Cursed Kiss (Paranormal Romance) (24 page)

Pablo joined Luka and ducked under his arm to help him walk. "Come. Clare said she'll follow."

Relief and fear seared inside, a potent cocktail. At least they'd be safe.

As Pablo dragged Luka into the tunnel, he glanced back at her, his face tight with pain. She hoped this wasn't the last time she saw him.

As soon as they were gone, the nervous quivering in Clare's belly faded. An unnatural serenity filled her. Now she had only herself to worry about. She could concentrate on dealing with the egregore.

The thing that had been Edward fell to its hands and knees and started crawling towards her. With a shaking hand, she dragged the notes she'd made for this eventuality out of her jeans pocket and angled them towards the lamplight.

She should have a temple with an altar and tools. She'd have to make do with a borrowed dagger and a piece of paper with the egregore's name and sigil inscribed on it.

Her pulse raced as her gaze darted from the list to the approaching creature and back. It was moving slowly, but she didn't know how strong it was. What were its intentions? How much time did she have?

The smell nearly overwhelmed her as the egregore drew closer. It halted about five feet from her and raised its head to reveal dark, empty eye sockets. Its appearance as a man had almost completely faded. Its body was pale yellow clay, with dark cracks radiating from the slashes Monique had made with her sword. Cockroaches busily wriggled in and out of the holes that had been its nose, mouth, ears, and eyes.

A harsh, grating sound rasped within its chest. She strained to make out the words "Release me." Then the creature's head dropped between its shoulders and it fell silent. Whatever or whoever Monique had trapped in her creation, it wanted to be set free.

Clare felt in her pocket for the pen she'd brought, then wrote the name Edward Gregore and a representation of the cockroach sigil on a strip of paper she tore from her notes.

With a steadying breath, she kneeled on the ground in front of the egregore. It was still and silent, head bowed. Intuition alone told her some consciousness still inhabited the battered clay shell. Sympathy tightened her chest. Poor soul trapped in that body for years, living a life in servitude, forced to obey Monique's twisted commands.

Eyes closed, she whispered a short prayer of forgiveness to let it go without the burden of blame. She opened her mind and sensed a hint of its torment.

Reluctantly, Clare stretched out her hand, flexed her fingers, and placed them on the egregore's head. The vibration of hundreds of tiny legs inside the clay made her skin crawl. "Thank you for allowing the use of this being," she said and glanced down at her paper. "Your work is done. Your essence is one with the divine. I return your spirit to its source."

With the tip of her dagger, she traced the cockroach sigil onto the figure's head. "When you cease to exist, this sigil will no longer summon you." Then she traced the name Edward Gregore with the dagger and said, "This name will no longer summon you."

Clare sat back on her heels and held the slip of paper bearing the name and sigil above the lantern flame. It flared with a soft hiss and was devoured in a few seconds. "Let the energy that gave this being life now return to its source."

She prayed this would be enough to free the trapped spirit. Clare focused on the energy of the clay creature. After a few moments, warmth washed across her skin like an exhale and peace suffused her. It was done.

All the cockroaches had disappeared and the air in the cave seemed fresher. The egregore's body collapsed to the ground, and crumbled into dust.

There was one last service she must do for whoever had been trapped inside the clay: bury what remained of the body. Tears pricked her eyes as she fetched a strip of the discarded dress material. She laid the fabric out and brushed the dusty clay onto it, then gathered it into a bundle. She spared one last look for the serpent hunched within its shadowed corner, no doubt digesting its meal.

Grabbing a lantern, she reveled in the simple pleasure of being alive. She walked down the tunnel into the dim light of dusk to find Pablo and Luka and head home.

***

Clare sat on a padded green chair next to Luka's bed in a private room in the hospital at Tours, France. She couldn't stop touching him, his face, his hands, his hair. She stroked his knuckles, ran her fingertips lightly over his palm, rubbed her cheek against the dark hair on his arm. The casual touching most people took for granted was a luxury she'd never grow tired of.

They'd discovered the curse Monique placed on him had ended with her death. Clare had been relieved to bring him to the hospital for proper nursing care. He'd lost so much blood, she'd feared he would die.

Since she'd brought him in, she'd only left his side when they banished her from the room. He slept for thirty-six hours, suffering from exhaustion and shock. The doctor wanted to give him a blood transfusion. Luka refused on religious grounds to avoid them testing his blood type. Although the doctor argued, he'd agreed Luka would survive without, which was lucky, as they would never have found a match.

Clare laid her head on his blanket and rested her cheek against his hand feeling the ridges of scar tissue on his palm. Another souvenir from Monique.

She closed her eyes and must have drifted off because the next time she roused, twilight shadows filled the room. As she opened her eyes, the backs of Luka's fingers caressed her cheek.

"Hello, sleeping beauty," he said.

Her heart skittered wildly to hear his voice and feel his touch. Clare raised her head, stretching out the crick in her neck. "You're the one who's been sleeping the days away," she said with a smile.

Luka rested against three plump pillows. Unshaven and bruised with tangled hair, he looked disreputable. A far cry from the elegant businessman she'd first met. But then he'd never been exactly what he seemed.

Despite his condition, his skin already had a healthier glow and she realized how tired he'd always looked while he was cursed.

She poured water into the glass on the nightstand and offered it to him. "Last time you woke, the doctors monopolized you." She watched him drink, then gently smoothed the hair back from his forehead and touched her lips to his temple. "This time it's my turn." She grinned, slightly embarrassed by the admission she had to make. "I told them I was your fiancée so they'd let me stay with you."

She glanced down at her hand, examined the ravaged remains of her fingernails, and waited for him to comment. He didn't. When she raised her gaze uncertainly, he regarded her with amusement sparkling in his eyes.

"You tease." A burst of longing stole her breath. How she loved him and wanted him.

"Come here," he whispered, pulling on her hand.

Clare brushed her lips across his cheek and breathed in the scent of his skin. He cradled the back of her head in his palm. She thought her heart would burst as his lips met hers. Tears pricked her eyes. Clare blinked them away and gently kissed the angry purple bruise discoloring his jaw.

"How did you get this?" she asked, trailing a finger along his jaw.

He grimaced. "When I went through the window, Monique was waiting for me outside with some guards. I fought them but I was outnumbered."

Clare felt a little spurt of anger. "I hate to think she hurt you and Pablo." And her father and all the other poor souls who'd crossed Monique's path. Clare felt soiled to be related to such a monster.

Luka threaded his fingers through hers. "Let's look forward, not back. We've much to look forward to, my darling." A shadow crossed his face. "How's Pablo? He hasn't been in to see me."

"I know." She squeezed Luka's fingers. "Pablo's locked himself in his room. I've knocked on his door, but he always tells me to go away."

"I thought he'd take it badly. It's difficult to believe…all those years I suffered, because of Monique's spite." He laughed hollowly. "I even thought that in her own perverse way, she'd helped me stay alive by giving me Pablo. I should have realized my condition was her doing."

This train of thought wasn't going to help Luka recover. Time to change the subject. "The doctor told me you can come home tomorrow."

He looked up and his eyes softened. "Home, yes. I long to hold you in my arms as I sleep, have you with me when I wake. I want to walk by the river and hold your hand. I want to dance with you, do all the things I've dreamed of." He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the inside of her wrist. "I want to make you my wife, Clare."

It sounded like a dream come true, except for one huge problem. "What about Pablo?"

She hadn't told Luka that Pablo had asked her to marry him. The right moment hadn't come up. Although she was sure Pablo only meant it if they lost Luka. He wouldn't expect to marry her now, but he would expect to stay with Luka.

"Pablo will want to live with us," Luka said, as if reading her mind. "I know it's not ideal, but you understand, don't you?"

Clare didn't want to hurt Pablo, but someone would end up a third wheel and that never worked out well. "If we marry, he'll be upset."

"I know." Luka ran a hand over his face. "It won't be easy, but I want to make it work."

"Monique might be gone, but she's still screwing with our lives."

Luka closed his eyes and dropped his head back on the pillows.

Chapter Eighteen

It was late afternoon the following day before the doctor discharged Luka. When they arrived back at Château Montgatine, Clare slipped her arm through Luka's and tried to help him up the stairs to the second floor. With a smile, he eased his arm out of her grip and took her hand. He was already much better.

"You should go straight to bed," she said as they paused on the landing halfway up the staircase.

He cast her a teasing glance. "I know you can't wait to get me into bed."

A dash of excitement raced through her. "That
would
take your mind off your injury."

At the top of the stairs, Luka rested his hands on the stone windowsill and gazed over his vineyards towards the River Cher. "It's good to be home."

Colorful diamond-shaped flowerbeds patterned the lawn and the summer air was laden with the fragrance of flowers and fruit. To Clare, the château already felt more like home than her apartment in New York.

She'd been a city girl all her life, but like a wild animal who'd been raised in a cage, the scent of this newly discovered freedom called to her.

Luka sighed and glanced at Pablo's bedroom door. "I've been dreading this."

Clare squeezed Luka's hand. "He's spoken to Madame Rousseau. She told me he's started eating again."

Luka knocked on Pablo's door and called his name. When he got no response, he tried the handle and found it locked.

"No good?" Clare said.

"Let's try another way in." Luka led her along the corridor and into his bedroom. The décor was plainer and more masculine than the room she occupied. Her room felt like summer, his like fall. A forest green carpet and walls were relieved by carved wooden wall panels decorated with twisting vines laden with fruit. The heavy wooden furniture also bore the vine pattern. The drapes and bed covering were a tapestry design in deep autumn colors of green, brown, and dark red.

Luka went to a connecting door in the wall opposite the bed. "This joins with Pablo's room. He likes to be close in case I need him." Opening the door a crack, he called Pablo's name.

Clare followed Luka into the room. Pablo was in bed, curled up beneath a black and white bedcover. All she could see of him was a swatch of black hair against the white pillow. His room was individual—Art Deco, with bronze masks above the fireplace and numerous colorful glass lampshades and potted palms.

She waited at the bottom of the bed. Luka walked around the side and pulled up a chair. "Are you awake, my friend? We need to talk."

When Pablo didn't answer, Luka eased the bedcovers back to reveal Pablo's face. He slept on, his fists curled near his face like a child, his breathing shallow and even.

Tender concern filled Luka's eyes as he re-covered Pablo and smoothed the sheet in place. She bit her lip. Luka would put Pablo's happiness before his own. The very qualities that made her love Luka might also mean she'd lose him.

Luka returned to stand at her side. "I'm worried."

"Let him sleep." If Pablo slept for a while, at least she would have some time alone with Luka before the difficult decisions had to be made. "You're right next door. You'll hear if he wakes."