Inescapable (Eternelles: The Beginning, Book 1) (3 page)

Then she saw it, and froze. At the foot of Houdon’s
Bust of Voltaire
lay an inert Susan on the marble floor. A pool of blood slowly grew wider at her neck, her skin ashen like the palest cinder of wood burned and burned for days.

There should’ve been much more blood on the floor to account for the horrific paleness. Unless...

Her suspicions confirmed when she lifted her eyes and saw the dark mist hovering over the lifeless body. The shape solidified in mid-air, taking the form of the man who had spoken to Susan a few moments earlier.

No. This cannot be.

She must’ve gasped, because he turned and saw her. The fist of recognition slammed into her belly when she realized she had seen him once before, skulking around the library in ancient Alexandria.

If he’d survived through all those centuries, that meant he was indeed a supernatural creature. But not a vampyre, since vampyres bled their victims dry.

Mon Dieu,
not...

Just then, the creature solidified on his feet and threw his head back to bellow a laugh.

“Your time is coming to an end, daughter of Dionysos and maenad. Prepare to die.”

“I cannot die,
Soul Stealer
.” She had trouble forcing the name out of her mouth, more so than to gather the courage to face up to him. She was, after all, a warrior trained on Olympus. Battle and war didn’t scare her.

“Our reign will start. Soon. We have what we sought, and we are getting the map to the key as we speak now.” He hissed the words with barely concealed gloating. “The end for your kind. Maybe I should just kill you already.”

“Not if you die now,” a man’s voice said.

Adri turned to find Des in the room. Before she could comprehend what he was doing there, he reached the other man in a blur of movement. The crack of a snapped neck echoed in the cavernous room.

“I only bought us some time,” Des said as he looked up at her. “Check on her while I search his pockets.”

Adri snapped out of her surprise as adrenaline rushed through her body. The air lost its oppressive strength and she rushed to her friend’s side.

She couldn’t help but throw a quizzical glance at Des. Who the hell was he? He was supposed to be human, for goodness’ sake.

Despite knowing Susan was dead, she still clung to the hope she might find a pulse in the prone body. The moment threw her back onto memories of another, somewhat similar episode. A time when she had cradled an unconscious Sera in her arms, hoping against hope to find a pulse at her daughter’s neck. When she had found it, she hadn’t had any second thoughts. She’d cut herself deep, let the wound bleed directly into Sera’s mouth and down the girl’s throat. Either that, or feed her human blood within the hour to turn her into a vampyre. The other alternative—Sera left without any intake of blood—was something she couldn’t even fathom. For here lay the biggest secret of the supernatural world: that when a human or sup creature killed this way came back from the dead, they returned in soul stealer form. Even the existence of these creatures was kept undisclosed.

“He has vials of her blood on him,” Des said. “It’s blue.”

Adri snapped out of her spell as he handed her one. Blood drained of all its oxygen. She noticed the signs of strangulation on Susan’s neck, and she checked the lifeless eyes. No formation of petechiae in the conjunctivae, which should’ve been present when a human died by asphyxia.

She gasped when all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. “He brought her to the brink of death by strangling her, making sure she ran out of oxygen. That’s when he punctured her neck and gathered the blood.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I have no idea.” She shivered. “He said...”

“Yes, I heard what he said.”

A hint of motion registered at the corner of her eye; she turned and screamed, “Des! Behind you.”

The man whose neck had been snapped had recuperated enough to try to lunge at Des. At her cry, he snarled, before he formed into mist and disappeared into thin air, taking the rest of Susan’s blood with him.

So it really had been a soul stealer. Why were these creatures back now, and why prey on Susan? Somehow, Adri was involved in the whole thing, but
merde
if she had any clue how.

“We have to get out of here and back to the reception before anyone notices we’re missing.”

Des jumped to his feet and grabbed her hand. As much as she wanted to ponder upon this strange turn of events and do something—anything—for her dead friend, she knew when she had to cut her losses. She followed as he led her into rooms further to the back of the main sculpture gallery. They returned to the Medieval Art section, only to duck into more rooms of European Sculpture on the other side of the Middle Ages gallery. Voices suddenly clambered close; Des pulled her into an alcove in the wall and draped his wide body over hers.

Pressed to one another, the beat of his heart thumped against her chest, roaring in the same rapid rhythm as hers. Their breaths labored, each struggled for air.

She tried to access his thoughts, but nothing except a blank greeted her. Could she be so riled up that she’d lost touch with her gift? Or was he something much more sinister blocking her power?

The voices drew closer. A wave of panic danced inside Adri. If they were caught...

“We won’t be,” he whispered as he lowered his head.

Did he just read her mind? Or was she that transparent? Adri glanced up. Despite being in five-inch heels, she still topped at barely five-foot-eight. A diminutive height for which a six-foot-four, solid man like Des Roxburgh would have to bend for.

His warm, raspy breath danced against her cheekbone. In the dark, she couldn’t make out his eyes, or even his features. Only the pound of his heart where she’d placed her hand on his chest betrayed how much this moment affected him, too.

And if she thought hard about it, this was how it had felt on that terrace. Could it be? That Des was the man who had kissed her?

He lowered his head even more, until the feathery brush of his warm, moist lips danced against her cheek. If she went on tiptoe, she could maybe breach the distance between their mouths, and kiss him. Find out if he was that man. And why wasn’t he kissing her? She couldn’t mistake the rapid heartbeat, the heavy breaths, the heat emanating off him, as anything else but sexual desire.

“Get a room, will you?” a loud voice boomed on a laugh.

Des chuckled, and subtly drew away from her. When the footsteps receded, he broke away and grabbed her hand. “We should get back before they discover the body.”

The warm, sensual spell that had fallen over her dissipated as easily as the dark mist in the room where Susan was killed. Remembering that vile creature snapped her out of her sex-starved coma and prompted her to silently bash herself for being such a hormonal idiot. There were more important things at play here.

Des dragged her back into the Great Hall. No sooner had they arrived than a commotion rang out at the main table where Susan had sat.

Someone must’ve found the body. She read the same conclusion on Des’ weary face.

“We have to get out of here,” he said softly. “Preferably quietly and without anyone stopping us.”

“I can do that.” On a surge of power, she wrapped the perception that she and Des had only made an appearance and left before the dinner started, and pushed the suggestion onto the collective mind of the crowd. Mob mentality had never come in so handy.

“Let’s go,” Des said as he pulled her with him and they ducked through the Greek and Roman Arts galleries on the left of the Great Hall to reach the parking garage on the ground floor. Questions rolled and ebbed in her mind, but she’d bide her time until she could ask them aloud.

He pulled his keys from his pocket once they were in the dark space and pressed a button. The lights on a blue Ferrari
California flashed.

He pulled the passenger door open. “Get in.”

“What about my car? I can’t leave it here.”

He sighed. “Will you please do as I say?”

She crossed her arms. Who was he to order her around?

He shook his head. “In case you didn’t realize, that was a soul stealer back there that killed Susan. If one is here, you know chaos is just around the corner.”

Shivers danced down her spine, and she suddenly realized she’d left her coat upstairs. The angry tone of the commanding man also rattled her. As usual when annoyance knocked on her door, she let it inside through a wide open gate. “And you’re here to save the day, am I right? Who the hell, or better yet—
what
the hell are you? Don’t think I didn’t notice how you stalled that creature back there.”

“It doesn’t matter who I am.”

“I don’t think so.” She braced her legs and cocked her right hip, a sure sign she was prepared to wait him out for an answer.

He lowered his head, letting out a string of curses in a language that sounded strangely like Gaelic. Very, very ancient Gaelic.

“Think what you bloody want to think, Adrasteia, daughter of Dionysos. But answer one question first—are you sure your daughter is still safe?”

At the biting cold on the wind, Sera sent silent thanks that her mother had chosen the warm velvet coat to wear over that skimpy evening dress to the dinner-auction. April in
New York City wasn’t too bad, not much different to the climate in Shadow Bridge, but the evenings could be vicious.
At least it didn’t rain tonight.

Back in the hotel room after a brisk two-block jaunt to the nearest McDonalds, she was grateful for the protection provided by the thick fawn cable knit sweater with oversized collar and wooden buttons that, when closed, covered her from neck to knee. She loved it not purely for its practical purpose, but also because it felt like armor—like a cloak inside which to hide the perhaps too soft curves of her body. A wall behind which to tuck all her secrets, all her flaws, from the rest of the world.

The stretch, black-on-green newspaper-style-print t-shirt was too light for this weather, even with the long sleeves. The square neckline also left a good amount of fair skin exposed to the elements. Thankfully, her naturally abundant fiery curls that she’d left hanging free—and considered her best physical asset—were a source of both pride and function as they offered extra warmth. Plus, she’d had the good sense to wind a wide, multicolored jersey scarf in a slip knot around her neck. It smelled faintly of the turpentine from her studio back home—a scent she loved.

The scent of comfort.

Just like the empty calories she was spreading with anticipation on the shiny wood coffee table in front of the TV, after discarding sweater and scarf. She switched the channels on digital radio mode and searched for the dance music station, then gathered her hair in a high pony tail at her crown to avoid getting mayo and grease on the tresses. Bobbing her head to the beat of Guetta’s
The World is Mine,
Sera sat on the sofa and tucked into her take-out meal.

She loved songs because the buzzwords in them did something amazing to the brain, and rewired it to experience any emotion you wanted. And right now she desired—no,
needed
—to feel good, to feel hopeful.
Believe. Life. Try. Pain…die.
The upbeat energy in the music and lyrics lifted her spirits, taking her to a different plane that promised no pain, no memories, only a brighter perspective. Not nearly as good as being close to her surrealist paintings with Will curled up on the futon, head on paws, belly full after they’d both shared some mouth-watering dish from
The Stirring Pot
back in Shadow Bridge—but the next best thing.

I’m making the most of it, Mom. See? This is my way…

After the spine-tingling dream she’d had of Rafe, she had no desire to go back to sleep too soon. Junk food and mind-numbing music consumed together were the key to a better mood, and she was pretty easy to please. A Big Mac, large fries, sweet and sour dipping sauce, and extra-large Coke—happiness out of a bag.

The burger pretty much demolished, she finished the last of her fries and slurped up the dregs of her drink with a harsh draw on the straw. Upon a loud sigh of contentment, she wryly contemplated that the only stain—if one could call it that—on such bliss was the fact that her mother wasn’t there to witness these appalling manners with a shocked look on her face. That, and the ensuing lecture, would have indeed been the cherry on the icing, more so for the fact that Sera loved to rile Adri up every chance she got.

Smiling at the unholy thought, she propped up her feet on the coffee table and crossed them. The room was cozy and welcoming, the repetitive beats of the music a balm to her mood. Perhaps tonight, she was happy that her mother wasn’t there to scold her into sitting like a lady and taking her filthy shoes off the expensive furniture. Sera understood the demands for etiquette and mostly respected them, but she also appreciated the degree of freedom that came with privacy, and she wouldn’t give that up for the sake of acting
proper.
There was a time for everything, and this was her break to do as she wanted and enjoy the luxury of her solitude.

She leaned back diagonally on the cushions, her back partially on the padded armrest, her feet pointing to the right far corner of the table. The Swarovski crystals on the patent leather Doc Martens glimmered in the light from the gilded sconces behind her. A pre-launch treat made available by the company for elite customers—one advantage of being daughter to an heiress. The twinkle caught her eye, drawing a smile from her. Like her mother, she had a claim to vanity which extended to sparkly things—only hers did not gravitate to delicate clutch purses or statement-making designer shoes. Despite her age, she still felt young and naïve compared to her sophisticated parent.

She cut off a wicked remix of Lady Gaga’s
Bad Romance
by pressing the remote button for TV mode. Now that Adri wasn’t here to rib her about her choice of programs, Sera knew exactly what she wanted to see—the mindless pleasures of the Comedy Channel.

She grinned when she checked the lineup. “Right on!”

An episode of
Will and Grace
followed by
Frasier
and then, on to pay-per-view for
Mamma Mia,
a feel good musical comedy and romance with the requisite happy ending. Couldn’t ask for better on those days when she didn’t want to think. Her work at the Fleur de Lys
Academy in Shadow Bridge, instructing students in old world languages, as well as her advanced cryptology and ancient text research, was more than adequate to suck her into a punishing work schedule. However, what she craved now was something a bit less cerebral, something a step up from trashy reality TV that always succeeded at calming her down from an emotional scuffle with her mother—or even one with her own self.

With a pang, she remembered a time when her relationship with Adri was not yet tinged with tension and regrets. When there was nothing but love and respect, and the closest bond of friendship—undiluted by threatening clouds of blame and recriminations.
So long ago! Those were the days…

Liking that train of thought, she let her mind drift to those years spent in the Swedish hills, quaint towns, and countryside, and to the one person who most reminded her of that beautiful place. Of the time spent there, her and William’s philosophical conversations on a bench in a park near the
University of Lund remained most vivid in her memory. Discussions full of laughter and light-hearted debates that always made her spirits soar.

Deemed a prodigy after expensive homeschooling closely supervised by her mother—“Only the best for my daughter!” Adri would say—this college was where Sera had insisted to continue her studies when she turned seventeen. She’d read about it in a book, and her decision had been as easy to make as working through a tray of scones during afternoon tea.

It hadn’t been plain sailing, for Adri had fought her every step of the way.

“But why there? Couldn’t you find somewhere perhaps a bit warmer and with finer champagne? Like
Paris…”

“I want to get away, Mom, truly get away,” Sera had rebutted.

In the end, Sera got her way, and Adri had finally relented as long as she could move with her daughter for the five years it took to complete her fast-track program through to doctorate level in the humanities. Sera had a feeling the time her mother had spent with Norse-god-like Ulrick Torkildsen, a shipping magnate, had further helped to swallow the bitter pill of being ‘away from civilization,’ as Adri called it.

Her mother had found a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love with Ulrick, and for Sera,
a Nordic country had suited her temperament. With her phoenix blood, she was naturally warm, so she didn’t feel cold to the same degree as everyone else. Furthermore, if she had one of her
incidents
—like being provoked to turn into a raging pyre in front of witnesses—Adri could be counted on to clean up the mess, work her magic, and spirit her away, back to England. If Adri would have been unsuccessful in helping her, they’d still have a place to run back to where no one would ever find out or cared about what had happened in a land far away from home. No one would have been the wiser.

But chances always were it would never get to that. Adri had the gift of
feeling
when Sera was so distressed as to automatically engage her phoenix powers. Perhaps there was something to be said about the mother-daughter bond. Perhaps it was just Adri being the powerful, ancient creature she was. At the most elemental level, they had a direct line of communication that opened up when trouble was afoot. If she was in danger, Adri could sense it and rush to her aid. Sera wasn’t sure if she’d have the same premonition if the situation were reversed.

She shivered at the thought. Saving anyone’s hide was not her field of competence. Adri was the warrior in the family.

In Sweden, they’d both adjusted in record time. Her mother was no fool—she’d been well aware that there were no opportunities open for women to pursue academia in England during the first decade of the twentieth century. The University of Lund was a very progressive college at the time, and Adri was filled with motherly pride when Sera became one of the only two women who’d received their doctorates in 1910 at this institution. And she was by far the younger of the two. Sera had shared the elation of that achievement with the supportive William, who she’d met on campus when she first got there, and fell in love with soon thereafter. The son of a New York industrialist and a Southern belle, he loved to travel and to his father’s consternation, he’d chosen to study somewhere other than England or America.

She tried to summon his face to her mind’s eye, but the attempt in itself made her fling her thoughts aside in frustration.

William, why are you leaving me? You said we’d always be together, but I can’t even see your face any more. Not every detail, every crease, every curve. I’ve forgotten, William… Why did you have to go and die?

Then another image insinuated itself in her head. The recollection of that one and only kiss she’d shared with Rafe—and the novel feelings of raw lust it had engendered in her—slithered in like a venomous serpent to shatter any further attempt at reparation for this slight. Because William, whether she liked it or not, was but a faded memory. The unwanted image crawled to the farthermost corners of her being, filling her with self-loathing. Rafe should have been a stranger but wasn’t. To him, she was bonded by a single act of possession. Of
obsession
.

With fresh tears brimming in her eyes, she swallowed back the lump in her throat and gave all that she had to focus back on the TV screen. Kelsey Grammar crooned, “
Good night, Seattle, we love you
”, signalling the show’s end.

Had an hour passed so fast? She switched channels and groaned when a documentary on the Titanic came on. Th
is being the centennial of the tragedy, the networks would milk the date for all it was worth well into the evening. Memories came crashing hard—ones she relived every year at this time.

When her mother told her about the ship sinking.

When she’d informed her William wasn’t among those who’d made it alive.

The saying went that time healed, that it made people forget. She’d had a good life, and never wanted for anything, but the shadows of the past, although they’d faded for the most part, never disappeared for good. Ever since that day…that bloody day…that she would love to erase from the calendar of Time.

The program showed footage of the survivors, zooming in on the clip of a little girl with blond ringlets who looked like a five-year-old Shirley Temple.

“It was an angel!” she exclaimed. “An angel saved me.”

Then they switched to present day. An old lady sat on a cushioned chair. She was dressed to the nines, her hair like raveled white cotton strands, her face all made up. The captions said 2002, so the show was about a decade old. The woman would have been in her nineties but her blue eyes were the same as that little girl’s, still sharp and very much alive. The reporter asked her whether she still thought she’d been saved by an angel.

The woman just smiled and said, “Anything can happen if you believe strong enough."

Right.
Sera scoffed at that as she contemplated how today was not a day of optimism for her. Considering the occasion, she’d allow herself the indulgence of wallowing in self-pity. Adri would deny her even that, she who hit the ground running when anything had the gall to unsettle her.

Clutching the remote, she aimlessly flicked at the channels; nothing much caught her attention.
Soon, the heaviness of the meal and her veering thoughts were taking a toll. Undecided, she switched to Lifetime. Her thumb hovered then descended on the mute button, following her brain’s call for a rain check.

Don’t sleep. Fight it, Sera.

If she let herself succumb to the tempting pull of slumber, Rafe might visit her again to turn her dreams into nightmares. And she’d see him so starkly, too. Much better than she could William…

Why now?
she asked as she’d done earlier when Rafe haunted her. His appearance felt like an omen, a sign of bad things to come. Perhaps she was over-emotional, but this overwhelming intuition didn’t feel irrational.

You’re coming back, aren’t you, Rafe?