holds you back.”

No, it wasn’t all that held her back. Ethan wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know. She could hunt deer or some other wildlife. It’s not as though she’d never hunted before. But to hunt as a Cruor . . . ? She shook the thought away. 

“Ye haven’t answered what I’ve asked, Sir Ethan,” she said dryly. “What is it I’m expected to do in all of this?”

“Make a trade with one of the Cruor.” The timbre of his voice sparked every nerve along her spine.

Ophelia narrowed her eyes, her attraction for him wisely retreating to the far corners of her mind. “What kind of trade?”

“In exchange for turning you Cruor, I will offer the one who changes you the gift of sun magic. They will also have the gift of feeding on your blood, something that usually requires hunting an unwilling participant. You would be different.”

“Excuse me?” Ophelia leaned away. “I assure ye, I am no willing participant.”

“They will need to bite you for you to be turned. And if we don’t want them to kill you completely, we’ll have to offer something in return. I can grant them the ability to walk in sunlight.”

“Wouldn’t their bloodlust prevent that from ever ‘appening.”

“I know someone,” he said, placing his hand over hers. “She may accept the offer.”

Ophelia stared down at his hand resting on her own, and her heart thumped in her chest with a sudden pressure that left her breathless. Ethan followed her gaze and slowly eased his hand away. He didn’t return his gaze to hers—only stared at the fire, the crackling glow illuminating his bronze skin and firm jaw.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I should never lose focus, especially not with you. Are you prepared to do what needs to be done?”

“I am not sure I want to give any Cruor that kind of power,” she said, thinking of her mother’s stories once more. Visions of her father’s dead body flashed through her mind, and a realization hit her stomach with a sudden cold. Sharp, triangular scabs on her father’s jugular. It’d been them, hadn’t it? Not a robbery. That’s why nothing had been missing. “And then what? I become one of them—what purpose is there?”

“Then we will find a way to get you into the Maltorim, where you will wait for a girl.”

“Right. A girl, then. Will any girl do, or might ye have someone particular in mind? I am sure I can round up something for ye without all this trouble.”

“You know full well what I mean. You will know the girl when you see her, and only you will know.”

The more he spoke, the more impossible this task appeared. And that is when it occurred to her: She was considering the transformation—more so than she like to would admit. But how much of that was resignation or disbelief? The whole ordeal still carried the haze of a dream. And here she was with a man she was oddly drawn to and at the same time should probably be trying to escape.

“When would this occur?” she asked finally.

Ethan shook his head. “I can’t answer that.”

“Can’t?” Ophelia throat pinched and tears stung in her eyes. “Or won’t?”

His eyes searched hers, and a trembling started at her core. He didn’t respond.

“Will ye come with me?” she asked quietly.

His gaze lowered. “I have to do what I’m called for. I need to know you will do the same.”

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and replayed everything through her mind once more. Her parents would never want this. Never. But, at the same time, wouldn’t they be proud if they knew she’d sacrificed herself to save many? That was what she admired in Ethan, even if his selflessness stood between anything they might have between them.

“I will do my best,” she promised. But still she was unsure she could go through with it.

With that, Ethan stood to tend the fire, his back to her as silence recaptured the room.

From Damascus to Georgia,1808

Night crept over Damascus. After treating the rapidly warming serpent mark with more Cruor blood, Ophelia spun toward the open door. Ethan sat between the frame, his strong shoulders resting back, his face turned to the field where a small red fox burrowed in the dirt. The night breeze wisped through his hair. She set the blankets on the end of the bed and walked over.

“Is it far?” she asked.

“No.” He cleared his throat but didn’t look up at her. “Sorry. For a human, it’s very far, but it won’t be for us.”

Ophelia bunched her fingers together in front of her stomach. “Same as we got ‘ere then?”

“Yes.”

She stepped around, outside, and kneeled in the grass across from him, resting her hands in her lap. “Ethan, if something is wrong . . . ”

“I’d tell you,” he replied, lifting his gaze from a long piece of grass he’d been slipping between his fingers. Moonlight paled his tan complexion and darkened the shade of his jaw, making him appear more defeated than he had hours ago. “The Cruor I mentioned earlier is in the Americas. She’s not expecting us.”

“But I thought—”

“Please trust me.” He stood and dusted off his pants, then leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb. 

She tried for a smile and busied herself attempting to prop up a wildflower that was wilting among the yellow grass. 

When she looked up, Ethan’s expression was gentle. His gaze moved from the small flower to her eyes. There was a brief moment where she wondered if he, like Lady Karina, found her bright, ice-blue eyes alarming. But his express was soft, and her fears quickly melted. He walked behind her, crouched down, and covered her hand with his, his fingertips touching the flower. It revived before her very eyes, and Ophelia leaned her head against Ethan’s shoulder as she stared at the flower in awe.

“Beautiful,” she whispered, wishing she had been destined to be one of the Ankou—to be one of the elementals who revived life and put an end to evil, rather than bring death. 

She told him as much.

He sat back, and she turned around to face him. He was standing now, holding his hand out to her. 

“Come with me,” he said.

He took her hand and they fell through darkness just as they had when he’d taken her to the cabin. When she could see again, her stomach suddenly jolted. She hunched forward, heaving, but this time she did not vomit. She held her midsection until the feeling passed, then dried the moisture from her eyes.

Ethan smoothed his hand across her shoulder blades. “Traveling will get easier with time. By your third or fourth time you shouldn’t feel anything.”

“Why does this keep happening?” she demanded. She could hardly think straight.

“When we travel this way, we are in the
in-between
. You are suspended from such things as time and space and then thrust immediately back into it. Your system is forced to catch up instantly on arrival. If not for the magic the Ankou are granted, it could kill you.”

Ophelia sighed, nodding. “Where are we?”

Ethan turned her toward a small house and pressed his fingers to his lips.

He led her along the outer walls of the house until they reached a window. Inside, a man and a woman held each other, crying. Ophelia peered around the room, trying to make sense of what she was searching for. She found her answer on the floor. A young man sat, collapsed to his knees, covered in blood.

“What ‘appened?” Ophelia whispered.

“The young man just watched his comrades kill his sister.” Ethan’s voice was tight and his tone clipped. “He was unable to act to save her. He’s returned home to tell their parents.”

Ophelia backed away, shaking her head. When Ethan approached, she pounded her fist against his chest. “Why would ye show me such a thing?”

Ethan didn’t move, even as Ophelia tried once again to push him away. “The young girl who lost her life was a dual-breed. She was only killed because of what she is, and for no greater reason. This . . . this is what we’re fighting for. It is not that I want you in harm’s way, or that I wish for you to become a creature you detest. If I could do this for you, protect you from your calling, I would. But I cannot let my feelings for you sway our responsibility. I am confident you are capable, that you can do this to save the innocents in this world.”

Though Ophelia tried, she could not summon a response. She covered her mouth with hand, her entire body trembling. Could she live with herself, knowing all this, if she didn’t try to help?

They walked away from the house silently and stopped when they reached a small brook. Ethan leaned in to whisper against her ear. “We are destined for good. Remember that life sometimes must run its course, and all things must one day die. Some of us sooner than others.”