Sinner's Heart

. . complete.”

Bram stood, stunned. For so long, he’d felt a part of himself missing, an empty expanse inside. Searching for that emptiness now, he discovered it gone, filled as he was with purpose, with Livia.

Not a perfect man, not by a considerable amount, but striving.

Hissing, the Devil made a last desperate lunge for Bram’s soul. The shining object moved faster. Eluding his grasp, it shot forward. Straight into Bram’s chest.

Radiance suffused him, a warmth unlike anything he’d experienced. Not merely a physical warmth, but a sense of rightness, a unification. The manifold facets of himself aligned. A thousand emotions beset him—sorrow, joy, relief, rage—as though the barrier holding them at bay shattered. He saw the face of his father, his brother, fallen soldiers, Edmund.

It was too much. He could not withstand the onslaught. He could bear a hundred wounds and not falter, but this . . . this threatened to raze him to ashes.

A hand, slim and steady, clasped his. He knew her touch by deepest instinct. It shored him, strengthened him. She would not let him fall.

Bram shuddered once, and then came back into himself. Beside him, her hand in his, stood Livia. Pride shone in her eyes, and a gleam of tears he knew she would deny.

“All your own doing,” she whispered.

“Useless distraction,” the Devil spat. He tugged on his coat, righting his appearance. “It signifies nothing. There’s one outcome to this battle. My army will cross that line”—he pointed to the boundary in the dirt—“and transform London into my kingdom on earth. The streets will run with blood. It will be a banquet of suffering.”

“The Devil has no gift of prophecy,” Bram answered.

“There are no certainties.”

John snarled. “I’ll enjoy grinding your bones to powder—that is certain.”

“Six against over a hundred.” Mr. Holliday tutted. “If your friend Whit still gambled, I’d stake everything on us. The odds don’t favor you.”

Livia released Bram’s hand as she stepped forward. “Even probability can be altered.”

“It does not matter,” John cried. “None of this matters.” He wheeled his mount around and resumed his chanting. More demons clambered up from the rift to join the assembled others.

After a final sneering glance, the Devil snapped his fingers and vanished. He would be back—of that, Bram was certain.

Bram now turned to Livia.

She nodded toward the Hellraisers. “Your troops await your orders.”

Livia had seen Bram as a soldier and off icer—in his memories. Now, she saw him assume that role once more. The mantle of authority settled easily across his wide shoulders. He swung back up into the saddle, fluid, and brought his skittish horse around so that he faced the Hellraisers.

His expression was steely, betraying nothing.

“Leo, you’ll take the slithering demons, the things that crawl. Anne, use your command of air to beat back the winged creatures. Throw them to the ground and Leo can finish them.” He turned to Whit and Zora. “The demons with hooves and those that walk on two feet, they’re your responsibility. Cut them down.”

Livia could not tear her gaze from him as he gestured with his sword. It was clear he expected obedience, assured in his judgment. His friends nodded, accepting his directives without question.

This is what Bram was always meant to do. If he held any trepidation, any uncertainty, he did not reveal it. The sharp angles of his face held confidence, and his long, muscled body seemed coiled to strike.

All the while, the enemy across the field snarled in readiness. John shouted orders to the demons.

Every part of Livia tensed. All of this had come to pass because of her greed for power. Now the war to end everything awaited.

Never before had she been in actual battle, moments away from plunging headlong into full combat. She had come to the aid of Leo and Anne as they fought a band of attacking demons, but this—over a hundred hellspawn beasts waiting to bring down the wrath of the Dark One, creatures growling and rattling their weapons, eager for blood—this was an unknown realm.

One that might well see her and Bram dead, and the world horribly transformed.

She watched him now, a man not only at the height of his physical strength but also the strength of his heart, his will. He had changed utterly from the dissipated rogue she once knew, yet the core of him, shadowed and edged, that remained constant.

And she loved him for it.

The thought struck her like a blade of fire.

A fine time for revelations.

She gave an inward, mocking smile. Yet she fooled no one, least of all herself.

All her years, all the knowledge she possessed, the cynical wisdom that sheltered her, all of it fell away. Watching Bram now prepare his army of six, she felt herself engulfed in emotion. He had won her, in every way.

She could not speak of this. Not now. So she kept the knowledge of her love close, a hoarded, feared treasure, as dangerous as it was valuable.

“What of you and Livia?” Whit asked.

“We head the charge.” His gaze held hers, and her heart stuttered. “I need you at my side.”

“The only place I want,” she answered.

He brought his horse alongside hers so the flanks nearly touched. With a single, direct movement, he leaned close, cupping the back of her head. Then kissed her. A greedy, demanding kiss, his mouth hot, his need like flame. She gave as she received, just as eager, just as ravenous. This kiss might have to last the rest of her life, however short that might be, and into eternity.

For all her vows to keep her newly discovered love to herself, he must have felt it in her kiss, for he pulled back enough to stare into her eyes.

“This is not the end,” he said, low and fierce.

“We shall prevail,” she whispered back. Even if she did not truly believe they could defeat the Dark One and his army, she had to cling to hope.

The blue fire in his gaze flared. He kissed her once more, and she clutched at his shoulders, holding him as tightly as these last moments would allow.

They broke apart. It felt as though the world itself had been torn in two.

Needing something to stop the pain, she glanced over at their fellow Hellraisers. Her heart contracted once more as she saw both couples—Whit and Zora, Leo and Anne—locked in their own passionate, fraught kisses. The final communion before battle. With equal shows of reluctance, the couples broke apart.

At last, there could be no further delay. The moment had arrived.

Everyone took up their positions. Across the field, John broke off from his chanting to order the demons into rough groups. As though they were indeed an army.

Time slowed to mark each second, each breath and heartbeat. She had dwelled in a state of endless time, believing it would stretch on without cessation, that one moment was no different from the next.

That had changed. An entire kingdom resided within every inhalation. The world shifted with every exhalation.

She knew love. Recognized it just in time to have it ripped away. Perhaps. They might yet survive, she and Bram. They might win.

Yet she strongly doubted it.

“Charge!” screamed John.

“For the world’s souls!” Bram shouted.

The battle had begun.

* * *

The Hellraisers and demons thundered toward one another. The ground shook, and the sky itself seemed to tremble.