Craved (Book #2 of the Vampire Legacy) (13 page)

“I know,” he said. “And I am sorry. I didn’t plan on this.”

The thought of his death pained her terribly. She couldn’t lose him.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why can’t I just give you the key? I mean, I don’t even know what it is, but if I have it, why can’t I just hand it to you? I don’t want to see you die.”

He shook his head.

“You don’t understand. It’s not that simple. Yes, you do have the key. I have seen it. In fact, I see it right now.”

Scarlet saw him look down at her throat, and she suddenly realized.

Her necklace. The one her mom had given her. The one that the priest had freaked out about. That was his key. That was what they wanted.

“Just take it,” she said, reaching back to unclasp it.

He reached up and grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

“I will not,” he said firmly. “In order for our elixir to work, in order for our kind to be immortal, there are two steps. The first is that they must use the key, find the elixir and drink. The second is that they must kill the key-giver.”

Scarlet looked at him, and her eyes widened in horror.

“I’m sorry,” he added softly. “Legend has it there can only be one immortal creature on earth. That is what they believe. And that is why I cannot accept the key.”

He stared off into the river, as she collected her thoughts. Her mind was spinning

“That is why I’ve been lying to my family,” he said. “I don’t trust them. They are desperate. They will stop at nothing to get your key. And to kill you. That is why I brought you here, to this island. To be safe from them. The water, it protects us from their watchful ears. Not all of my kind are as caring: if I don’t bring back the necklace, they will try to kill you.”

He reached out and slid a small ring on her index finger. It shined even in the night, covered with diamonds and rubies and sapphires. All along its gold band were ancient symbols. It looked priceless. She was amazed as it slid on her finger: it fit perfectly.

“This will protect you from them,” he said. “If one of them ever tries to attack you, this will save you.”

“But there’s still one thing I don’t understand,” she said, feeling on the verge of tears. “If I don’t give you my necklace, you’ll die. By saving me, you’re allowing yourself to die. You would rather die yourself than see me dead? Why? You don’t even know me.”

He looked down, then looked up, his eyes filled with tears.

“You’re right. I don’t know you. But I do love you. And I would happily give up my life for you. I know it sounds crazy. But that’s how I feel.”

Scarlet was overwhelmed with emotion. She hardly knew what to say. She’d never met anyone as intense as Sage. And never met anyone who loved her as much. It was crazy. But somehow, she understood. Somehow, she felt the same amount of love for him. And she didn’t want him to die.

She reached up and took off her necklace and pushed it into his palm.

“I don’t want you to die,” she said, crying. “Please. Take it.”

He pushed it back into her palm, as his eyes welled up.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I never would.”

Scarlet leaned in and embraced Sage, and he hugged her back. She hugged him tightly, not wanting to let him go, overwhelmed with grief, love, longing. Anger at fate. She couldn’t understand why the world had brought them together only to tear them apart. She clung to him, crying, willing for the universe to change their destiny—and knowing somehow that it would not. As he hugged her back, his muscles rippling, she felt so safe in his arms, and yet so sad, knowing that in just a few weeks, she would never be in those arms again.

Did fate have to be so cruel?

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Caitlin sat in the back of the foreign taxi as it wound its way through the narrow streets of Paris in the pouring rain. It had been a long, rough taxi ride from the airport, and she hadn’t slept a wink on the plane. She had dozed off once or twice, but to fast, rapid nightmares which forced her to wake instantly, determined not to fall asleep again.

Now she was exhausted as they went block to block, combing the streets, searching for the bookstore. It was daybreak, and she could barely see out the window. They had been circling this small group of blocks for nearly an hour now, and Caitlin was beginning to feel hopeless. She’d been arguing back and forth with the taxi driver, he speaking French and she English, and neither understanding each other.

“Six rue Charlemagne!” Caitlin yelled again, enunciating each syllable.

He screamed something back in French, which she did not understand. They were both at the end of each other’s ropes.

As they circled the block yet again, she looked out and again caught a glimpse of the sign. Clearly, this was the right street. Then she watched the numbers, saw them climb from one to ten. But for some reason, there was no number six. She couldn’t understand it. They had been around this block again and again, with always the same result. She knew it was the right block—there was no other block by this name in Paris. It
had
to be it. Maybe she was just missing it from the back of the taxicab. She had no choice. She had to get out and see for herself.

“Pull over!” she yelled out.

She paid the driver, gathered her briefcase and jumped out of the cab into the pouring rain. The rain came down in sheets, and she hadn’t brought an umbrella. In seconds, she was soaked.

Caitlin ran down the deserted, cobblestone block, taking shelter beneath an awning jutting out from one of the old buildings. She stood flush against the wall, just barely getting out of the rain, and wiped the water from her hair and eyes. She looked down at the handwritten street name and number again, but now the ink was running with water.

She put it away. No matter. She’d memorized the address. Six rue Charlemagne.

Caitlin looked out and from where she was standing and scrutinized the numbers on all the buildings. She was on the even side of the street—it had to be on the other side.

She ran out into the rain, everything so loud from the pouring water, getting completely doused again, and crossed over to the other side of the street. She peered closely at the numbers. She saw an eight, but no six. As she looked closely, though, she realized she’d overlooked something: a tiny, narrow staircase, leading down. Between the buildings. On the door, below street level, was a faded number. She peered carefully, and her heart fluttered. Six.

There was no storefront, but then again, that made sense: the old lady wanted no visitors.

Caitlin took two steps down, reached out, grabbed the ancient lion’s head knocker, and slammed it several times against the door. The sound reverberated in the empty block.

Caitlin stood there and looked at her watch: 6 AM local time. Aiden had warned her that the woman may not answer, even if she were in. But now, at this time of day, in this weather, what were the odds?

Caitlin had a sinking feeling this would not go well. She couldn’t stand to contemplate her options: she had crossed half the world for this, and the woman might not even answer.

Caitlin slammed the knocker again and again, her clothes completely soaked as she stood there. After several more minutes of waiting, she finally turned and examined the streets, looking for any sign of a café, any place where she could wait, and rest, and get a cup of coffee, and warm up. But all the storefronts were closed this time of day, their gates down. There wasn’t a soul in sight.

Caitlin stood there, shivering, wondering what to do next. Suddenly, to her shock, she heard a noise at the door. There was the sound of several heavy bolts unlocking, and to her amazement, the door opened.

There stood a small, petite woman, who looked to be in her 90s. She stood there proudly, standing erect, staring up at Caitlin disapprovingly with her sea-blue French eyes. They looked as if they’d witness the creation of the world.

The old woman snapped at her. It was something in French, which Caitlin did not understand.

“I’m sorry,” Caitlin replied. “But I don’t speak French.”

The woman merely stared back, cooly.

Caitlin worried she might close the door, and thought quick.

“I’m a friend of Aiden’s. He sent me here,” she said in a rush.

The woman stared back coolly, expressionless, with a slight frown.

Then, suddenly, she took a half step back, and began to shut the door.

Caitlin could not believe it. She was not going to let her in.

Desperate, she stepped forward and stuck her foot in the crack before the door could close.

“Please. You don’t understand. I just traveled half the world to get here. I’m just a mother who loves her daughter very much. Who’s concerned for her. You have a book I need. A very rare book. Please. I have nowhere else to turn.”

The woman stared back at her for what felt like forever, then slowly, her expression softened. The woman looked warily both ways herself, then gestured her in.

Caitlin quickly hurried in from the pouring rain, and as she did, the woman slammed and locked the door behind her.

Caitlin stood there, in the low, arched-ceiling room, the rain slamming against the windows, and a puddle of water quickly forming beneath her feet on the ancient wood floors. She looked down, embarrassed.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

The old woman handed her something soft, and she realized: a towel. She was touched. She dried her hair, so grateful, then dried her face and neck.

“Take off your coat,” the woman ordered.

Caitlin was shocked: she spoke English. And she cared.

Caitlin peeled off her dripping coat, and as she did, the woman placed another dry towel over her shoulders. Caitlin rubbed it, drying her shirt.

“Thank you,” she said, so appreciative.

“It’s warmer here,” the woman said, as she led Caitlin to a small fireplace on the opposite side of the room, inside of which was a raging fire. Caitlin walked to it and held out her hands, relishing in its heat.

Caitlin looked around, surveying the cozy room. It was dimly lit by candle sconces and bedecked with rugs and cozy, antique sitting chairs. What caught her eye most, though, were the bookcases: she saw at a glance that there was an abundance of riches in this small room. She was astonished. It was a treasure trove of ancient, rare volumes. She felt as if she’d stepped back in time, to a lost world.

“I’m looking for a very rare volume,” Caitlin said. “I’m not even certain it exists. Vairo’s
De Fascino Libri Tres
. I am looking for the other half of a missing page.”

Slowly, Caitlin reached into her bag and removed the folder and the torn page. She held it out, and the old woman’s eyes widened just a bit as she examined it.

After a few moments, she handed it back to Caitlin.

“Do you know it?” Caitlin asked. “Do you have it?”

“Forty years ago, I took in a collection of the most obscure and rare editions of occult titles,” the woman said, her voice scratchy and barely audible over the crackling fire. “I didn’t want to, frankly, but my late husband insisted. I’ve never liked the energy off of those books. I walled them off, so that no one would ever know they were here. Including myself. I’ve had some very unsavory types come looking for them over the years. And I’ve always denied their existence.”

The old woman suddenly crossed the room, reached up and pulled a light fixture on the far wall.

To Caitlin’s amazement, the stone wall suddenly slid to the side, to the sound of stone scraping stone. It revealed a secret room.

The old woman stepped in, raised her candle, and lit several candles sconces inside the room. As she did, Caitlin could see that it was jam packed with rare books, stacks and stacks of them. There was barely room to walk.

“If I have what you’re looking for,” the old woman said, as she came back out and faced Caitlin, “it’s in there.”

If?
Caitlin wondered. Her heart sank as she took in the room: it was massive. There were thousands and thousands of titles, all unorganized, throw in random heaps on the floor. Her professional eye told her it could take weeks to go through them all. She didn’t have time.

“Do you have any idea at all if you have it?” Caitlin asked. “Do you have any idea at all where in this room it might be?”

The old woman shook her head.

“It was forty years ago,” she said, “and even back then, I barely glanced at them. You’re going to have to find out the hard way.”

Caitlin took a few tentative steps into the room, ducking as she went beneath the low arched stone, and as she did, the woman turned to her.

“When you’re done, knock three times.”

With that, the old woman pulled the lever and suddenly, the door slid closed on Caitlin.

Caitlin stood there, amazed, scanning the mountains of books, and wondering what she had gotten herself into.