D didn’t think that male was going anywhere, but he was unable to speak. Pain had his tongue.
“Here.” Constantine pulled his gun from his waistband and nudged it into the hand D had wrapped around his shoulder. “Just in case things get ugly on the way to the infirmary.”
And as soon as he had his fingers curled around the metal grip of the Glock, D heard the advancing echo of boots from far down the corridor. Someone was running to the
Of course. The
He closed his eyes, trying to conserve strength. And when he opened them again, Eliana was standing in the doorway they were headed to, staring at them in white-faced, open-mouthed shock. Her gaze darted around the room. The chaos. The blood. Her father’s body.
The gunshot wound in his forehead.
She glanced back at Dominus, and all the color drained from her face.
“You,” she breathed, staring at the gun gripped in his right hand. Her gaze, horrified, uncomprehending, skipped back to his. “
Constantine and Celian froze, and his own heartbeat ground to a standstill.
“No. No,” he whispered vehemently, chilled as if ice had been injected into his veins. A storm erupted in his body, a howling white squall of dread and panic. She had it all wrong; she thought it was
“No. Eliana! It’s not what you think!”
But she had backed from the doorway into the deeper shadows of the corridor and, before he could say another word, turned and disappeared.
36
Gentle rocking, warmth and softness, the cries of seagulls, and the tang of salt water ripening the air.
The sound of water lapping lightly against wood. The scent of tropical rain, sweet and warm.
Hell, Xander mused, wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d expected.
Pondering that, he allowed himself to drift on an aimless current of dreamy carelessness, rising and falling with that lovely rocking motion that lulled him so completely. He thought any minute the pitchforks and sulfurous rain would appear, so he didn’t bother to open his eyes. And anyway, the light that glowed red behind his closed lids was a little alarming. Better to put it off for a minute and enjoy the calm before the storm. Or whatever this was.
A little sound caught his attention. It was nearby, very soft and dark and troubling.
A sigh.
An exhalation from some pitchfork-wielding fiend, no doubt, anxious to cart him off to the next circle of hell as soon as he opened his eyes. Well, screw that. He was staying right here. He hadn’t felt this relaxed in years. He clamped his eyes shut so tightly his face crumpled into a scowl.
And then that little sigh turned into a gasp, fraught with concern.
The rustle of fabric, the sound of something creeping nearer, a cool touch upon his forehead.
He flinched, swearing, and the fiend cried out his name.
“Xander!”
Even in hell he recognized that voice. It cut through his dreamy laxity like a knife through butter, and his eyes flew open. And his heart—oh, his heart—
“You’re awake,” breathed Morgan, leaning close over him with her hair draped all around her face like a veil of burnished, silken bronze.
If he wasn’t already dead, he was pretty sure he would die of a heart attack.
“I...don’t...think so,” he murmured, staring up at this beautiful apparition. He reached out and touched a finger to her satin cheek. Her irises burned vivid emerald, that circle of yellow around the pupil blurred just slightly by the moisture welling in her eyes. “This is a wonderful dream, though.
Very realistic.”
She laughed and sobbed at the same time, then pressed the back of a shaking hand against her mouth. She hitched up her dress and sat beside him, and for the first time he realized he was on a bed.
In a room. No—a cabin? The sky shone deepest azure through a round porthole edged in brass set high in the wood-paneled wall; the ceiling was painted aqua and populated with dolphins and seaweed and eels slinking through coral. The spoked ship’s wheel clock on the dresser beside the bed read 4:17 p.m.
“It’s not a dream,” she said, “and here, I’ll prove it to you.”
Then his beautiful ghost leaned over and pressed her lips against his. When she drew back, they were both out of breath.
“Well,” said Xander. “I did say it was realistic. Perhaps a little more proof is in order.” He pulled her down to him, ignoring the sudden pain between his shoulder blades, and kissed her hard and deep with his hands pressed against her face, his fingers threading through her hair.
She broke away first—again—and quietly laughed. “You’re feeling better.”
“I thought you were a fiend.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Did you now?”
“And this was hell. I thought I was dead. How am I not dead?”
Her eyes grew soft. She brushed back his hair from his forehead and smiled. “Well...I sort of saved your life. Again.”
Xander took a breath. “Oh. Not very manly of me, needing to be rescued so much, is it?”
“It is an awful lot of work,” she agreed, somberly nodding. Then she lifted a shoulder and dropped her gaze to the knitted azure blanket across his chest. She picked at the material, chewed on her lower lip. Her voice lowered. “Someone has to look after you, though. And since I’m so...fond of you, well, I suppose it might as well be me.”
As his heart swelled inside his chest, Xander had to work very hard not to smile. He reached for her hand. “We can save each other,” he whispered, and pressed his lips to her knuckles.
She bit her lip, and that moisture welling in her eyes finally overflowed. Tears tracked down her cheeks. She buried her face in his chest.
“You found me,” she said, muffled, into the blanket. “You came for me, Xander, you
—”
“I’ll always come for you,
You’re my heart. You’re my soul. I’m not going to let a little thing like you being kidnapped by a madman and held in his secret underground dungeon keep me from my heart and soul. You’re not getting away from me that easily.”
She sobbed into the blanket.
“Hush now, sweet girl.” He gathered her into his arms and held her against him until she quieted and all her tears were spent. “Tell me what happened.”
She sighed, snuggled closer to him, and began to talk. She told him how the males of the catacombs had helped her, how they’d cared for him in their infirmary, how close he’d come to death.
She told him how they’d quashed the rebellion that had stirred when the other members of the colony learned of the King’s death, how they’d installed the one named Celian as the new leader, how the King’s daughter had fled the colony with her brother and a handful of others and had not yet been found.
“But the best part is,” she said quietly in conclusion, “now that I did what I was sent to Rome to do, I’ve been given a full pardon. And the Queen has honored her promise to me.” She lifted her eyes and gazed at him. Light from the window caught in her hair, warmed the tips of her lashes. “I can go wherever I want.
He stared at her blankly. “I don’t understand.”
“Dominus. He was the head of the Expurgari. We found him, so...”
