Firelight (41 page)

A scream bubbled up as she heard Victoria advance. Miranda’s hand flew to her collar. Victoria was upon her, ready for the kill. Miranda tore the cloak from her neck and spun to the side as Victoria bore down. With a guttural cry, Miranda flung her cloak over Victoria’s hurtling body.
Burn!

White flames burst over Victoria. She shrieked, consumed by the burning cloak wrapped tight about her.
Burn
. Her translucent arm tore at the cloak even as her silver skin split and peeled.

Miranda roared, the red-hot sword in her hand arching high before plunging into Victoria’s chest. The meaty thud of the impact sounded, and Miranda grunted, pain radiating into her arm. Victoria reared, trying to break free, but the ancient sword did its magic and held fast.

The heavy wool of the cloak tore away from Victoria’s face. Screeching in agony, she careened toward Miranda. Miranda’s boot heels dug into the shallow earth, her thigh muscles straining as she held Victoria back with the strength of the sword and the flame.
Burn
. The sword sunk deeper, Victoria’s bones crunching.

Miranda’s knees buckled. Victoria’s strength was too much. Miranda’s feet skidded over the ground. Victoria pushed against the sword, bearing down despite her agony. Cold stone bit into Miranda’s back as Victoria pinned her to the wall, coming closer. The heat of the flames tightened the skin on her face and drew tears to her eyes.

A scream burned her throat as Victoria’s curled claw, blackened by fire, raked toward her face. Knifelike nails sliced across Miranda’s brow. Pain and blood flooded over her eye, half-blinding her. Weakened, her arms wobbled, and victory flared in Victoria’s hellish face.

Then Miranda saw him, just beyond the burning flames surrounding Victoria’s body. A length of silver, his sculptural beauty sprawled on the dirt.
Archer
. The fire within Miranda roared in defiance. Its power surged through her limbs, straight down the sword into Victoria’s heart.

Her blackened mouth rounded into a wide O. Silver from Victoria’s skin began to drip, like paint from a brush or blood from a wound. Around the blackened skin, pale blue eyes looked back at Miranda in helpless horror, before the hard body beneath the cloak convulsed and, like a log burned from the inside out, it turned gray and crumbled, falling about Miranda’s feet in thick clumps of black and orange embers.

Miranda hissed and jumped back from the remains. The hilt in her hand fell free to shatter upon the ground in so many sharp fragments—the sword itself was gone, destroyed along with Victoria. Only then did she allow herself to breathe, panting in exhilaration and horror. She had killed again, and she almost screamed from the knowledge.

“Lady Archer?”

The soft query nearly brought Miranda out of her skin. She whirled and faced Leland, who stood a few feet off. His long face was pale, reflecting the horror that had just occurred, but his eyes were filled with something that looked much like pride.

“Are you well?” he asked, keeping his distance, but concerned nonetheless.

Blood dripped from her brow and ran along her cheek. She pressed a hand to her head and winced. The skin on her palm was angry red and blistering—the strange symbols from the sword’s hilt branded into her flesh. She let her arm fall. “It is done.”

Weariness pulled like heavy bonds upon her limbs. Leland hovered. She walked past him to Archer. So still. His expression was relaxed, the lush curve of his mouth soft. Her beautiful man. If only she could let him go.

Leland’s knees cricked as he knelt beside her. “The sword is gone.”

Cold dread seeped like ice water through her veins. “Yes.” And no. No. There was no way to spare him now.

Leland’s knobby hand ran over his face, dragging his white mustache down. “We must get you away.” Leland glanced at Archer and he frowned. “Archer will soon wake.”

Miranda clasped Leland’s hand, the skin beneath hers as fragile as old linen. “Dear man, don’t you see…” Ruthlessly, she bit her trembling lip. “I never meant to leave. Without Archer, I have no soul anyway. It is best he take it into him. That’s where it belongs—with him.”

His grip was hard. “No! You will be damned. And Archer as well.” Spittle flew from his dry lips. “I gave my word, and by God, I shall keep it!”

“What do I care of damnation?” Miranda’s throat closed. “I don’t even know if I believe…”

“In God?” Leland squeezed her hand. “With what you have seen tonight? Can you not see divine justice at work?” He blanched. “Please, if you do not believe, then have care for the soul that Archer sought to protect.”

“If there is an afterlife then surely Archer and I will find it together. Now—” she pushed a small smile—“don’t make me force you to leave.”

He flinched, clearly remembering the fire.

And she did too. Her heart gave a lurch.
Not all fire destroys
. She looked down at the man she loved. The tender curve of his neck showed no sign of a pulse. But soon. Soon the sun would come, and he’d awaken. And be nothing but a soulless demon.
The innocent are redeemed by fire, and the guilty annihilated
. The vivid image of what she’d done to Victoria loomed large in her mind, and it occurred to Miranda that she did believe. She looked down at her husband. She would save him. Save herself as well. Gently, she lifted him as much as she could and eased behind him, winding her legs around his torso. Ben’s heavy head fell against her breast.

“Leave us,” she said to Leland.

“Lady Archer—”

“Go now.”

Her eyes stayed on her husband and the way his silver lashes cast shadows upon his cheeks. God, how she wished to see him smiling at her and hear his rich voice once more.

“Go,” she said when Leland did not stir. “Or be consumed with us.”

Leland hesitated for a moment, perhaps more. She curled herself over Archer. “It’s all right,” she whispered against his cool ear. “I am here now. You aren’t alone.” Her tears pattered onto his sculpted cheek, rolling into his closed eyes. She blinked hard. “You’ll never be alone again.”

Leland’s heavy footfall echoed in the emptiness and then there was quiet. Miranda’s arms came around Archer’s broad shoulders. “I never told you, but that day you asked me why I was following you… do you remember it?”

She wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve and then held on tighter. “I thought I was so sly, trying to goad you into revealing your secrets, but you knew what I was doing. You always saw right through me.” A weak laugh broke free. “There was a moment… you looked at me and our eyes met and I thought… I thought, ‘I love this man—’ ”

A sob ripped from her throat. She pressed her cheek against the top of his head. No breath came from his lips. “It didn’t matter that I hadn’t seen your face. I knew—I knew I would love you until I died. But I was afraid. And I pushed it out of my head. For too long. Stupid of me, really. Because I’d been waiting for you too, Archer. My whole life.” A keening wail escaped her. She swallowed the rest down, clinging to Archer like a buoy in a storm.

His lips yielded against hers, unmoving but soft.

“It will only hurt for a short while,” she whispered against them. “And then we will be free.”

Torchlight flickered like the rays of the setting sun over his long, silver body. Miranda inhaled deeply and then opened his lips with hers.
Let us be judged
. Her breath exhaled in a rush of heat, flowing into him.
My soul and his
.

Once more, heat surged up from within, wrapping itself around her, around Archer.
Purify
.

Pain. It cut into Miranda. The heat and the pain. She held on, thinking of the flame.
My soul and his. With all that I am
.

Her lips trembled against Archer’s, the scorching heat in her throat nearly unbearable.

Distantly, she heard a hiss, like the sizzling of a fry pan. More heat. Her eyes flew open, dazzled by pain. Blue-white tongues of flame danced over them. Strange blue flame, nearly cold in its intensity. She could only stare helplessly; she was caught up in it now. No turning back. Her linen shirt burned away. Brown flakes of charred clothes whirled up into the air, caught in the flames.

She forced another surge.
Purify
.

A deep groan ripped out of Archer, and she almost lost her grip. His sinewy body convulsed, bucking hard against her aching thighs. She curled over him, wrapping her ankles round his legs, holding him down.
Forgive me
.

White-hot fire tore over them, pulling her hair from its bun. Red-gold strands lifted high, whipping round her face. From outside herself, she heard her piteous screams. So like Victoria’s.
More
. Archer flopped within her arms, groaning, his lips parting in a gasp. A maelstrom had them, fire and wind scouring her skin. And yet she did not burn. She could see that, but was mindless as to why. The pain was real enough.

Suddenly Archer lurched up, tight as a bow, tearing from her arms before falling back into them. His smooth skin pebbled with perspiration, then began to weep like a flower in the morning dew. Rivulets of silver rolled like mercury over the swells of his muscles. Blue tongues of flame licked it away as Archer writhed against her, his eyes shut tight as if against the pain. Something near joy touched Miranda’s heart as she saw the poison bleed out of him, revealing golden skin as it went, but then the foul silver substance touched her skin, and she screamed.

Bursts of white colored her vision. Razor-sharp pain tore at her skin as silver seeped from Archer and onto her. She curled over him like a shell, her breasts crushing into his shoulder blades. They convulsed together until a pulse of heat and pressure shot out from his center. Miranda fell back, her head cracking against the ground. The heat of the room left with a loud whoosh of air.

Darkness ebbed and flowed at the edges of her vision.

Ben
. She sucked in a draught of air and forced her body to rise.

He lay on his side once more, one arm hanging limply over his broad chest. Shadows played over skin, as golden as honey, as his arm softly rose and fell in cadence with his breathing. Steam rose from the ground around him, a silver mist that dissipated against the cold air. A soft groan came from his mouth, and he flopped onto his back, revealing whorls of black hair over his sculpted chest.
Ben
.

She scrambled to his side, trembling so badly that she could nary get a grip on his shoulders. Warmth. His skin radiated it. Black shorn hair brushed softly over her bare thighs as his head lolled toward her. High color was on his sharp cheeks.

“Ben.” Her voice came out in a croak.

The tension in his expression eased but still he would not awaken. Frantically, she brushed her lips over his brow. “Ben. Please.” Her hair fell about them like a veil, pooling onto his bare chest and shoulders. “I love you, Benjamin Archer,” she whispered against his ear. “More than my life.”

A tremor rippled through him, and then his eyes flicked open, soft gray and fringed with sooty lashes. They locked onto her, and she forgot to breathe.

“Miri…”

Chapter Thirty-four

D
arkness. And cold. They surrounded him, unending and weighty. A frozen womb he could not escape. Deep within himself, he heard his cries, terrified, like a child’s.
End this. Set me free
. Dread clawed at his soul. He would run if he could. Soft hands were at his neck. Soothing. He strained toward the touch. Useless. He could not move. The hands slipped away, leaving him alone.

And then the pain. A hot brand forced down his throat.
God help me
. Colors—red, white, and orange—burst before him. Razor claws flayed him inside out. He fought against the heat and the agony. He could not endure.
No more. Please
.

And then warmth. He fell back with a sigh. Beautiful warmth, flowing like a dream. The scent of roses. Silken strands caressing his aching skin.

“I love you, Benjamin Archer.” Angel wings against his ear. “More than my life.”

Love. Miranda.
Miri
. It surged through him like a cooling wave. His eyes flew open to the light. A fiery nimbus of hair and grape-green eyes glimmering with tears.

“Miri.”

She sobbed. His love. Her creamy white skin was blotched with red, her eyes and nose swollen and seeping, a gash marred one fine brow. Never had she looked more beautiful.

“Ben.” Her slender arms flew around his neck, and he leaned into her with a sigh. Her plump bare breast pressed into his shoulder. Miranda naked? She curled up against him, the satin warmth of her thighs smooth against his tender skin.

He lifted his arm to hold her, his body sluggish as though moving through thick mud. The world around him was dim, almost grainy, like a photograph.

“Oh God, Ben.” Miri cried harder, her delicate frame shuddering against him.

“I’m here.” His throat burned, razors against raw skin. Where was here? Rough stone walls. Hard dirt beneath him. Memory threatened to suck him down.