Firelight (40 page)

“Let me…” She took his hands, feeling the cold through his fine leather riding gloves. He twitched in surprise but she held tight.
Warmth
. Heat coursed from her middle and into her palms. Leland gasped as the heat traveled into him. She leaned forward, taking his neck in her hand. Softly, she blew over his face.
Heat
. The air steamed, hot and strong, and he closed his eyes with a sigh.

When Leland revived, she let him go and set a strong pace once more.

“What is it that you do?” Leland asked after a moment.

They had not spoken since he’d explained Archer’s plans for her. Should Archer fail to kill Victoria, or himself, he would crave souls with all his being. Loving Miranda as he did, he would crave hers above all others. Leland would take her away and hide her where Archer could not find her. The high-handed way in which Archer had deceived her had Miranda seething for a good hour, but it was hardly Leland’s fault.

“I can create fire,” she said as her horse picked its way up a sharp incline. She could not help the beast. She could barely see. They were out of London now, traveling into an ancient forest of oaks and beech trees. “Control it on a whim. So long as there is something to burn.”

“What you did just now, that was not fire.”

His observation hit Miranda. He was correct. What she had done to him was new. And yet she had done it without thought. She’d simply
known
she could warm him.

“The principle is the same,” she said with hesitation.
Was it?
“I thought of heat, warmth, and thus it came.”

“Fascinating.”

The silence of the forest pressed in, cut only by the lonely jangle of their horses’ bridles as they ascended the small rise. Boundless darkness stretched out on all sides. Had she been alone, the emptiness would have unnerved her. But she was not alone.

“The others all thought him a monster.” Cold air burned her throat. “Why didn’t you shun him when he returned? You and Cheltenham?”

Leland kept his eyes on the road ahead. His pale face wavered like a phantom in the light of the lantern hanging on his pommel. “Because we knew he was simply a man, with weakness and frailties. Who yearned for the same things all of us do—to love and be loved.” He glanced at the reins in his hands, then away. “That he should find it after all these years, only to have to give it away with both hands.” He shook his head slowly. “It is a little thing to stand by him.”

They spoke no more and headed farther into the cold gloom.

By the time Leland called softly to halt, Miranda’s hands were stiff claws on the reins.

“We leave the horses here.” He turned down the light and dismounted with a stifled groan. “I cannot stress enough the danger we are in.” His eyes were glowing orbs in the starlight that eked through the ancient tree canopy. “Her senses are excellent. Hearing uncanny—”

“Then I suggest,” she cut in softly, “that we refrain from speaking any further.”

Grimacing, Leland offered a short nod and then took her elbow in hand. Half a mile they crept along, their feet sifting through brittle leaves to find the hard ground beneath so as not to make a sound. Sweat trickled down her back; her thighs burned under the slow movement.

They headed west, the forest before them no more than shapes of black and gray. Ahead, a black bulk appeared to be a steep hillside. A tiny flicker of orange light announced the opening to a cave.

Leland’s soft lips trembled against her ear. “The torches are lit. Like Archer, she will be resting. We must go to Cavern Hall. That is where he will be.”

The scent of incense hung heavy as smoke, clogging her throat. Archer was here. She could feel him. The sense of him plucked at her skin and pushed her heart to beat fiercely. She kept pace with Leland and then outdistanced him. She knew where to go. Archer pulled her along. Down the dark, winding passage toward the orange glow of firelight.

Around a sharp corner, a large cavern opened up before her. In the center of the cavern, bathed within the flickering light of the torches, lay Archer, sprawled on his side in a naked tumble of limbs, his head thrown back and twisted away from her. His beautiful body now completely silver and glowing, he lay unmoving like an icy Icarus fallen from the sky.

Miranda tore free of Leland’s sudden grip and ran to him, heedless of the danger. His frozen shoulder bumped hard against her knee as she fell upon him. Moonstone flesh. A sob escaped, bouncing off the rough walls.

So cold. Her fingers burned against the contact of his skin as she lifted his heavy head into her lap. His classical profile lay stark and silver against the black of her cloak, utterly beautiful and horrific all at once.

“Ben.” Her trembling hands moved over his jaw, through the brittle strands of his silver hair. Completely transformed. Lost to her. Pain clawed at her throat. The smooth expanse of his chest like moonstone against her fingertips.
I cannot do this
. “Ben, what have you done?”

“He has chosen me,” said a girlish voice.

Framed by the dark hollow of a cave passage, Victoria stood like a silver angel. Free of makeup and her wig, her skin gleamed, swirling with pulsing light. Silver hair streamed like moonbeams down her back and over her gown. Such a lovely image for something so foul.

“Ben, is it? How sweet.” Her white teeth flashed, nearly blinding. “Does it upset you that you have lost? How sad. I knew all along that he was mine.”

As if to answer, Miranda’s fingers curled around Archer’s neck, drawing him protectively into her lap. “You know nothing, you frozen bitch.”

Victoria laughed. Ice tinkling into a crystal glass. “My, but your tongue is most foul. Had we met otherwise, how tempted I would have been to turn you.” Her smiled faded, a mere dropping of her cheeks. “As it is, however, I shall take great enjoyment in watching him feed off of you.”

Leland’s boots scuffed against stone as he moved behind Miranda. Victoria’s eerie silver eyes flicked to him and the reflective gleam in them dulled. “You, on the other hand, I shall keep for myself.” Her wide, thin mouth lifted into a feral sneer. “You need to be taught a lesson.”

“Leland,” Miranda said, not taking her eyes from Victoria. “Leave us, please. Victoria and I have much to discuss.”

“Yes,” agreed Victoria. “Let us ladies have our
tête-à-tête
.” She licked her lips. “I shall come and find you later. My last meal was not nearly enough.” She stepped to the side and bile rose in Miranda’s throat as she saw the gray husk of a lifeless body lying in the dirt.

“Good Christ,” gasped Leland. “It is Rossberry.”

“Yes,” said Victoria. “He was becoming a nuisance to my Benji. I saved him for last to heighten his fear. And I must say, although his heart was tough and bitter tasting, his soul was most interesting to consume.”

Miranda’s fingers dug into Archer’s cold neck. How much longer did they have before Archer became like this? Was the sun nearly up? An eternity seemed to have passed since they had started their weary journey. “Leland”—she dared not look at him—“go now. I shall see to this.”

He moved back a few paces, remembering perhaps his vow to her, and Victoria laughed again, clapping her hands together in delight. “Such authority, Miranda. I do like you.”

“I wish I could say the same.”

Silver eyebrows lifted but Victoria merely smoothed the folds of her silver satin gown. Her choice of dress was in the empire style popular when Archer had been young. Perhaps she had selected it for him. The idea left a bitter taste in Miranda’s mouth.

“Ah, but it is simple, feminine jealousy that brings us to strife,” the witch said with a light sigh. “How petty it is, hmm?” Her pleasant smile twisted. “He was always mine. He pledged himself to me. He may have forgotten for a time.” She shrugged. “In the end, he remembered. He came of his own free will.”

“Free will had nothing to do with it,” Miranda snapped. “You’ve been toying with him all this time.”

Victoria gave her a bored look, like a child who dreams of sweets while receiving a dressing down. “What fun do I have otherwise? Besides, all of them had to pay. I loved them all. And they worshiped me. For a time.” Anger tightened her mouth to a bud. “Then they turned from me, and banished my Benji, and he was lost to me.”

Her cold anger flared in the air for a sharp moment and then deflated just as quickly. “For that, they must pay. But the moment had to be right. It was better for me to kill them when Benji returned.”

“You did it to push Archer into a corner,” Miranda said. “To turn them all against him once again and leave him little chance of remaining in society.”

“
Exactement!
” Victoria clapped her hands together with a smile. “Ah, but it is satisfying to face a woman of intelligence.”

“You might have simply killed me,” Miranda found herself saying. She wanted the fight now. Wanted Victoria to come at her so that the bitch might die. “I am your true threat, after all.”

Victoria’s silver brows rose delicately. “I might have,” she admitted softly. She glanced at Archer. “But men are like children, no? Take away their favorite toy too soon, and they throw the greatest temper.” Her eyes snapped back to Miranda. “That is what you are. A toy. One that has lost its luster.”

Victoria took a small, sauntering step into the open cavern, and the firelight flashed over her skin like diamonds in the sun. “Now that we speak of toys. Did you like the present I left you?”

John Coachman. Something much like a snarl flew past Miranda’s lips.

Triumph flashed in Victoria’s eyes. “He was most amusing. Such a strapping youth. Ah, but the look of surprise on his face when I came to him in the stable yard wearing a mask and your cloak, begging him to bed me. He resisted. Until I knelt down and pleasured him.”

Miranda’s fingers twitched over Archer’s skin. When she said nothing, Victoria’s brows drew together in annoyance.

“The boy was in love with you. Did you know? He whispered it in my ear just before he took me.” Victoria’s wide mouth curled. “I must say he was an excellent lover, so very common and forceful. I was almost sorry about having to hurt him.” The corners of her catlike eyes creased, the silver irises reflecting like a mirror, utterly soulless. How could Miranda have ever compared them to Archer’s?

“But then, he thought it was you who killed him. I saw it, the pain and shock in those big, dumb eyes—”

“Enough!” Miranda’s shout echoed off the cold walls. “I will kill you. For John Coachman, Cheltenham. And Archer. I will send you to hell for Archer.”

“Such confidence!” A peal of delight rang out. “This shall be a most amusing night.” Her head snapped up, the look in her eyes vicious. “You need not be whole for my Benji to feed. Tell me, what shall I tear out first? An arm? Your eyes?”

Slowly, Miranda eased Archer’s head to the ground. The lack of contact with him broke a tether deep in her soul.
Ben
. She could not lose him. Victoria’s silver eyes bore into her, triumphant, gleaming.
She did this to him
. Heat whirled up in Miranda’s belly like a vortex.

She rose to her feet, the heat coursing through her limbs like power.
The fire is your gift
. She flipped the ends of her cloak over her shoulders, revealing the sword belted at her hips. Slowly she rounded Archer’s prone form. Victoria watched her come, a patronizing smile pulling at her frozen lips. Miranda’s innards knotted in terror. It had been so long since she had used a sword. And never, never with the intent to kill. Sweat rolled down her back and made her palms damp. She kept walking until they stood not twenty paces from each other in the large cavern.

Miranda ignored the frantic beat of her heart that pleaded for her to flee.
You know how to use this gift
. She planted her feet wide. “You should be running,” she said, pulling the sword free with a ring of metal and purpose. Around them, the torches flared as if sensing its power.

Victoria threw her head back and laughed, but her eyes cut into Miranda like shards of glass. “Silly child. I can kill you with one touch. You should be begging.”

Pulsing liquid heat flowed down Miranda’s arm into the brass hilt of the ancient sword.
Burn
. Blistering heat coursed over her palm, turning the weapon into a brand. The wicked length of the black blade hissed in the cold air.

Knives, swords, bullets are unable to pierce this flesh
. It would be a very short fight. It would have to be. Miranda had known it from the moment Leland had told her what she faced. One strike from Victoria would kill Miranda. Her breath hitched wildly, her belly pitching and rolling. Failure was a heartbeat away. The cloak lay heavy on her shoulders, a sure hindrance to any sword fight. Her hand trembled, the pain of holding the fire and heat within her nearly intolerable.

Miranda let Victoria see it all, the vulnerability and her pathetic weakness in comparison to Victoria’s strength and speed.

Miranda gripped the hilt tighter, securing it against the slickness of her palm. “Come and get me then, bitch.”

Victoria snarled and lunged, faster than wind. Miranda stepped hard left, slashing downward as she came. The force of the swing threw Miranda backward. A piercing cry of rage mixed with pain reverberated through the hall. The room spun, and Miranda’s heart locked in her throat, fear buzzing in her ears. An arm, broken like fractured glass, lay in the dirt. Miranda blinked at it, her boots crushing silver fingers underfoot, the sword burning hot in her trembling hand.

Victoria’s eyes bulged at the sight of her severed limb. “
Petite pute!
I shall rip you apart!”

A silver blur of light crossed Miranda’s vision as Victoria lashed out. Miranda jumped back. Too slow. The blow caught her shoulder with enough strength to send her tumbling. Her head and shoulders smashed into the unforgiving earth, a whirl of dust and torchlight blinding her eyes. Miranda clutched the sword like a lifeline as she rolled along the ground.
Do not fail
. Dizzy and breathless, she hopped to her feet, falling against the rock wall for support.