Mysteria Nights

Three

Satan’s stones! One minute Shay was swerving to avoid hitting what looked like a dog pack, and the next she was submerged up to her neck in cold water that smelled like a stale pond. Her legs were pinned by the crushed front end of the car, while the rest of her was being crushed by something that felt like a giant balloon.

Cursed air bags. Safety devices were for cowards and mortals with finite life spans.

It took a few seconds to register, but the water was rising—and rising fast. It bubbled over her chest to her shoulders, creeping toward her neck. She couldn’t kick free; her feet were wedged in too tightly. Her hands hunted for something to hold onto, flailing and splashing. Hell’s bells, she felt like a landed trout!

More like a landed piranha. She was that angry—at herself. She liked attention—adored it, actually—but not this much attention. The crash would wake everyone in town and maybe put them on guard against her. She was a stranger on a secret mission. Win their trust, Lucifer had advised her. Escapades like this were not going to get her closer to the child.

The rising water now sloshed at chin level. She sputtered, swearing. Instead of succumbing to panic, she followed the pull of a new and all-encompassing urge—the will to survive—and tried to claw her way out of the air bag.

Something banged on the outside of the car. A shadowy form moved outside the shattered windshield. “Here,” she called. Fires of hell, here. Never had she been so happy to see a mortal, a silly, selfless human who’d come to save her. She couldn’t afford to drown.

If she destroyed this body, she’d have to return to Hell and get a new one, starting all over again. What would the Dark Master think of that? Not much. She could picture him now, pacing and spitting in fury. Not a day into this mission, and she’d already faltered. “I will erase you, eradicate you, stamp you out—for all eternity!”

The human was pounding on the door now, mere inches away. Please, she thought. Please? Since when did Shay beg for anything—or anyone?

“Snap out of it, Shay,” she muttered through gritted teeth. She used to be resourceful. She tried to reach the door handle herself, but her legs were pinned, wouldn’t let her stretch far enough.

The urge to survive expanded, filling her chest, growing more powerful with each beat of her heart, as if she were indeed truly alive and not pretending. She’d long wanted to know what that felt like. Now she never would.

Oh, how she wished otherwise. Over the centuries she’d barely touched what it meant to live, to feel, always wanting more depth of emotion, craving it, but unable to cross the line separating her from what she was and what she’d secretly yearned to be. Always, Lucifer would figure out what she loved most and take it away: Circus Maximus and chariot racing, cuddling in the furs with Swift River on glacial, star-filled nights. He took them all. The poignancy of loss sliced deep—that which was dealt her and that which she’d caused.

She’d inflicted much pain. She’d never cared before. Now the knowledge of her deeds hurt in a way she’d never thought imaginable. She regretted not only her recent misdeeds but every evil act she’d ever accomplished.

You shouldn’t have sent those orphans on a one-way voyage into the sea. Or bedded Aquila the day after his wife told him they were going to have another child.

She even regretted stealing the red sports car and wrecking it. Remorse and shame flooded her, choking her. I’m sorry . . . Truly sorry.

She was evil. She deserved to die.

No, only living creatures died. Monsters like you cease to be.

Shay tipped her chin up and stole a few last breaths before the water caught up, rising over her eyes, her forehead, and submerging her fully. In no time she’d be waking up back in Hell with Lucifer kicking her ass.

Instead, a soft, white cushion enveloped her, something she’d never remembered experiencing after her previous accidents. She went from acute remorse to utter serenity and did not question it. The roll bar slipped from her hands, but somehow she knew everything was going to be okay. The feeling of trust was instinctive, all- encompassing.

For the first time in her life she felt at peace.

It was no longer dark. Shay looked around in wonder. A field of endless soft snow surrounded her . . . so white, so beautiful. And there, across the way, Swift River waited, dressed in furs, his hair flowing in a wind she couldn’t feel. He opened his arms. Smiling, she took the first step toward him.

* * *

“Goddamn it, breathe.”

Reality returned in jagged slices. Someone pushing on her chest. A warm mouth sealed over hers. Air swelling her lungs. The scents of sweat and leather, dust and man filling her nostrils. Then she was coughing, her lungs on fire.

Another flash: her eyes opening, a face looming inches from hers. “About damn time,” the male voice muttered. He cushioned her skull from the ground with a hand buried in her soaked hair. Water fell nearby, misting, gurgling, soothing in contrast to the agony hammering inside her skull. “Thought I was going to have to call the coroner,” he growled. “You saved me the trouble, but don’t get me wrong, lady, you’re still a pain in the ass.”

Her vision cleared, and the face came into focus: handsome, raw-featured, and eyes so blue it hurt to look at them. The color of cold, deep water that all but begged a probing of their bottomless depths. She knew that face and those eyes. “Swift River . . .”

“River?” His laugh was quick, derisive. “You landed in the damn fountain.”

She tried to make sense of his modern speech. And his apparent anger. “What happened to the snow?” Her speech sounded a bit slurred to her ears. “All the pretty white snow . . .”

He muttered what sounded like an exasperated curse. “You damn well better not go into hypothermic shock. That’ll really piss me off. Here, put this on.” She was as limp as a rag as he jostled her, lifting her gently to wrap her in a coat—his coat. That’s when she realized she was shivering, her teeth clattering together.

“It’s b-been so long.” She soaked in the sight of the man she never thought she’d see again. Centuries hadn’t erased the memory of his eyes that could alternately turn dark with passion or shine with intelligence, cruelty, or mischief. Lucifer took you from me. He made me hurt you.

How could she have done what she did? Her throat ached. Tears welled up in her eyes. Real tears, not the ones she was so good at simulating. “I made the avalanche,” she confessed in a whisper. “I buried you. I destroyed the settlement.”

Swift River bent forward, coming closer. To kiss her, she thought. She hungered for the touch of his lips. Her entire aching body strained upward to meet him halfway.

He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t even touch her. He sniffed the air as if trying to detect an odor.

“I like your smell, woman,” Swift River used to tell her. He told her so many things; “I love you,” even, although she’d implanted that thought in his mind. Still, a part of her sensed, hoped, he may have meant it.

She brushed her fingers across his warm jaw. “I’m so sorry . . .”

Sighing, he took hold of her hand, removing it from his face. For a second, she thought there might have been a softening of his hard expression; then he spoke, spoiling the illusion. “I’d be sorry, too, lady. Someone’s going to be mighty pissed you wrecked their pretty red Porsche.”

A siren wailed in the background, piercing her head with pain and bringing her back to her senses. The snow was gone. People had gathered around, murmuring in hushed, concerned voices. The man crouched next to her wasn’t Swift River, though the resemblance was strong. This wasn’t the Ice Age; this was Mysteria, and this angry, modern-day man wasn’t her lover. Not even close. By now Swift River would have had her out of her clothes and under the furs with him, hot skin, cold nights. Bliss.

The blue-eyed stranger observed her with a curious expression on his face. He shifted his weight, his boots creaking, his narrowed eyes darker. Had he guessed the direction of her thoughts?

“I thought you were someone else,” she explained.