man in eternal suspension.
He had purpose now.
Bram did not linger. He sped on, holding fast to thoughts of Livia, sensing the hungering presence of Hell at his back.
He willed the moving hills, commanding them with his determination.
As though responding to his thoughts, the hills buckled, forming an even darker vale where the shadows thickened and a twisting stream ran along the valley.
“Bring her to me, damn it,” he growled.
“Bram—?”
He swung around. There, breaking free from the gloom on the other side of the stream, a woman in a saffron tunic appeared. She stepped nearer.
Her form . . . was solid.
It was her. He had willed her to him. And there she stood. Livia.
Bram stared, seeing Livia for the first time as an actual woman. Not a ghost or the hazy shape of her memories, but alive, and entire.
Her skin was olive-hued and burnished, her hair an opulent brown. And her eyes. Dark and sparkling and wise beyond measure. Wicked, too. Hers was a wisdom not limited solely to the mind.
When he saw grass flatten beneath her sandaled feet as she approached, his heart pounded. She did not glide or hover, but
“You are truly here?” Disbelief and hope tightened her voice.
She sounded different, as well. Her words came from actual breath, and were far richer and more potent than he could have believed.
“I’ve come for you.”
“No one leaves this place.”
“You will.” He held out a hand for her.
He could only reach as far as the middle of the stream, his arm outstretched, his hand open and waiting.
For a moment, her gaze moved back and forth between his hand and his face. Then, slowly, she reached for him.
His breath refused to come as he watched her stretch out her hand. For so long he had wanted to touch her. To feel her skin against his. He’d never wanted anything more.
And then, at last, her fingers touched his.
The contact of skin to skin roared through him like a lightning storm. Only the brush of her fingers against his, and the pleasure was so acute he fought to remain standing.
Her fingers moved down the length of his, until their palms met, and they clasped each other’s wrists.
He felt her pulse beneath his fingertips, and his throat ached. He tore his gaze away from the sight to look up at her face. Her eyes glistened.
Yet this was not enough. Still holding tight to her wrist, he stepped into the stream. Icy water flowed around his boots, and the rocky bed was slick, but he barely noticed. He pulled her toward him.
She gasped as she plunged forward, splashing into the water. And gasped again when their bodies met.
The stream twisted away, leaving them standing upon the ground. This, too, shifted beneath them like a restless animal.
He didn’t notice. He felt her, touched her. His mind stilled. His heart raced.
The length of her body pressed against his, warm and firm and living. Her arms were around his shoulders, pressing him tightly to her, and all he could do was simply
She pulled back enough to gaze up at him. “There is only one way to reach this place—death.”
“You did not die to come here.”
“But you did.”
He nodded once, brief and clipped.
She clenched his shoulders. “Gods. Why?” Her throat worked. “Why would you doom yourself?”
“If one of us needs to be alive, it must be you.”
“Don’t you understand,” she cried. “They will come for you. The demons. They’ll drag you to Hades. There’s no escaping them.”
“I’ve already felt them at my heels. If I can outrun them a little longer, long enough to get you back to the realm of the living”—he smiled faintly—“then everything is as it should be.” He threaded his fingers with hers. “It was my intent to find you and bring you back. I’ve accomplished one of those goals. Now it’s time to realize the other.”
“Nobody has ever returned.”
“You will.”
“But you shall not.”
He remained silent.
“Damn you,” she choked, pressing her face against his chest.
He held her close, cupping the back of her head. If they could only stay like this. If only they had more than this moment. It would have to sustain him for what was to come.
And so it would.
Bram tensed as screams like rusty knives punctured the quiet. Even the creatures perched in nearby trees muttered in fear at the sound.
“Flee,” Livia urged. She held up her hand, and glowing energy danced between her fingers. “I’ll attempt to hold the demons back. You might conceal yourself, find some other realm in which to hide. Please. I cannot watch them drag you away.”
He stepped back, her fingers still threaded with his. “I’ll run, but I’m taking you with me. I will see you back amongst the living. And then . . .” He made himself grin. “Hell will have to contend itself with a true Hellraiser.”
Chapter 11
Bram didn’t know what the creatures were that intended to haul him to Hell—whatever they were, they’d be damned unpleasant, and he had no intention of letting them succeed in their goal—not until he’d gotten her safely to the other side. With Livia’s hand clasped in his, he raced over the twilight hills.
Shadows and gloom spread over the landscape, oppressive in their absoluteness. This was a place in which the sun never rose. The ground radiated no lingering warmth, the grass and trees were fed by darkness.
Even with the creatures in pursuit, there was a physical tug within himself, pulling him down into the underworld. He gritted his teeth, fighting that demand.
Yet as Bram’s heart pounded, he felt the heat of Livia’s skin. And he heard the enraged pursuit of large, leather-skinned creatures. Their shrieks echoed over the hills, their fury a palpable thing.
Dark shapes gathered at the corners of his vision, and then he saw them. It would have been better to have remained ignorant of their appearance. They stood eight feet tall, and resembled putrefying corpses, their flesh hanging from their bones or else pulled tight in a decaying bloat. Some had patchy hair, but others’ skulls gleamed through a web of skin, and their eyes were burning green orbs stuck into the sockets. Claws and serrated teeth ensured their prey would not escape.
Livia
