Harlequin Nocturne September 2014 Bundle: Beyond the Moon\Immortal Obsession (24 page)

“What if I don't agree to that condition?” He nudged his erection against her.

“Patience is a virtue, lover. Let's go set Oz free.”

* * *

Rook held the two wooden heart pieces as he lounged at the head of the bed, naked, his ankles crossed. Verity had wrapped her great-grandmother Bluebell's quilt over his shoulders and had returned to look over the
grimoire. The quilt actually did hug him, and he wanted to wear it always.

With moonlight flashing in the dozens of crystals hanging overhead, his mind was four hundred years away. He'd sacrificed so much and so foolishly. If he'd taken just a moment to consider what he'd asked Himself for, he would have never done so. And perhaps he also could have found a means to prevent Marianne from seeking her devilish bargain. He and Marianne would have lived happily ever after. They would have raised a brood of children and died of old age.

Or Marianne may have been proven a witch and burned at the stake while he, a king's soldier, would have been forced to watch and then be hung next for harboring a witch.

The future was not in a man's control. He could only live each day as best he could. Now he had the opportunity to share those days with the gorgeous witch crowned in faery tresses. It was a destiny he embraced, thanks, he believed, to Marianne, whose soul resided within the witch.

And this time around he would not screw it up. But did he deserve this second chance at love?

He hadn't noticed Verity climb onto the bed until her fingers clasped around the broken heart he joggled on his palms. “What is it?”

He sighed and tilted his forehead toward hers. She met him with a tender head butt and settled next to him. She'd slipped a loose white T-shirt on, and her hard nipple brushed his arm. He loved the easy comfort they'd developed with one another.

“This was my punishment,” he said. “My soul, out of my body. It was the only way I could atone for what I did to Marianne.”

She threaded her fingers through his, so their palms clasped the wood pieces. “You didn't do it to her. The devil Himself did it.”

“I was the conduit to her destruction. Oz would agree. He's accepted his own punishment within me for the wrongs he committed against his family.”

“How long must the two of you suffer to atone for something you did when you didn't know any better? Lover…” She brushed her lips against his earlobe. “You know better now. So you do better. Be strong and leave the past in the past.”

“How do I do that? My past resides within your soul.”

“You think if you take your soul it will mean you've forgotten about her?”

“I don't want to do that.”

“And you shouldn't. Setting her free does not mean you will forget her. Your worry holds her in your heart. If you can release that, you must forever atone so she can finally be free to move on. Why else do you think she managed to bring us together? She was able to bring me to you because you hold her so strongly with your thoughts. And why do you think she did that? Marianne needs to move on.”

“I never thought of it that way. You think she's trapped on this mortal plane? Within you?”

“A part of her soul must be.”

He nodded as he studied the wood pieces. “She's waited a long time for us to come together.”

He placed his palm over her heart. Closing his eyes, he focused on the rush of her blood beneath his hand, the beat of her heart and the subtle sigh of her soul. If a remnant of Marianne was attached to Verity's soul, he wanted to keep it.

But he knew he should not. Because Verity was right. Granting Marianne freedom would not take away her memory. And when he had most feared the dredging up of those horrid memories, now he could only be thankful he could still remember the good times they had shared. Those memories he would forever hold in his heart.

He nodded. “Let's set her free.”

“Great! Did you get hold of Ian Grim?”

“I woke him up, but he's interested in helping with the spell. He told me to begin, and he'd be here soon. Guess that means I'd better put on some clothes.”

“I tossed your shirt in the washer while you were showering. Your leather pants are in the laundry room. I'll gather the spell ingredients. Leave this.”

She took the wood pieces from him and kissed them. With a wink, she scampered off the bed, and Rook said blessings for the serendipity that had allowed his long-dead wife to bring Verity into his life.

Chapter 23

V
erity directed Rook to stand in the center of the salt circle she'd poured on the gray wood floorboards at the end of the bed. A good witch never let her salt supply get depleted.

“But if we intend to let Oz out…?” He pointed to the salt.

“It's how the spell is done, hunter.”

Rook caught her intended admonishment. So he was the hunter and she the witch. He must trust she knew her craft. And he did.

“I'll open the circle if it works,” she said. “Promise, Oz.”

I do love your witch.

“He loves you.”

“I love him too. He's taken care of you. You've both looked after each other. I can't wait to meet his wife,” Verity said with a girlish shrug of excitement. “So step inside, and let's get this party started. I've left the front door unlocked so Grim can come in when he gets here. I have a lot of Latin to chant.”

Clad in his reasonably clean leather pants, Rook padded barefoot across the room and stepped into the circle, which was wide enough to hold three grown men. But it would only have to contain two.

Was he ready for this? He'd lived four centuries with Oz inside him. They were brothers beyond the kinship he and King claimed. What would he do on his own without Oz to comment on every relationship or direct him when his path veered the wrong way?

You will be the man she has fallen in love with.

He couldn't argue that.

“It's already the morning of the day of the full moon,” Verity said over her shoulder as she drew her finger down a page in the grimoire. “Perfect for working spells. Oh, here!” She scampered over and handed him the two heart halves. “Hold them together. I'm not sure if it being broken is going to affect the spell, but let's hope for the best.” She kissed him and dashed away.

Her enthusiasm boasted his confidence, and he surrendered to this whole wacky put-back-the-soul-release-the-demon-and-accept-mortality affair.

Rook fitted the pieces together and squeezed his fingers around them. “Did I mention how much I love you?”

“I love you too, hunter,” she singsonged gaily.

God, he loved that witch.

“Now close your eyes and concentrate on the resonance of my voice and not so much on trying to understand the words. As my chanting becomes less words and more sounds, hold the tone in your throat.”

That made little sense, but as Verity started to chant Latin, Rook closed his eyes and did his best. The tones danced in his head, undecipherable save for the warmth they stirred within him. Oz felt it too, and noticeably shivered.

Suddenly he heard a male voice twine within the tones of Verity's luxurious resonance. Rook didn't open his eyes. The warlock had arrived, walked up the stairs and quietly joined the spell.

What had the man done to bring the wrath of his breed upon him? Witches only banished their own to warlock when a grave crime had been committed. And in terms of grave, Rook suspected the witches' definition went far beyond what an average human would consider grave.

Focus
.

Sorry, Oz.

He focused on the sounds that, now that he thought of it, did vibrate at the back of his throat.

Suddenly a streak of heat rushed up his spine, flashing out each vertebra, then flowing out through his rib bones. His spine and ribs were on fire. But it didn't hurt. It felt…comforting, wide and expansive, a bit like a hug from great-grandmother Bluebell's quilt, yet more, as if his entire body had opened to take in whatever the universe should offer.

Shoulders thrust back, Rook spread out his arms, and his chest lifted. A brilliant burst filled him, softening his limbs and then tightening every muscle. And he knew what had once been his had been returned.

Rook fell to his knees, gasping. The broken heart lay on the floor before him. He clutched his chest. A smile filled him from head to toe to…his soul. The witch had done it!

“It's in him,” he heard Verity whisper.

“I believe so,” Grim said. “Now to cast out that demon.”

My turn!

At a gesture from the warlock, the salt circle burst into flames. Rook shuffled back on his knees. He stood, seeing the tousle-haired warlock who controlled a small emerald ball of flame in his hands, tossing it back and forth as if a child's toy. Grim was short and seemingly young, and he didn't look so imposing. Or evil. Until the emerald flame glinted in his eyes. And with only a few words Rook recognized as holy, the warlock pushed the flames toward him.

Rook's arms flung outward as the green flames seemed to eat his bare skin and enter his pores. Inside him Oz struggled, kicking and pulling at his tendons and the platelets and cells that formed this mortal body that had borne them both through the ages.

“It's hurting him!” he heard Verity cry.

“Don't go near him,” Grim warned. “It's working.”

Feeling as if something, some interior coating that had once surrounded his body, was being peeled away from the inside of his skin, Rook yowled and resisted beating a fist against his chest.

Thank you.

And the demon stepped out from him, one hoofed foot landing inside the salt circle, which no longer burned emerald. Oz's horns tugged at Rook's skin as they were freed, and finally the last of the demon emerged and stood beside Rook.

He'd never looked at the demon until now. Not even in the mirror. For he had not wanted to face his truth. Handsome fellow, in a punk-rock, horned kind of way.

Verity clapped gleefully. Ian Grim crossed his arms and gave a satisfied smirk. “Asatrú, I presume?” the warlock asked.

Oz clasped hands with Rook. “I've been waiting a long time to do this, my friend.”

Rook held the demon's hand, noting its coolness, but even more so, he looked into Oz's red eyes and saw such joy that he felt it in his own heart. This was right. They'd come to the end of their journey.

“Live well,” Rook offered.

“Only if you've set her free.”

“Never from memory, but yes, it's time to forgive myself. We must both forgive ourselves. I forgive you your sins, Asatrú.”

“And I forgive yours, Giles Martin Rochfeaux. They were committed when, as the witch said, we did not know better. And now we do.”

Rook slapped the demon on the shoulder. “I'm going to miss you, man. Now go find your wife before you miss the birth of your child.”

“I'm already out of here—but…” Oz turned to Verity, his horns sweeping the air proudly. “You'll take care of him now that he doesn't have me to look after him?”

“Of course I will.” She grabbed a broom propped beside the spell table and swept it over the salt line a few times to clear an exit for the demon.

Oz stepped out, sniffed the air around Grim and made a face, and then took Verity's hand and kissed it. “
Adieu, mon amie
witch. I trust you with his heart.”

“I will take good care of it. Promise.”

Stretching his arms wide and calling out in a demonic language, suddenly Oz apported out of the room.

“He didn't like me much,” Grim commented. “To be expected. Glad to finally be able to repay our debt, Rook.” He held out a hand to shake.

Rook stepped from the salt circle and clasped the warlock's hand. A weird shimmer of knowing shot through his system. He'd never felt anything like it before, but he had to mark it off as residual magic and the amazing experience he'd just lived through.

“Thank you,” he said to the warlock.

Verity placed her hand over their joined hands—and gasped. The smile she flashed Rook was as knowing as the feeling he'd experienced.

“Right.” Grim tugged from the clasp. He studied his hand as if he'd felt something too. “You won't be needing me anymore. And I sense a reunion of souls coming on. You've an old soul, my dear witch. Died two deaths?”

“Yes,” Verity answered. “You can sense that?”

“I get all sorts of weird feelings from the two of you. Familiarity. Shared history. A sexual heat that is off the scale.” The warlock rubbed his jaw. “Indeed, the two of you were destined to find one another. I'm honored to have been a part of the final cleansing that will grant your souls peace. This is the first time I've shaken your hand with your soul intact, hunter.”

“I feel different to you?”

“Yes. Disturbingly so.”

“I'll count that as a good thing, considering the source.”

“Thank you, Ian. I'll call you tomorrow.” Verity kissed him on the cheek, and the warlock had the courtesy to blush. “You can let yourself out?”

“I will.
Au revoir
…” He studied Rook for a moment. “Rochfeaux?”

“Yes.”

“We hail from the same century,” Grim commented. “Maybe someday you can get beyond your disgust for me and we can chat. You fascinate me.”

“You do not disgust me. Warlocks just aren't on the top of my list.”

“I should hope not. Well.” Grim clapped his hands abruptly. “I've overstayed as it is. Good morning to the two of you, and blessings to your future together. Oh, ah, and a warning—Rook, you are mortal now. You'll have to be extra agile when dodging vampire fangs from now on, hunter.”

The warlock skipped down the stairs. Rook rubbed his arms of the strange sensation he had felt when holding Grim's hand. Familiar? That was the only way to describe it. And strange. Yet he wasn't about to ponder what sort of fastball destiny could toss him in the form of a warlock.

Verity hugged him tightly. “You're so warm! Your soul is back. And you're all mine.”

“For as long as you'll have me.”

“That long, eh? Then we'd better discuss living arrangements because I'm not going anywhere, hunter.”

* * *

The demon stepped through the bright, viridescent Faery forest, his hooves taking the mossy land swiftly, his heart showing him the way to his wife. He'd made this trip monthly for years. It never took long, but it was always fraught with an urgency that he would lose it all if he were not quick enough.

When finally he landed on the snowy grounds that covered his wife's home, his hooves took the cool surface up to the portcullis. The doorman opened it and, recognizing him, rushed him along.

“She's in labor!” the hob-brownie called after him.

Oz quickened his pace. Was he too late? After all he'd been through to convince the hunter to finally accept his soul—no, he was just in time. He knew it as he turned into Winter's bed chambers and his beautiful wife of the long snowy hair and bright violet eyes beamed at him from her bed.

“The babe is coming! I wasn't sure you'd make it, my demon lover. Your mortal full moon day is nearly over. I wish you could stay longer.”

“I am here forever, my love.”

Winter's face lighted.

He nodded. “I'm free. I'm yours. Forever.”