Shadow Keepers: Midnight Page 7

“Then it is settled,” her father said. “We go.”

  He started to turn away, the matter resolved, then lifted his hand as if gesturing for his men to follow.

  They moved in unison, firing their crossbows at Tiberius as a scream of abject horror echoed through the cave.

  It was her own, of course, and as Tiberius fell, one of the stakes having flown straight and true to his heart, so did she, prostrate on the ground as the man she loved died, and the horror of her life to be bloomed red and fetid in front of her.

  Caris sat at Antonio’s bedside, watching his sleeping face. A tear trickled down her cheek, and she bent over and kissed his forehead. “I shall miss you, little brother.”

  She closed her eyes and breathed deep, her body numb, her mind fuzzy. She was sleepwalking now, so unlike the flurry she’d been in when they’d first returned, ignoring her pain and her tears as she rushed through the palazzo to the healer’s apartments. She’d tugged the old man out of bed and had stood in his chamber while he thrust his arms into a dressing gown, all the while urging him to hurry, hurry, her brother needed his tending.

  Now she knew that Antonio would be all right. It would take time, but he would survive. The knowledge soothed her. At least it had not all been for nothing.

  Her heart was about to burst in her chest, so full was it of more unshed tears. She’d been unable to cry in front of her father. She’d been forced to sit under his watchful eye and listen to his talk of Giancarlo as she watched in her mind, over and over again, the way the man she loved had fallen, the stake going straight into his heart.

  She gasped, her breath a raspy shudder. “Tiberius,” she whispered, wishing that his name could conjure him. It couldn’t, of course. Her dreams of him had died with him.

  She squeezed her eyes, and another tear fell, this one leaving a dull, wet stain on the wedding gown she wore. Less than an hour now, and her father would come for her. Less than an hour, and her life would be over.

  She stood and went to the window. It faced north, toward the cave, and she thought of Tiberius. Longed for him, craved him, but couldn’t have him. She’d found the one man in all the world she truly wanted, and fate—and her father—had destroyed him.

  It was horribly unfair.

  There was a soft tap at the door, and then Agnes entered, carrying the goblet of wine Caris had requested. “This is good,” Agnes said. “It will calm your nerves.”

  “I loved him,” Caris said, taking the wine and crossing to her dressing table. “I don’t wish to live without him.”

  Agnes sat on the bed, her face buried in her hands. “I should never have told your father, but he knew—or he had an idea—and I cannot lose my position.”

  “I know.” Caris’s back was to the nurse, and now she opened her jewel box, removing the small paper envelope she’d taken from the healer’s chamber. “I’m not angry with you. I am merely sad beyond belief.” She dropped the powder into the wine and stirred. “I have nothing left now. Nothing to look forward to except a loveless marriage to an old man who does not care for me.”

  “You mustn’t think that way,” Agnes said, standing up. “Things will be better on the morrow.”

  “Things can never be better. Not without him.” She stood up and took her nurse’s hand. Then she lifted the glass to her lips with no hesitation. “I am truly sorry, darling Agnes,” she said before drinking. “Give my love to Antonio.”

  The poison worked fast, and she saw Agnes’s mouth open—heard her startled cry as Caris fell to the ground.

  She smiled as the world began to fade around her. “Now,” she whispered. “Now I go to my love.”

  In a cave outside Velletri, the vampire stirred.

  His daemon, angered at the attack, roared awake, writhing and fighting, urging the man to sit up, to stretch, to come alive once more.

  He did.

  With a start, Tiberius opened his eyes, gasping and jerking upright. He looked down and saw the stake protruding from his chest. It had penetrated his heart, but unlike in a younger vampire, penetration alone was not enough to kill. To destroy one as old as Tiberius, the stake must both enter the heart and exit through it.

  Albertus’s men missed their mark. He smiled, thin and dangerous at the thought, but the smile faded in the wake of a more pressing concern—Caris.

  He was on his feet in an instant. By the gods, that idiot Albertus intended her to marry at dawn, and although he knew not what time it was, it was already well into the night when they’d arrived at the cave. Dawn couldn’t be more than an hour away.

  He had no time to waste.

  The thought was still in his head when he transformed, this time into a raven, and took to the skies toward Velletri. The faintest hint of orange glowed at the horizon when he swooped into the courtyard, intending to peck the eyes out of the groom if need be. But there were no wedding preparations. No revelers, no musicians.

  Instead there were only a handful of servants, and they moved through the garden with shellshocked expressions.

  Caris.

  Dear God, what had happened to Caris?

  Without concern for the consequences should Albertus find him there, he transformed back into himself and strode across the courtyard toward the main door. He didn’t know where her apartments were, but he tilted his head back, sniffing the air. Her scent was everywhere, filling the palazzo, making him crazy with longing—and with fear.

  He followed her trail toward the stairs, then climbed quickly, desperate to find her. As he turned the corner into the northern wing, he heard a sharp, startled “Oh!” and found himself confronting a round-faced woman with tear-stained cheeks. “You,” she said, her voice filled with both awe and terror. “But my lady said that you were dead.”

  He was at her side in an instant. “Caris?”

  “Yes. She told me her father—she told me he killed you.”

  “He did,” Tiberius said. “Take me to her.”

  At that, the woman collapsed, falling to the ground in a fit of hysterical sobbing.

  “Woman,” he cried, gripping her arm tight and lifting her. “What is it?” he demanded, though he was already dreading the answer. “What has happened?”

  “She’s dead!” she cried, her words filled with a torment rivaling his own. “You were dead and she was to be married and she—she—” The woman could manage no more.

  He stood there, frozen with shock, unable to believe it was true. He could still feel her. He could reach out in his mind and follow the connection of the blood they’d shared. So how could she be dead?

  “Tell me,” he demanded, shaking the woman. “Tell me how she died.”

  “P-p-poison.”

  “Take me to her.” His voice was harsh, firm. He would not hope. He couldn’t afford to open his heart to hope—not yet.

  They hurried to her chamber, and he found Caris laid out on the bed, her arms crossed over her chest, her face soft in repose. “Get out.” His voice was low, so low he feared the nurse would not hear him, but she backed away toward the door as he moved with terrible purpose toward Caris. “Let no one enter.”

  The door clicked shut, and he fell to her bedside, thrust to his knees by the weight of his anguish. He would destroy Albertus—if she was truly dead, he would destroy the man with his bare hands.

  “Caris,” he said, taking her hands as he pressed his ear to her chest. “Carissa, my love.” He caught the scent of her immediately, lavender and anise, along with the harsh smell of death. He listened, blocking out all other noise but the sound of her, hoping to hear the beating of her heart, but there was nothing. No blood moved in her veins. No air flowed through her lungs. Her heart sat silent and useless, and he wanted to rage about the room, to cry out with anguish. To kill the man who had done this to her.

  And then …

  A noise. So soft it could be mistaken, so fragile it could be broken. But it was there, a hint of vibrancy. A flicker of hope. And then, yes, a slow, weak beat of her heart.

&n
bsp; She lived. Death stood in this room waiting for her, and Tiberius knew there was no fighting it. She was too far gone, the scent of death overpowering that of life.

  But he could cheat death. By the gods he could cheat the smug bastard right out of his prize.

  He didn’t hesitate, didn’t debate. He knew the torment he would wreak upon her, knew all the reasons that he should let her slip softly into death’s arms. But he also knew that he couldn’t live without her—and that she did not wish to live without him.

  Without further hesitation, he bent over, sank his fangs deep into her neck, and drew the last bit of life out of the woman he loved.

  A full moon hung over Velletri as the two vampires stood hand in hand on the hillside overlooking the De Soranzo palazzo.

  Old age had long taken Albertus, and now the De Soranzo family was presided over by Antonio, a fair-haired boy who’d grown into a strong, handsome man.

  Tonight his children played in the courtyard, the girl and the boy passing a ball between them.

  Caris smiled, enjoying their laughter. “Come,” she said, tugging at Tiberius’s hand. They moved swiftly together, and when they entered the courtyard, the children looked up.

  “Auntie!” said the boy, dropping the ball and running fast to her. She picked him up and kissed him, looking at the face that so resembled the face of her brother Mercutio, now lost in battle. “Wherever have you been? It has been years and years.”

  “Egypt,” she said, and pressed a gift into his hand—a clay tablet covered with picture writing. He looked at it with awe, then turned to show his sister, who still hung back. “It’s okay, silly. She’s our auntie.”

  “I’ve been away,” Caris said. “Five long years. You were only two when I left. You’ve grown up.”

  “I have,” the seven-year-old nodded. “Daddy says I’m his big girl, and I look just like his sister.” She cocked her head. “I look like you.”

  “Indeed you do,” Tiberius said. “You are a most beautiful young woman.”

  “Children!” Antonio’s voice rang out, and then the man himself appeared. He hesitated only a moment, then ran to his sister’s arms, whole and strong and fully grown.

  “Fatherhood shows on you,” she said, teasing as she stroked the gray in his hair.

  “Not all of us can be immortal,” he said, laughing as he held his hand out to Tiberius, then shook it heartily. “I was beginning to fear for you. It has been so long. Will you stay awhile? Theodora will be most vexed if you do not stay and tell us of your adventures.”

  She looked at Tiberius, who nodded, his warrior face now soft. “We will,” she said. “We have many stories to tell.” Even after twenty years, the world she now lived in felt fresh and new. “Battles and adventures,” she added. “You will be most entertained. Your big sister has become quite the warrior.”

  “She always was,” Tiberius said, his hand pressed against her back.

  “And where next?” Antonio asked. “For I know that you will not stay long in my house.”

  “The Far East,” Caris said. “There are alliances that we wish to make. Men of our kind look to Tiberius to lead them, and a leader must have allies.”

  “And after that?”

  “The new world,” Tiberius said, “but that may not be for many years.”

  “We’re not in a hurry,” Caris added, leaning against the man she loved and feeling his arms close tight around her.

  And why should they hurry? They had all the time in the world.…

  Are you hungry for more of Tiberius and Caris?

  Get ready to sink your teeth into

  When Passion Lies, the next book

  in J. K. Beck’s sexy Shadow Keepers series.

  WHEN PASSION LIES

  Coming soon from Bantam Books

  Read on for a sneak peek.

  When Tiberius found her, Caris was standing at the window beside the blue room’s massive oak desk, looking out at the night. He paused, watching. She wore a black leather jacket and simple jeans, except that there was nothing simple about the way they hugged her curves. Curves that he had once known intimately and could still recall the feel of.

  He slipped his hands into the pockets of his own slacks, warding off the memories—of her, of his past. He realized with a start that he was seeing the woman, not the weren, not the hybrid, and he knew that would change. That the bubble would burst and she would become in his eyes what she truly was—something less than Caris. A bastardization of the woman she’d once been.

  He stood silently, knowing he should walk forward, say something, announce his presence to the room. But even though he hated to admit it even to himself, he didn’t want this moment to shatter. So instead he simply watched. Her pale hand, pressed against the glass. Her raven hair, gleaming in the moonlight.

  She stood perfectly still except for her chest rising and falling. He wondered vaguely if she had to breathe now, then cursed the question, which only served to remind him that more separated them than the expanse of the room. So much more.

  “If you have something to say, then say it.” She spoke to the window, not bothering to turn around. “Otherwise, I’m anxious to get back to Paris and tell Gunnolf how grateful you are for the intel.”

  “Why did you kill Cyrus Reinholt?”

  She stiffened, the movement almost imperceptible, but he knew her so very well. “What makes you think I did?”

  “Your scent was at the scene,” he said. “Either you were simply there, or you pulled the trigger. If you’d simply been there, you would have denied it.”

  She turned, her head tilted slightly to the side, her unwavering gaze dead on him. “You recognize my scent? After all this time?”

  He held her gaze, accepting the challenge for what it was. “I do. Are you saying you wouldn’t recognize mine?”

  A muscle twitched in her cheek, but she held steady, the moment ripe between them, and for that instant he could almost—almost—forget.

  She looked away, and the moment shattered. “Why the hell were you there?”

  He lifted a finger. “Uh-uh. Tit for tat. I want an explanation.”

  “Fuck you. Oh, wait. I don’t do that anymore. And guess what, Tiberius—that means I also don’t owe you anything anymore. And that includes explanations.”

  “The Alliance is taking over the murder investigation, Caris,” he said. “In light of Reinholt’s controversial political positions, I’ve arranged for a task force to be created and jurisdiction to be transferred from Division 12 to the Alliance.” He’d made the call right before he entered her room. He doubted Division 12 would tie her to the murder, but his doubt wasn’t good enough. He’d made a promise once to protect her. That meant he needed the murder investigation on his plate, not the PEC’s.

  “You son of a bitch. How can you—”

  “A task force that will not—I repeat not—find any connection to you. A task force that, frankly, will ultimately stall out.”

  She stared at him, her face blank, her thoughts hidden behind a well-schooled facade. The corner of her eye crinkled, as if something unpleasant was buzzing nearby. “Why would you do that?” Her voice was low, measured. And it was dangerous.

  “You know why.”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “I made a promise, and I will see it through.”

  “I release you from your promise.”

  “Your father tried that once. I turned him down as well. The promise wasn’t made to you, and I will honor my word to Horatius.”

  “I don’t want you looking over my shoulder. I don’t want you in my life. You gave up that right when you turned your back on me.”

  He stiffened, his words measured. “To be in your life, yes. To protect it, never.”

  He knew her well enough to recognize the fury in her eyes, and he tensed, anticipating a blow. He hoped she did strike him. The air between them was charged—they needed a damned explosion.

  “No,” she said, and the tension
evaporated with that single word. “I don’t owe you anything, and you sure as hell owe me nothing.”

  “You know that’s not true.”

  “This conversation is over.”

  “How does Reinholt tie in to Lihter?”

  She took a step toward him, putting her hips into it as well as her smile. She looked sexy as hell and just as dangerous. “You didn’t used to be so dense. And you can stop this interrogation now. Get used to the idea of not always getting what you want.”

  She started to stalk past him, and he reached out and grabbed her arm. “Sorry. That’s not something I’ll ever get used to. Now tell me. Why is Reinholt dead?”

  She jerked away and looked up at him, eyes blazing, that fierceness he’d once admired now directed at him. “I’m out of here. When you want to have a strategy meeting, have Mrs. Todd give me a buzz.”

  “You stay.”

  She bristled but held her ground. She was only inches away, and even after so many years, the scent of her was achingly familiar. Everything, that is, except the wolf.

  The wolf.

  Always, it was the goddamn wolf.

  He took a step backward. And then he looked away.

  As if sensing weakness, she moved closer. “Gee. Thanks so much for the invitation. Your hospitality is overwhelming. How can I possibly refuse?” She casually pulled her phone out of her jacket pocket and held it up. “I should probably call Gunnolf. Let him know you haven’t slit my throat.” She said the words blandly, and the lack of humor chilled him.

  He looked hard at her, the casual mention of Gunnolf erasing any lingering wisps of the woman he’d once loved and leaving only the warrior standing before him. Good. He didn’t want the woman in his head. Not now. Not anymore. “It’s hard to be alpha again after getting knocked off that pedestal once,” he said. He kept his attention on her face, searching for some sign that he’d touched a nerve. Some hint that she’d come as part of a weren plan.

  Caris, however, revealed nothing. Not about Lihter. Not about Reinholt. She stepped sideways, her posture like that of a predator circling its prey. “I think if you fell off your pedestal, you’d do everything you could to claw your way back to the top. Then again, you’d never put yourself in a position to get pushed off. Even if Serge had ripped off your leg—well, vampires are different from weren, aren’t they? You could still be the badass.”