Edge of Darkness (30 page)

“Oh God,” Christian whispered, remembering in excruciating detail the expression on Ember’s face when he’d thrown her out of his house that night. The absolute self-loathing, the black, bottomless depth of despair.

It was a lie. She didn’t kill anyone. The only thing she was guilty of was surviving when everyone else died.

“The reason I’m telling you this, Mr. McLoughlin, is that I’d like you to be involved in her treatment, if at all possible. The more support she has, the better her chances of recovery. I don’t know if she’s still cutting herself—”

“Cutting!” Christian hissed, physically sickened at the thought of Ember hurting herself.

“Yes, apparently that was an issue when she lived in the States. Her last doctor prescribed lithium to manage her depression, although I doubt if she’s still taking it—if indeed she ever did. The medication would have done too much to dull the pain. Pain she very much feels she deserves.”

Christian fought the urge to scream. To smash something with his bare fists. To beat something bloody.

“I’d like you to watch her very carefully for the next few months for any signs that she may be hurting herself physically, and let me know. Also…please keep this call between the two of us. At this point in her treatment, it will do more harm than good if she feels cornered. I’ll suggest to her during our next session that she start bringing you along, perhaps once a month, and we can go from there. Does that sound all right with you?”

Christian was speechless. He felt as if someone had just cut his legs off at the knee.

“I know it’s a lot to process. Please call me if you have any questions; once you’ve had a chance to absorb this, we can talk further.”

As if from the bottom of a deep, black well, Christian heard his voice thanking her and saying good-bye.

When he arrived home, he felt Ember’s absence in the house as a solid coldness inside his chest as soon as he crossed the threshold of the front door. He ran from room to room calling her name, he dialed her cell phone over and over, but there was no answer.

Then he found the letter.

Left on top of the Steinway where they’d made love, it was folded in thirds and enclosed in an envelope that also held the necklace she always wore, the fine chain with her parents’ gold wedding rings.

The letter tore his heart out of his chest, ripped it in two, and left it broken and bloody on the floor.

Then, when he found the door to the woodshed open, the plastic chest inside empty, the pain turned to panic, which turned to cold, limb-numbing horror.

Because he realized exactly what Ember was going to do.

Dear Christian,

As I write those words, I’m smiling. People use the word “dear” all the time without really thinking about what it means, but that is exactly what you are to me: dear. Beloved. I never imagined I would feel that for anyone, much less someone as amazing as you. You told me I make you feel free, but you gave me something even better, something I will never be able to adequately express—at least not in words.

You showed me the way out of hell.

For that, I will love you forever.

I want you to know I realize this won’t be easy for you. I know how much this will hurt, how you’ll blame yourself, how you’ll wish you could have done something differently. And I’m sorry. Please believe me when I say that, because it’s true. But you are strong and I am so, so weak—you will survive this. Please forgive me. Please live your life and find someone who deserves you, someone kind, and beautiful, and unbroken. Don’t let the memory of me ruin even a single day.

Because this is the only thing I can do that will make up for everything bad that came before. I know that now. And because of you—because you loved me—I’m not afraid.

You make me unafraid. Do you have any idea what a gift that is?

It’s beyond a gift. It’s a blessing.

You found me in the dark, you shone your light on me, and you made me feel beautiful, for the very first time in my life. I want to say thank you for that. I want to say it to your face and then kiss you, but this letter will have to do. Know that if I could, right now I’d be kissing you, because that’s one of the best things I ever knew.

Humans can be bonded mates, too—I wasn’t sure if you knew that. I suppose it doesn’t happen very often, but it can. I’m proof of it. There is nothing in this life or any other I wouldn’t do for you. I love you, and all the broken things inside me love you, too. I’m sorry now that I didn’t say it out loud, that I didn’t tell you how I felt over and over. You are the dream that I didn’t deserve, but am so grateful for.

I love you, Christian. I love you.

That is the one thing I got right. Loving you made all the rest of it—the years of darkness and hell—worthwhile.

Even if we’d only had a single day together, it still would have been worth it.

If I believed in heaven, I’d say I hope to see you there one day. But I know there are no angels on clouds, no cherubs, or singing choirs waiting for me. I don’t know what will come once I’ve left this life behind, but in my heart of hearts I hope it’s just…peace. Quiet. An end to all the pain and madness.

Only one thing will never end: my love for you. No matter where I go after I’m dead, you will be with me. You will be the flame in my soul that never burns out.

Always. Forever. Until the end of time.

Ember

Sitting across from him at a small wooden table in the quiet, shadowed courtyard in the back of the budget motel, the albino was hulking and silent, staring at Thirteen with a narrowed gaze that held all the geniality of a dragon about to spew fire on a group of screaming villagers.

He’d caught the albino’s attention with a few well-chosen words. He’d walked right up to him in the lobby when he and his black-clad minions had arrived a few moments ago, looked into his scarred, ghost-pale face and said in a placid voice, “I understand you’re a priest. I’d like to make a confession. Involving a dead goat.”

Then Thirteen had smiled at the albino, a mild curve of his lips that was non-threatening and sincere, but also managed to convey he knew that they both knew exactly who should really be making confessions involving dead goats, and perhaps they should have a chat about that.

The albino hadn’t said a word to him, or to his minions. He’d simply looked at him a moment—looked
into
him, as if trying to slip inside his body using only his colorless eyes—then jerked his chin at his head minion—
leave us
. The head minion and the others immediately and silently had. Then the albino had jerked his chin toward the opposite side of the lobby at the swinging glass doors that led to the back courtyard, where they now sat across from each other in semi-darkness under the spreading branches of a ficus tree festooned with drooping strands of tiny white lights.

Because the albino didn’t seem like the chatty type, Thirteen decided to break the ice by getting directly to the point. “I’m called Doe. I’m a hunter. Like you.”

If the albino had eyebrows, they would have risen at those words, but since he appeared to be totally hairless—lacking even eyelashes—Thirteen only knew the albino was surprised when three sharp creases appeared in his white, unlined forehead.

Thirteen shrugged. “I can tell by looking at people. You’re either one of two things: a meat-eater or the meat.”

The albino absorbed that in silence.

“I received a phone call a few minutes ago—just before you arrived, in fact—that the…creatures…I’m hunting have been found. At least, I know exactly where
one
of them is now, or will be shortly.”

This was both carefully worded bait and the unvarnished truth, as Thirteen had been informed by an email from the Chairman that the tip line he’d set up had yielded credible information from a woman named Ursula Adamowicz. A suspected
Ikati
was stalking a girl that worked at a little bookstore on the Baixada Viladecols. The store was closed at this hour, so the creature would either lie in wait inside, or keep surveillance somewhere nearby. Either way, the information was the most interesting they’d had in months.

But even more interesting was the way the albino reacted to what he’d said.

He jerked forward in his chair. One big, white hand shot out, lightning fast, and he curled his fist around Thirteen’s shirt collar. The albino yanked him forward so they were nose to nose across the table, and growled, “Tell me where they are or I’ll cut off your tongue!”

So—Doe’s suspicions were confirmed. This goat murderer was looking for them, too. Considering the city was crawling with mercenaries eager to get their hands on the reward money, it wasn’t much of a surprise.

“I know a dozen ways to kill a man with my bare hands,
freund
,” replied Thirteen in a soft voice, staring unflinchingly into the albino’s eyes. “And a hundred more to kill you with the blade stashed up my sleeve. So I’ll give you a second to decide if you’d rather fail at cutting off my tongue and have my knife embedded in your brain, or if you’d like to hear what I propose.”

The albino’s gaze flickered to Thirteen’s hands, spread flat in readiness against the surface of the table. A muscle in his jaw worked as he swiftly calculated his options. Then he opened his hand and slowly relaxed back into his chair, the flush of blood rising in his pale cheeks the only indication of his rage. His glittering gaze settled on Thirteen’s face, and he inclined his head.

Thirteen adjusted the collar of his shirt. “Good choice,” he said, unruffled. “As I was about to say before I was so rudely interrupted, if we find one of the creatures, we can find them all—”

“How?”

He smirked. “A pair of pliers. A chain saw. An electric drill. Take your pick.”

For the first time, the albino smiled. It was a carnivorous, teeth-flashing grin that would have looked at home on a shark.

Thirteen continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted by such a naïve question. “The organization I work for has very close ties with the police, so I could avail myself of them and their resources, but in my experience they’ll do more harm than good.”

He resisted the urge to adjust the patch over his eye, remembering exactly how badly his last experience with the police had ended.

“My own team and supplies are fifteen hours out. Twelve at best. This particular situation requires a much quicker response or we’ll probably lose the target, so I’d have to work fast, and alone, neither of which are optimal for my chances of success.” Thirteen’s mild, knowing smile returned. “Unless I can temporarily partner with someone who’s already here.”

He watched the albino process it. His sharky smile faded, and that muscle in his jaw began to jump again, making the ruined skin that covered it purse and pucker. “I don’t like partners,” he pronounced, ominously low.

“Agreed. But I also don’t like letting a golden opportunity slip through my fingers. I’m willing to sacrifice my personal preferences in order to gain what I want.” He paused dramatically. “And you can have all the reward money. I don’t care about that.”

Technically, he wasn’t even eligible to receive the reward money because it was the Chairman who was offering it, but the albino didn’t have to know it. But then the albino hotly snapped, “Neither do I!” and it was Thirteen’s turn to raise his brows.

Judging by the rancor in the answer, he’d offended him. He wouldn’t have thought it possible to offend a man who got his kicks squeezing the life out of farm animals, but then again, the hypocrisy of someone who posed as a priest from the Vatican while engaging in said squeezing could not be underestimated.

Thirteen drawled, “A fellow purist, eh?”

“Some things are more sacred than money,” the huge albino whispered with a lunatic gleam in his eye, and Thirteen couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him.

“You see that? We’re in agreement again. This is looking quite positive.”

The albino gazed at him in silence for a long, long time, while the voice of the city at night murmured in the cool air around them.

“It’s a very simple equation,” Thirteen said reasonably, feeling the other man’s animosity like an iceberg between them, frozen and hard, the vast bulk of it invisible but far larger and more dangerous than what was out in the open. “I have something you need, and you have something I need. And…” he spread his hands open as if presenting evidence, “you already know you can trust me.”

“And how do I know that?” came the instant, ferocious reply.

Thirteen sat back in his chair and clasped his hands over his stomach. “If you couldn’t, it would be the police who’d be sitting here talking to you right now regarding the matter of one strangled goat.”

The albino spat, “I don’t know anything about a goat!”

Thirteen smiled indulgently. “Of course you don’t. And believe me, I don’t judge. But the police are a little less open-minded than I am, which I happen to know because I have quite a few friends in law enforcement. They might like to search your room for any, oh I don’t know, animal blood or hair, just in case.”

Deadly silence. A black, smoldering glower. Then, finally, the albino’s mouth quirked into an odd, pinched sneer of respect, and he nodded.

Thirteen’s smile grew wider. Then he leaned forward and began to outline his plan.

As the blade sliced through the tender flesh of her left forearm, Ember abandoned all the courage she’d managed to muster on the cab ride to the bookstore, and screamed.

“Well,” said Caesar, her screams rising to an ear-splitting pitch as he dug deeper, “she’s not much to look at, but she’s got a pair of lungs on her to rival Pavarotti’s, doesn’t she boys?”

Chuckles from the four others with him, two of whom held her immobile against her father’s scarred old desk in the back room of the bookstore while Caesar investigated her arm with the cold, serrated tip of his knife.

He’d smelled metal the instant she’d walked through the door, and, desperate to offer him an explanation that would keep them from locating what was hidden beneath her bulky sweater and coat, she’d shoved up the sleeve of the sweater to reveal her scarred, metal-filled arm.

Had she known it would induce this little game of Operation, she might have tried something else.

Agony throbbed through every cell in her body. The room spun; color, sound, and scent were magnified a thousandfold, hallucinogenic in their pulsating violence.

“Well done, Nico. You’re officially off my shit list,” Caesar said to one of the tall, black-haired males standing off to the side who was watching the scene with smug pride. He clutched a bandaged hand to his chest, but when he heard those words, he dropped his hand to his side, broke into a huge, exultant smile, and stood straighter.

“Please,” sobbed Marguerite. Strapped to a chair several feet away with plastic zip ties cutting into her wrists and ankles, she was barely able to hold her head upright.

Ember had nearly gagged in horror when she’d first spied her stepmother. Blood saturated the bodice of her ripped black dress, dripped into a hideously gleaming red pool beneath the chair with an intermittent, sinister splash. Through the rips in the fabric, her breasts and abdomen showed pale against the lurid sheen of crimson. A series of oozing, irregular wounds gave awful testament to what had occurred inside this room before Ember arrived.

“Please,” Marguerite gasped again, her eyelids fluttering as she struggled to keep them open. Her dark hair had come undone from her bun, and hung around her shoulders in a wild, gray-streaked mane. “Please stop. Please let us go.”

“Oh—absolutely! All you had to do was say the magic word!”

The others laughed, while Caesar, seeming energized by the agony, by all the blood, turned away from Ember to gaze in amused affection at the blood-splattered, semi-conscious Marguerite.

Suddenly he went rigid, and sniffed the air like a hound scenting a fox. Then he whirled back around and stared at Ember with eyes very wide and black.

Handsome as the devil, tall and well-made and obviously insane, he cocked his head and let his gaze travel up and down her body while she sat there in an agonized haze, blood gushing from the gaping slices in her arm. His lips parted and a look of erotic, exultant fervor shone from his eyes. He whispered, “Oh my. What a wonderful, unexpected surprise you are, my plain little rabbit. You’re not only a pair of big lungs, now, are you? No, you’re something
much
more valuable than that.”

Then he moistened his lips and, as Ember tried to recoil in absolute terror and failed because of the iron clamps of his men’s hands around her biceps, wrists, and the back of her neck, Caesar leaned close to her mangled arm and inhaled, slowly and deeply.

After a moment of weighted silence, he straightened, threw back his head, and laughed.

He laughed, and laughed, and laughed—uproariously, with total abandon—while his men exchanged glances, Marguerite sobbed, and Ember’s heart shrank to the size of a peanut inside her chest.

“Holy Horus,” he gasped between hoots, “I swear I have the best fucking luck!”

“Er, sire?” one of the other men asked uncertainly.

Caesar, swiping happy tears from his eyes, waved a hand, indicating he couldn’t yet respond because he was too racked with laughter. As he took a slow turn around the room clutching his stomach, the maniacal laughter eventually faded to a series of long, blissful sighs punctuated by disbelieving chuckles. He dragged another chair across the room and set it right next to Marguerite, sat down in it and began idly playing with her hair while he stared, smiling, at Ember.

He said something to his men in a language Ember didn’t recognize, though it might have been Latin. Whatever it was, his men gasped and shared meaningful glances with one another. They looked back at her with something new in her eyes. Then the men holding her released her arms and pushed her back into her chair.

Ember moaned in pain and clamped her right hand over the throbbing wound in her left forearm, trying to put pressure on it to stop the bleeding.

But the bleeding was bad. Blood spurted between her fingers in a pulsating stream. It looked like an artery had been severed.

“Do you have a first aid kit, little rabbit?” Caesar suddenly appeared concerned, with a furrow between his brows, the laughter vanished as he stared at her arm.

“Fuck you,” Ember hissed, almost unable to answer through the pain.

“I’ll take that as a no. But we can’t have you bleeding out on us quite yet.”

He pursed his lips, twirling a lock of Marguerite’s long hair between his fingers while she leaned as far away from him as she could, sagging sideways over the arm of her chair, sobbing quietly.