Legends of Havenwood Falls 2 Read online

  I seized hold of his chin, squeezing it tightly between my fingers. Thin lines of blood welled where my fingernails broke his skin, and I resisted the urge to lap up the red liquid. Monster or not, I still had standards, and I refused to feed on gypsy scum.

  “You walk a thin line,” I threatened, again.

  “And you talk too much.” He mumbled something in Romani, the sound filled with scorn.

  I stopped and got down close to his face—close enough that I could feel his faint breath across my skin.

  “You’re right.” I held his gaze as I made sure he understood my next meaning. “And that is the beauty of your clan. When one won’t talk, there are others more fragile who are easier to break. Perhaps a sister . . . mother . . . daughter?”

  I studied his reaction, knowing that sooner or later I would hit the mark.

  Daughter.

  He had a daughter.

  “I will give your apologies to her. It’s unfortunate that you won’t get to watch her grow up. That she won’t enjoy growing old.”

  It took a few moments, but the second he understood, he strained against his restraints, heated threats rushing out in a mixture of broken English and Romani.

  Reaching forward, I placed both of my hands on the sides of his head and twisted, snapping his neck. He wasn’t going to relinquish the information. I wasn’t wasting any more time on the dead gypsy.

  “Where do you want me to dispose of his body?” Knox had returned in time to see me execute the prisoner.

  “With all the snow, you might be hard pressed digging a grave to dump him in.” Wiping the grime off my hands, I couldn’t help feeling disappointed that once again, we had come up empty-handed. “Ride out a few hours, then drop him into a river or something. Do it far enough away from the estate so as not to raise suspicions.”

  “And Catriona?”

  I let out a heavy sigh. “Inform her that I did as she asked. I gave him his freedom.”

  It wasn’t the complete truth, but it should at least appease her.

  I was almost out the door when Knox spoke up.

  “Don’t give up hope, Marcus. We will find the cure by either finding the gypsies who cursed you or through my experiments. We just need more time.”

  Nodding, I left him to take care of the body, trudging back up the stairs to my office.

  Alone.

  Chapter 7

  Life was about ritual—at least that’s what mine had been reduced to. The carefree days of my youth were but a distant memory now, and it was often painful dwelling on what might have been.

  Making my way to Knox’s study was part of the nightly routine that dictated everything—superseding temptation and any form of nostalgia. Just once, I wished I could abandon all the safeguards I’d placed in my life, and simply be.

  Free to be whoever the hell I chose to be and not the persona—the monster—I had become.

  Ever since Catriona had moved into the house, these kinds of thoughts plagued me, causing waves of self-doubt to surface from the emotions I kept buried deep inside me.

  It didn’t pay to feel or have a heart anymore. Every decision I made was one of life or death. When it came to seeking vengeance—pure unadulterated revenge—feelings simply got in the way. I’d learned quickly once I started changing into the blood drinker those two women cursed me to become, that I would drown trying to hold tight to my humanity.

  It was one of the first things I relinquished of my old life—like a snake shedding its skin. What was needed was the ability to be one hundred percent ruthless, to be such a force of nature that even the trees would bend to my will.

  I lived in a world now saturated in deviousness and darkness. It was one where you were either the predator or the prey—the invincible or the destructible.

  What was left of that former Marcus wasn’t enough to brave falling in love. There was barely enough of my true self to maintain the friendship I had with Knox. He knew that and accepted it anyway.

  What begun by chance had evolved into a symbiotic relationship where we both benefited. I’d found him a homeless beggar on the streets of London, and there was something about the young Phineas Knox that whispered his value. I’d learned not to judge others too quickly, and it had definitely paid off.

  Down on his luck, his tall form lanky and thin from malnutrition, Knox hadn’t thought twice about my offer to become his employer. All he saw was a way out of the cutthroat streets—a way to always have food in his stomach and a warm place to sleep.

  I saw an urchin who was street smart—someone who could slip by unnoticed—a boy who would know the value of loyalty.

  So it came as a complete surprise when he confided that he’d been an apprentice to an obscure alchemist. That brand of magic and science was a mystery to me, but something had impressed on me that, one day, such knowledge would prove useful.

  It didn’t matter that he claimed he’d burnt his master’s home down from a spell gone awry. I overlooked the way the tips of his ears reddened as he confessed his complete lack of skill—his mouth full of the fresh warm bread I’d given him.

  Knox had looked me dead in the eye—every inch the man he was beneath the grime—and vowed that should I give him a chance, he would never fail me. He would always serve me to the best of his abilities.

  Here we were, after all this time, and he’d honored his word.

  There were a few small incidents where he’d set fire to the bed in the connecting room, and then to the draperies hanging heavily over the only two windows in his study. Those things were inconsequential compared to the work he slaved over at the desk.

  Knox had preserved my sanity, and for that, he would always have a home with me—servant or not.

  Knocking briefly on the door, I didn’t wait for him to welcome me into his sanctuary. It was a given that no door would ever be barred against me. There would never be any secrets. He knew mine, and I knew his—what little there was to know.

  “I wondered where you were,” came a deep baritone voice. “I would’ve brought the elixir to you, Marcus, but as you can see . . .” Knox waved his hand over the large wooden bench he’d made to work on. The surface was covered with all manner of tools he needed—glassware, candles, endless stacks of papers with weird symbols and scratching on them, empty ink bottles, and herbs.

  I crinkled my nose. How he managed to work in such chaos was beyond me, but he’d once said that all creative geniuses preferred working in a mess. It quieted the voices in his head, apparently. I didn’t argue.

  “Please tell me that stench isn’t for me.”

  While I was his master, I recognized this was his domain. Careful not to disturb anything, my gaze skimmed over the work in front of him. Knox didn’t bother covering it up—he knew full well I couldn’t read the alchemist symbols.

  He let out a chuckle. Pushing back from the bench, the wooden stool scraping across the bare floor, Knox picked up a glass filled with thick, red liquid. That was another thing we removed from his study—carpet. We considered it a wise choice considering the amount of liquids and potions he spilled on an almost daily basis.

  “Would you prefer the alternative?” he fired back, holding out the drink.

  This was how I drank my blood. It was mostly human with different concoctions added—whatever Knox was testing to see if it would help curb my cravings and keep the beast at bay.

  Before his help, I’d resorted to slipping into town every night and gorging until I couldn’t swallow another mouthful of blood. My hunger all but consumed me, and there were still whisperings in the nearby counties of a monster that scoured the countryside in search of new victims.

  I’d left death and carnage in my wake. There were times when I’d been too lazy to cover up my kills, launching the town or village into mass hysteria. Banners were placed all around with generous rewards for anyone who could bring the killer to justice.

  Once I knew that Knox could be trusted, I’d confessed who I truly was, and he’d
set about trying to find a cure for the curse. He’d been adamant that perhaps alchemy could hold the answers, and that I couldn’t wait to find the gypsies.

  And here we were. I was drinking his god-awful elixirs, and my appetite for blood was under control. Unfortunately, he still hadn’t figured out a way to fully restore me.

  He was the only thing in which I had any faith left. Sooner or later, he would be successful. He was too stubborn to admit defeat.

  “Sometimes I miss the pleasure of sinking my teeth into something warm,” I murmured, bracing myself to take my first swallow. “The way the blood flowed freely into my mouth . . . the ecstatic way it left a blazing trail of fire down my throat.” I took a deep breath and decided to swallow the contents in one gulp.

  The sensation was a meager substitute to the real thing, but it did its job. The uneasiness I always felt began to subside as it heated my stomach, and the loud, growly presence in my head grew quiet.

  “Was this new?” I asked, placing the now empty glass beside Knox on the bench. “There was something . . . different about it.” I gestured to the red liquid still staining the cup.

  He nodded. “Gold. I added gold flakes to it with the hopes that as it builds up in your system, I may be able to alter your organs. By perfecting you, I will have created a vessel that can transform to whatever I wish it to be.”

  Like always, whenever he tried explaining the science behind his experimenting, my head began to throb. “So, I’m essentially a creature you’re testing your theories on.” It was more of a fact than a question.

  Knox paused long enough from swirling about some clear liquid in his bowl to glance at me. “You disagree?”

  It had been a long time since I’d lingered after taking my nightly tonic. He was more used to me gruffly accepting the blood, drinking it, and then leaving in a similar manner.

  Yet here I was—trying to start a conversation and interrupting him from working.

  “I trust you, Phineas,” I assured him. “I sometimes wish I understood exactly what it is you do down here.” Picking up one of the loose leaves of paper, I turned it about to show him. “This looks like utter nonsense, but if you tell me this brings us closer to removing this damn curse, that’ll be enough for me. It will have to be enough.”

  Abandoning his work for a moment, Knox turned about, his hands resting on his knees. “I gave you my word that I wouldn’t stop until I helped free you. You saved me that night in London, and I owe you a life debt.” He chuckled as he took the paper back. “As for these, even the failures are a step forward. I don’t possess the same skill and clarity of my former master, but what I lack in expertise, I make up for in sheer stubbornness.”

  “And gold flakes are the latest?” It felt weird knowing the precious metal was now pumping through my veins.

  He shrugged. “It’s just a thought. In alchemy, gold is considered a source that promotes human renewal and regeneration. My theory is that by infusing your very organs and blood with it, perhaps it will trigger that transformation within you—that it will help your spirit fight against the evilness of the curse, and triumph.” Knox glanced at the empty glass, his brows furrowed in thought. “Again, that’s the notion I’m exploring right now.”

  “And here I thought you were merely throwing in different ingredients to see which one made me sick,” I teased, suddenly struck with appreciation for my friend. He had grown to be much more than someone who served me. I gave his study one more sweeping look. “Do you require anything?”

  It wasn’t uncommon for Knox to come to me with a long list of the items he required. I learned not to question some of them, especially if they would end up in my elixirs.

  I could already see his focus returning to his work.

  “Yes. I may need to go to London for the supplies.” He wasn’t even looking at me now. Whatever he’d been writing had snared his attention again, and his silence was a loud indication that our discussion was over.

  “I may join you then.” There was a certain seer I’d been trying to gain an audience with, but each time, I’d been denied. Knox wasn’t the only one who refused to admit defeat. I was determined to finally meet with the infamous Lady Hannah.

  Knox mumbled something in return.

  One more nightly ritual was complete.

  As I headed toward the door, he called out again, surprising me. “One of the added ingredients in your drink will help you dream walk. Just in case you wanted to visit anyone . . . understand anyone.”

  His comment stopped me dead in my tracks.

  Dream walk?

  “You don’t need me to explain that, Marcus. You now have the ability to visit someone while they’re asleep.”

  “Why?” I asked, curious how he’d deduced that. I didn’t sleep very often, and therefore, didn’t dream. I wasn’t interested in making social calls that way either.

  It was his turn to look at me, bewildered. “I had the thought the other night when I went to dispose of the gypsy. What if instead of trying to break his body and spirit, we attack from a place where he wouldn’t be expecting it? A man can tolerate unimaginable pain if he believes it’s for a just cause. In our dreams, we are more vulnerable . . . more susceptible to coercion.”

  I was impressed. Knox’s reasoning was sound, and if it worked, could save a lot of time. In fact, it was a brilliant idea that I hoped prove fruitful. “I can’t wait to see the results then. We’ll bring home a subject to test it on.”

  The corners of his mouth curled in a mischievous way, and I instantly saw he had an ulterior motive. “Why wait? There’s someone who resides under this roof you could understand better.” And with that, Knox looked up in the direction of Catriona’s bedchambers.

  “No,” I retorted, my response loud and forceful. “Absolutely not.”

  “Do you have so many friends, Marcus, that you can’t stomach to nurture another ally?” I had his full attention again, which made me wonder how long he’d been preparing to tell me this. “I am good at what I do, but there are certain places even I can’t enter. Don’t you think it a good idea to have Catriona help you break this curse as well? Women talk—a lot. They gossip. Why not befriend her and see what she can uncover?”

  I loathed the suggestion with a fiery passion. The thought of confessing my secrets to the female forced into my keeping felt intolerable. It would require my being vulnerable with her—discarding the persona I’d adopted with her and being someone . . . softer.

  “She thinks me a monster.”

  “She only sees what you show her. You already know my thoughts on that.” Knox gave me a shrewd stare. “She should never have been placed in the role of an enemy.”

  “Who is the master here?” I thundered, uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going. It wasn’t because I thought it was ridiculous. No, slowly but surely, I was beginning to see the sense in it.

  “You, but that doesn’t change the fact that my advice bears consideration.”

  I didn’t speak another word. His words bounced around in my head, and no amount of refusal and denial on my part dimmed the truth.

  She would make a better ally than enemy.

  If she was going to remain here with me, it would be better that I find a use for her, instead of letting all that pent-up frustration and hostility percolate. Sooner or later, it would need an outlet, and I had a sinking suspicion Catriona would level me with her anger.

  Part of me wanted to witness that.

  But common sense won.

  “Let me consider it,” I muttered, heading for the door again.

  “All you need do is think of her before sleeping and you’ll find yourself where she is.”

  I’d sworn I wouldn’t rest until I was fully human again and my cursers dead by my hand. If dream walking helped me accomplish that—if it finally uncovered the answers I’d spent over a decade looking for—then it was time to win over my wife.

  Chapter 8

  Sleeping was such a foreign concep
t to me, something that I required less of as the years passed. Mostly, I reserved it for those moments where I needed a break from the drudgery of everyday living. The brief respite seemed to soothe my nerves around the edges, making it possible not to completely lose my mind.

  Now I was seeking sleep for a different reason, and I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about that. Once upon a time, I thought knowing the innermost thoughts and feelings of others would be a useful trick to have, but I still wasn’t convinced understanding Catriona was a good idea.

  There was so much that could go wrong. Tampering with another person’s psyche, especially when they were vulnerable, could only complicate matters further. Something told me that my wife wouldn’t appreciate the violation, either.

  But my curiosity, once stoked, was a hard thing to quell.

  Laying back on my bed, I tried to make myself as comfortable as possible. Slowly I could feel my muscles releasing their tension, and the first telltale signs of sleep started trickling through my body.

  It wouldn’t be long now before I ventured into unknown territory.

  “Think of her,” I whispered beneath my breath. Images of the beautiful brunette surfaced, and despite the countless times she’d irritated me, there was no denying that my wife was in fact an extremely attractive woman.

  I pictured the way her dark locks seemed to have a mind of their own—hanging in long curls that framed her pretty face. I hated admitting that my fingers often itched to tangle in the thickness, missing the way it had felt that day back in my office when we first met. What had started as a way to undermine her confidence had turned around and bitten me hard, because it was often all I could think about.

  I wanted to trace the soft curve of her face, relishing the way heat flooded her cheeks at my touch. She was unspoiled and virtuous—the brief taste I’d stolen confirming she would open up like a beautiful flower, each petal begging to be admired.

  Her red lips held my attention regardless of what she was saying. Whether it was the way she softly sang to herself when she thought no one was watching or the way they pursed when she disapproved of something I had done, they drew me to her. Her mouth—her kiss—would be as intoxicating as a flagon of ale. I doubted there was a man alive who would escape becoming drunk on such a taste.