Rapture (Elfin Series) (25 page)

She looked down at her clothes and then back at him. “I shop at Kohl’s?” she said but it came out as a question.

He laughed. “You’re young.”

“Oh,” she snorted. “Right, how have I not aged? That’s a Syndra secret and one that I promised long ago never to reveal. So, that’s all I’ll say about that.”

He held his hands up. “Fair enough, I won’t pressure what’s not yours to give.”

“So what about you?” Lisa asked. “How did you end up with the dark elves?”

“It’s a family business,” he spat
out in obvious disgust. “I never wanted to be a part of it, but saying no is never an option for the men in my family. We were basically servants to the dark elves, you served or…,”

“You died,” she finished for him.

He nodded as he took a sip of his wine. “Exactly.”

Lisa felt the wine slowing her thoughts and she knew
that it was time to call it a night. She stood and set her glass in the sink. “Tony, it’s been nice talking to you, and as one who has been around the dark elves I will say you have fared rather well for yourself. And if my heart was available and you weren’t so young, I might even consider you an option,” she paused and then laughed. “And that’s the wine talking.” She waved as she walked from the room. “Goodnight,” she called out over her shoulder.

Tony watched her go, his heart beating just a tad faster than it had been. “I wouldn’t count me out just yet
, Lisa, not just yet,” he whispered to the empty kitchen.

“You
have to keep moving your feet. It keeps your opponent off balance and a moving target is much more difficult to stab than one that is standing still handing out a written invitation,” Rin told Oakley as they stood in Cassie’s back yard.

The only light that shone on them was the large full moon and the night sky that was peppered with stars. The cool air burned Oakley’s lungs as he
, sword in hand, once again took up the stance Rin had shown him. Oakley hadn’t asked. Rin had simply walked by him once things had calmed down and told him it was time he got in touch with his other half.

“You are half elf
, Oakley. You have the reflexes, the speed, all of it; you just have to learn to use it,” Rin continued to talk as he attacked and Oakley deflected and danced around the yard.

“Will I have a Chosen?” Oakley suddenly asked.

Rin stopped in mid attack and lowered his sword and met the halfling’s eyes. “Probably, but it might be centuries before you find her. I’ve yet to find mine. And it took Trik, well…,” he chuckled, “we won’t talk about how old the king is behind his back.”

Oakley smiled but it faded fast as he thought about not finding the one person who would complete him for another hundred years. “How do you do it? How do you keep going?”

“We fight.” Rin grinned mischievously. “Why do you think there are light and dark elves? We got sick of just sitting around waiting for our Chosens so we started killing each other.”

Oakley laughed. “Good to know that humans aren’t the only stupid race.”

Rin snorted. “You do realize that means you got a double dose of stupid, right?”

Oakley grinned. “I’m so glad my sister wasn’t here to see me walk into that one.”

“No worries, I’ll tell her.”

“Wait, isn’t there some warrior
’s code or something about not humiliating each other,” Oakley asked.

Rin got back in a battle stance and looked at Oakley with on
e brow raised. “I tell you what. You tag me one time and I won’t tell your sister that you labeled yourself as stupid squared.”

“Triktapic.
” Trik opened his eyes at the sound of his name. He was no longer in Cassie’s room. He was in the forest and the Forest Lords stood before him. He knelt and bowed his head as he felt their glory pour over him and through him. For the first time in a long time, he felt hope—real hope—flow through his veins.

“Yo
u have done well, our servant. Although you feel discouraged and are weary, know that you will be victorious. Stay on the path that is true. It will be hard, it will be narrow, and your enemy will attack from all sides, but if you fight the good fight you will conquer them. We created you for such a time as this, Great King of the Elven race. We have given you the power and the strength you will need to be victorious. Utilize those around you and accept their help, for no man was created to be an island. Take comfort from your Chosen and heed her wisdom; protect her with yours. Through her, your line will continue to lead the elves. We are pleased with you, Triktapic; you have found favor with us.”

Trik felt his heart swell as tears fell from his eyes. “Thank you,” he choked out the words and then they poured out of him unchecked. “I fear that I will collapse under the weight of what I must do. I feel Cassie’s pain and fear and I can’t take it from her and it tears me up inside. How do I do what I must when I know she is hurting? How do I move forward knowing that others could be hurt b
ecause of my choices and my leadership? How do I be what you created me to be?”

He felt enveloped in protection as a hand touched his forehead. A
nd if he could remember a time that his mother or father held him, he imagined that this is what it must have felt like.

“You move when we tell you to, you go where we tell you to, you do what we ask, you love who we love, you sacrifice freely, you forgive
, but you deal out justice where we show you it is needed. You trust your Creators and when you stumble, know that we will help you get back up. This is not too much for you, Triktapic. It is enough, but it is not too much. We have given you wide shoulders for which to bear it and a strong back to carry the load and when it is too much, you kneel before us and we will carry it for you. You are loved, you are chosen, and you are blessed. Do not forget what we have told you; do not forget us, for we never forget you.”

“I have to wonder if there really is such a thing as too late and part of me, the romantic in me
, wants to say that it’s never too late. But then I’m faced with an evil that I’ve never experienced, and it’s so dark and so hideous that I find myself wholeheartedly nodding that yes, there is indeed such a thing as too late.” ~Cassie

“I can’t go with you;
I’m sorry, Tarron. I love you, but that’s not the life I want. I don’t want to live forever. I want to live for the eighty or so years allotted to me. I want to live this life I have to the absolute fullest and experience everything it has to offer with the knowledge that it could be the last time I experience it. That’s what makes life so precious, don’t you see?” Lucy implored him.

Tarron had stopped listening after
I can’t go with you
. His mind had shut down at those words, and all he could hear was her voice ringing in his ears with the finality of rejection. She was choosing to live as a human without him because he had already told her that he would not lower himself to the status of mortal. Didn’t she see what she was giving up? Didn’t she see the gift he was offering her, and yet, here she stood throwing it back in his face. He felt bitterness take root and wrap around his heart like a twisted vine crushing out any compassion or affection he might have had for his Chosen despite the fact that she was human.

“Then you will live a short, miserable life because to be separated fr
om your mate against your will is painful. That is the life you choose,” he told her.

“You could stay here with me,” Lucy said hopefully with her wide innocent eyes. “Don’t you want to be with me? You told me that you loved me
, Tarron. Is one lifetime of our love not enough for you?

Those eyes at one time could have persuaded him to move mountains for her, but not anymore.

“I already told you that I would not choose a mortal life. Why would I when I can have many lifetimes?”

“Then I am not the only one choosing
to live in pain,” she countered, though not rudely.

Lucy was never rude;
she was the gentlest creature he had ever met and by some cruel twist of fate, the Forest Lords had given her to him. They should have known that he could never handle something so fragile and pure.

“I will always love you
, Tarron. I will be here if you change your mind and I’ll always take you back,” her voice echoed in his mind as she turned and walked away from him. It was the last time he had ever spoken to her, and it was the last time he had allowed himself to feel anything but anger until now.

Tarron woke with a start as sweat dripped down his brow and across his back. His breathing was rapid as the fresh memories of Lucy flooded his mind and the pain that always followed wracked his muscles. Even after her death
, the thought of her could evoke pain in him. He hated her and yet he loved her still.

He pulled the picture he had taken from Cassie’s house out of his pocket and stared down at the blonde beauty that so closely resembled his Lucy. He rubbed a finger across it gently as if he were caressing her precious skin. “You will be mine, and this time you will choose life. This time I won’t let you go.”

From the Author

Thank you so much for taking your time to read Rapture. I truly hope you enjoyed it. Please continue reading to find some amazing books by amazing authors just waiting for you to purchase and curl up with!

Please Enjoy this Excerpt of Desolate, By Amy Miles

DESO
LATE

Book I of the Immortal Rose Trilogy

An Arotas Prequel

ONE

1690, Transylvania

Caro de carne mea. Os ex ossibus meis. Lorem nocte in saecula saeculorum.

The words whisper through my mind like a long forgotten song as my eyes flutter open.
 Light and dark battle around me, seeking purchase on the room.  Flames lick the wooden walls, trailing overhead to embrace the knotted timbers that hold the inflamed roof aloft.

Ash pelts down upon me like a livid rain, singeing flesh and hair.
 I cry out as I roll away from the gaping hole above, beating at the embers that set the hem of my dress alight.  

I pause as my fingers glide across the rich fabric of my voluminous skirts, seizing it between my fingers to draw it up so that I can see it in the dim light.
 The material was once white and adorned with lace, accustomed for a wedding.  It is now a dingy gray, soiled and charred into fraying bits.  The ruffled hem of my dress crumbles into ash as I run my finger along it, fluttering down to land upon my bare feet.

I had slippers,
I think as I turn to look about me, confused and dazed by my odd surroundings.

Heat from the flames strokes my cheek with mounting intensity.
 I can feel my eyelashes beginning to mat together with a sweat that drips from my brow.  I swipe the beads away with the back of my hand and realize a fever has captured me in its grasp.

The air hangs thick before me, weighted with smoke and the scent of something repulsive, as if the grave itself spewed forth its inhabitants.

I blink to see through the haze, startled to discover that when I focus, I can see each particle of ash that drifts to the floorboards, leaving a thick dusting on everything within sight.

“Hello?” I call, my throat croaking with lack of moisture.

My hands tremble as I push against the floor, attempting to rise.  My leg muscles coil and I am sent careening backward.  The wind is knocked from my chest as I slide down the inflamed wall.  The scent of my burning hair stings in my nose as I crawl forward to escape the sweltering heat.  

How did I jump like that?
 
I stare down at my fingers, noting the definition of my skin stretched taut over pale flesh.

I was never one for hiding from the sun, as some ladies were accustomed to.
 I lived for the moment when I could escape the confines of my father’s home and be free.  My mother loved to scold me about my freckles and sun kissed skin, but as I turn my hands over, I realize the golden hue of my flesh has been sucked away.

My gaze trails up from my hands, pausing over the corded muscles that now lie just beneath the nearly translucent flesh of my forearms.
 I poke at the muscle, bewildered by its presence, but I have only a scant second to wonder at the changes in my body before I become aware of the blood that coats my upper arm, vining down to my wrist.  I draw my hands up to my face and see drying blood caked within the half crescent circle of my fingernails.

“Hello?” I whisper as I lower my hands and stare in horror at the billowing smoke before me.
 The fire has begun to spread to all corners of the room.  I hear movement in the darkened shadows but cannot spy what causes it.  “Is anyone there?”

A low, guttural chuckle rises from somewhere within the depths of the thick cloud.
 My stomach clenches painfully as the laughter rolls over me like a glacial downpour.

A memory seizes me: My family, perched resolutely in long wooden pews.
 My brother Petru sat beside my mother, stiff backed and vexed to silence.  Storm clouds brewed along his handsome features, darkening his eyes.  His hair was combed and slicked with mother’s cooking oil, a look that would have brought tears to my eyes had I not been so preoccupied with my own ordeal.

My sister, Adela sat beside him, prim and proper in her beautiful dress and ribbons.
 Her hair shone like waves of summer wheat in the candlelight and her heart shaped face lit with excitement.  This was her first wedding.

Ahead of me had been an altar of glossed wood and gold, achingly familiar from my mornings spent in this very room for weekly service.
 A large crucifix stood atop the altar and an aged, cracking leather bible rested atop its polished surface.  I fixed my gaze on the likeness of Christ, praying for deliverance, but none came.

I can remember hearing my feet whisper across the wooden plank floor as I slowly made my way down the aisle.
 My father’s rotund stomach jiggled as he nodded at each of the guests seated nearest the aisle.  

My cousins arrived just this morning for the wedding, all the way from the southern province of Wallachia.
 I had not seen them since their youngest, a wee pig-faced runt of a boy, was added to their rather excessive litter.  My entire family had gathered from near and far for the occasion, nearly fifty people in all.  My father had seen to that.

It is not every day that a Dragomir married into such a highborn family.

I remember the feel of my intended’s hand as he clasped mine in his.  His flesh was supple with youth and oddly warm to the touch.  If I had reason to care I would have questioned him as to his health, but I dare not.  Not after I met his eye.

Hunger...that is what I saw when I looked at him for the first time, not one moon past.
 It was as obvious as it was appalling.  His dark gaze made my skin crawl and my fingers tremble from within the confines of my skirts when my father presented me to him.

There was something indescribably evil about my betrothed.
 Why was I the only one to see it?

I suspect that Petru knew, but he was too busy chasing skirts to think much of it until Father announced a deal had been struck.
 I was sold like cattle in a market.  My pleas did little good.  Nor did my tears.

I believe my mother knew of my distress but she had learned long ago that no one defied my father’s wishes.
 His word was law in the Dragomir household, and to many without.  My sister, dear sweet Adela, knew of my fears.  She would cradle me in the night, just as I used to do for her when nightmares plagued her as a child.  She would whisper to me, plotting our escape.  We would head to Wallachia and marry farmers and be blissfully happy.  Childish dreams, but I prayed for them none the less.  

When Vladimir Enescue seized my hand before the altar, I wanted to pull back, to run and hide in the woods so that I could not be found, but his grip was far too tight and my father’s reproval fierce.

I was trapped.

I do so pledge.
 
My own damning words echo endlessly through my mind as I crawl forward, my hands flailing about before me in search of the pews my family sat upon.  Heated splinters easily burrow into the flesh of my palms as I hunt, drawn inexplicably toward a sweet, yet oddly tinny scent.

My hand touches something damp and sticky and I rear back.
 My knees ache from kneeling upon the hard floor, but I dare not move.  “No,” I moan as I stare down at my mother’s corpse.  The flesh of her throat has been shredded, as if a rabid animal tore at her repeatedly.  The front of her gown is a blanket of crimson.  It clings to her like a vile sludge.

I turn away as my stomach contracts.
 I know that I am about to be ill, but my convulsion stutters to a halt as I spy my father’s hand just beyond my mother, sticking out from behind the second pew.  Only his hand.  I cannot see where the remainder of his body has gone.  

Beyond him I see piles of my fair-haired relations strewn about the room, some dangling over the backs of pews while others have been carelessly tossed aside in the aisle.
 Their clothes are alight from the embers that flitter down from the crumbling ceiling.  

The scent of death rises in my nostrils and I gag.
 Bile burns in my throat as I peer through the smoke that now escapes through the charred hole in the roof to see my brother’s body hung from the double doors leading into the church.  A rusty nail impales through Petru’s shoulder so that he slumps to one side, his chin propped against his sunken chest.  Blood coats his wedding clothes, dripping from the tips of his shoes.  The sheath at his hip is barren, his sword lost among the carnage.

I remember everything.
 
I turn about in place, searching for my new husband.  I know he is here, somewhere.  

Vladimir Enescue did this.
 He and his horrid brother.

Threads from the woven tapestries along the walls drift to the floor in charred piles of irreplaceable ash.
 The plank walls groan as the foundation of the church begins to deteriorate.

The fire appears to leap from body to body before me as I lurch to my feet and weave among the blue flames, desperately trying to fight against the pain swelling in my chest.
 It is not the dull ache of remorse but a sharp, jagged pain that steals my breath away.  Warm blood clings to my throat and chest like a second skin, sticky and maddening.  My bronze ringlets feel heavy laden as they slap against my face, matted with congealing blood.

The scent of boiling flesh needles at my eyes and turns my stomach rancid.
 The flames chase after me as I frantically scour the pews in search of my sister.