Evermore, an Arotas Novella (The Arotas Series) (2 page)

Guilt
needles at her as she hears their cries, but she doesn’t stop.
She can’t. Her need to see Elias has risen to obsessive
heights.

Why
has he returned? I don’t understand. I thought he was gone for
good.

Pumping
her arms, Roseline leans forward into her sprint. She races through
the obliterated front gate and leaps down the steps, hardly noticing
the char marks along the walls left over from their siege, or the
hulking remains of what was once a grand wooden door that kept the
outside world from entering Bran Castle.

Halfway
down, she grows impatient and springs off the steps. The soles of her
boots sink into the moist ground, leaving a deep imprint as she kicks
off. Trees blur around her as she flies over the grounds, leaving the
muddy stone paths and heading out over the stunted late-winter grass.

A
wooden building looms off to her right, its roof sunken and misshapen
from years of disuse and poor repair. It sits not far from the
water’s edge of a small pond, the surface pockmarked from
droplets of rain. Mists coil around the water-logged banks, making it
difficult to make out where the water ends and the earth begins.

This
place holds a myriad of memories. She has a history with this
building, both terrifying and filled with exquisite promise. A place
where she learned the meaning of evil and later the true essence of
love. She turns away, refusing to let the past encroach back in.

Atop
the crest of a hill, she pauses to listen, breathing deep. Her hair
has become damp, plastering to her as water trails down from the
crown of her head and into her eyes. Wild strands stick to her
cheeks, tangling with her eyelashes. Her nostrils flare out as she
searches beyond the fresh scent of the falling rains for Elias.

He
is here, but where?

Turning
her head, she closes her eyes and discovers his location. He has gone
to Gabriel’s tomb. She should have known.

As
she heads in that direction, flitting under the willow tree where the
seeds of friendship with Fane were first formed, she finds herself
suddenly terrified to take another step. His body is out there too,
buried beside Gabriel. She had insisted on them being laid to rest
side by side, not that there was anyone left to deny her the right to
place them within the Enescue tomb. She is sole owner of Bran Castle
now. Her word is law.

Her
throat begins to constrict as she slows to a walk. Her hands tremble
and she clutches them tightly to her stomach, praying the butterflies
swarming there will dissipate.

Why
has Elias come here? To grieve?
The
great angel has carried the burden of Gabriel’s loss with poise
and silent dignity. Roseline has never heard him cry nor show any
hint of the anger she knows he feels. His voice has never wavered
when he spoke of his fallen companions, neither Seneh nor Gabriel.
Not like her voice does when she speaks of her loss.

As
she walks beneath the canopy of trees, she hardly notices the rain or
the sound of her feet sloshing along the ground where puddles rise up
before her. She is lost in thought, trapped within the torment of
memories.

Elias’s
scent is much stronger now. She closes her eyes, breathing deeply.
The mausoleum stands before her, appearing diminished in the small
valley below. The mists cling to the ground like a carpet, making the
entrance of the tomb appear all the more ominous.

The
door is open.

Roseline’s
knees quake as she takes a step and is forced to pause. Her heartbeat
thunders in her ears.
What
is Elias doing? He knows I had that door permanently sealed.

Morbid
curiosity mingles with her growing ire as she shakes off her unease
and bounds down the hill. She comes up short before the gaping entry,
her chest rising and falling.

“Elias?”
she calls, wincing at the tremor in her voice. She clears her throat
and takes another step, feeling the rigidity of stone beneath her
boots now. There is a rustling within the tomb, but it does not sound
like angel feathers.

Her
unease turns to concern.
Has
someone attacked Elias and broken in? If so, for what purpose?

Roseline
braces, ready to spring forward, when a tall shadow emerges from the
depths of the mausoleum. A thick dusting of gray covers every inch of
the man, matting his hair and eyelashes, coating his lips. His fine
black clothes are streaked and filthy.

She
feels faint as she takes a step back, clutching her hand to her
chest. Ice-blue eyes, filled with life and love, stare back at her.

“Gabriel!”

He’s
alive!
Even
as this thought flits through Roseline’s mind, she struggles to
grasp it.
It’s
impossible. I saw him die, felt his heart stop beating.

“Rose?”

Oh
God! He even has Gabriel’s voice. What sorcery is this?
She
backs away farther, wary of an imminent attack, although she can
sense none. Her time spent in Lucien’s dungeon has taught her
not to trust her own eyes, that things are not always as they seem.

“You’re
dead,” she says, shaking her head as he reaches out for her.
“You’re not real.”

His
smile nearly makes her weep. It feels so familiar. She thought she
would never see it again, that she would spend an eternity branding
it into her memory so it would not be lost to the past. Now here he
stands before her like a mirage, only to be lost to the winds if she
were to reach for him.

“I
am real, Rose.” He stretches out his hand to her, waiting
patiently. His gaze flits over her face, steady and calm. Her
nostrils flare as she breathes in his scent, listening to the rapid
thumps echoing in his chest.

It’s
him!

Gabriel
cries out as she leaps into his arms, crushing him with a ferocity
that she didn’t know she possessed. A low chuckle rises from
his throat, echoing through his chest against her ear. She clamps her
eyes shut against the tears that spill from between her damp lashes.
She never wants to let go again. Whatever magic or miracle has
brought him to back to her doesn’t matter. Not now.

“I
thought I lost you,” she whispers against his chest. Stone dust
puffs up before her lips as she breathes in and out, savoring his
scent and the sound of air filling his lungs once more. His heartbeat
is steady. Perfect.

His
hand clasps around the back of her head, holding her to him. He
doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. Standing in the rain,
with the mists rising all around, Roseline knows there is nowhere
else on Earth she would rather be.

When
he finally draws back to look down at her, he brushes his fingertips
across her cheeks, wiping away her tears. “You saved me.”

Anyone
else might take that figuratively, but not Roseline. Not after
everything that has happened since they met. Instead of being touched
by his words, she feels apprehension. “Explain.”

Releasing
his hold on her, he steps back and begins to unbutton his shirt. As
he slowly reveals the skin beneath, she tries not to notice how
strong his hands look or how amazing they felt upon her back when he
held her close. His chest is smooth and well defined. Her stare
quickly flits over the exposed skin. She lifts her gaze, her eyebrow
hiking in surprise. “Where did you get that marking? It looks…
it looks like the Arotas symbol.”

There,
upon the golden-toned flesh over his heart, is a tiny fleshy scar in
the shape of a cross. She reaches out and pulls up his sleeves,
tugging his arms together so that each forearm creates a perfect half
of the completed Arotas cross that has been recently branded upon his
flesh. The jagged black strokes are identical. Roseline’s
breath catches as she raises her gaze to the mark over his heart,
knowing this to be the exact site of the wound Lucien inflicted that
took his life. “How is this possible?”

Gabriel
smiles and leans in to whisper into her ear. “Family blood
heals all wounds.”

Her
eyes fly open wide as she jerks back, horrified at the thought. Her
family ties to Gabriel extend beyond the bond that lies between them.
Gabriel’s father was her brother-in-law. The thought that the
Enescue family line has once again been brought into their
relationship makes her feel ill. “Family?”

He
reaches out and tugs her into the circle of his embrace, resting his
hands upon her waist. “Not my father,” he says. “You.
Me. Do you remember the words I spoke to you before Lucien killed
me?”

“How
could I forget?” she whispers, pressing close to him as her
stomach unclenches with the knowledge that Lucien did not taint him.
Her marriage to Vladimir didn’t bind them. They did this. Their
vow spoken in love did this. “I pledge my heart, my life, my
soul to you on this day and all the days to come. My life, bonded to
yours, if you will have me,” she whispers, repeating his vow
aloud as she had done countless times over the past few days,
terrified of forgetting the last thing he said to her.

Gabriel
leans forward and presses his lips against her forehead. She closes
her eyes sure that at any moment she will wake from this wondrous
dream. “Your blood saved me, Roseline. When you told Elias of
our vow, he suspected there was hope. That is why he left you, to
discover the truth. That is why he returned for me today.”

“I
don’t care.” She clings to his arms, reveling in the
strength she feels beneath her fingers, just under his skin. Gabriel
is real. He is solid. He is alive. She looks up into his eyes and
realizes they are bluer than she remembers. Less like ice, more like
the color of a summer sky dotted with clouds. Rising up onto her
toes, she places a finger over his lips. They are warm against her
touch. “Kiss me.”

Gabriel’s
eyes widen as she repeats her request, watching as her command
shatters through his calm exterior. He thrusts her back against the
stone wall, his hands hiking her leg up around his waist. She rises
eagerly and seals her legs tight, clasping her hands behind his head
as he crushes his lips against hers. The stone behind her cracks
under the pressure. Small chunks fall away, tumbling down her
shoulder and onto the ground.

Roseline’s
breath increases as he leans into her, trailing his lips along the
neckline of her shirt. Closing her eyes, she clings to him, wondering
why they didn’t just start out like this and talk later.

She
doesn’t care about the dust that covers him from head to foot
or about the slightly musty scent that escapes the tomb’s
interior. All that matters is the feel of his hands upon her, snaking
under the hem of her shirt, lightly brushing over her spine.

Goosebumps
peak along her arms as she presses into him, parting his lips with
her tongue. Gabriel groans in response, his touch growing urgent.

The
sound of stone splintering around her head makes Roseline push back
on Gabriel’s chest. She laughs as he struggles to regain his
footing. A deep frown settles over his handsome features. “What’s
wrong?”

“Nothing.
I just don’t want to have to explain the damage you are doing
to this poor building.” She grins as she leans in to whisper in
his ear, curling her fingers around the edge of his partially
unbuttoned shirt. Later she will probably look back at this moment
and think it’s a bit odd that she isn’t unsettled by the
fact that he is still wearing his funeral suit, but right now it
doesn't matter. “You do know what this means, right?”

His
fingers tense against her waist. She can feel his confusion, see it
darkening the color of his eyes. He stands rigid as she presses a
breathy kiss against his neck, smiling at the way his skin trembles
beneath her touch. She glides her lips up his neck and pauses next to
his ear. “Your vow sealed our bond.”

Gabriel’s
fingers flex, then dig into her flesh as he draws back to look down
at her. She smirks at the myriad of emotions playing across his face.
Hope. Disbelief. Love. Excitement. “So are you saying that
we’re technically hitched now?”

She
bites down on her lower lip and nods, feeling more alive than she has
ever felt before. “That’s one way of putting it.”

Pushing
back off the wall, Gabriel’s confusion turns into something
tangible, edged with need. She can smell his growing desire, feel the
tremble in his fingers as he easily holds her aloft. His pupils
dilate as he stares at her, waiting. He clears his throat when he
sees her staring openly back. “Seems only fitting that we have
a proper honeymoon, then, huh?”

Roseline
remains silent as she slowly unwinds her legs from his waist and he
shifts to cradle her against his chest, his arms supporting her back
and legs. It is not as intimate, but no less desirable. “Are
you sure about this,” he asks, his voice deeper than usual.

Placing
her hand over his heart, over the new mark that their love created,
she knows there is nothing she wants more in this world than this
moment.

Gabriel
leaps from the mausoleum steps and races up the hill. She watches him
as he searches the castle grounds for somewhere private, somewhere
meant only for them. His steps are swift and sure as he heads farther
into the woods. She knows she could easily point him in the right
direction but decides to remain silent. She wants him to lead this
time.

Gabriel’s
search leads them to a large grove of willow trees, their boughs
draped nearly to the ground under the weight of the rain. He sets her
on her feet and moves to part the branches, allowing her to slip
beneath and out of the rain. Here and there, drops manage to sneak
between the woven leaves, creating a nearly perfect hideaway.

She
turns to find him standing behind her, his hands stuffed deep into
his pockets, though she can still tell his fingers are quaking. Never
before has she seen him look so unsure of himself. His trepidation
draws her toward him.