Prophecy: Dark Moon Rising (30 page)

She knew what it meant now.

This was the other place, the other side to her power. When she’d seen Valentine fall in the ballroom, it was this blackness that had filled her. This was what happened when she was overwhelmed by her anger. The magic took over. Her heart feared for Valentine so much that she lost control.

She pushed back at the chill she could feel around her, silently telling it that she would never let herself get like that again. Something touched her ankle and she knew it was one of the shadow men. Its touch froze her skin. She kept going forwards, breaking through it as though it was nothing more than a cobweb. Turning a corner at the top of the stairs, she walked blindly on.

She turned twice more and then stopped. Invisible forces made her kneel and her hand left her chest. She didn’t dare open her eyes yet and she didn’t resist the magic. Her fingers brushed over the floorboards and she gritted her teeth when she pulled them up. The nails dug into her fingertips, cutting them. She heard the wood splinter and tossed each plank to one side. Bending forwards, she felt something solid and cold beneath her fingers.

It was a box.

With trembling hands, she pulled it out of its hiding place and placed it beside her. The cold disappeared, the shadows and darkness fading as the magic drained away.

She opened her eyes.

It was a metal box. It was ornately decorated and on the front was a lock, its star-shaped recess telling her exactly which key would open it. Licking her fingers to seal the cuts on them, she made sure that they were clean of her blood before she removed the star from around her neck. She held her breath when she clicked it into place. Nothing happened. She frowned and pressed it. Still nothing. Raising a brow, she placed her fingers in the gaps around the points of the star and turned it anti-clockwise.

The lid clicked and lifted a fraction.

Removing the star, she placed it back around her neck. She stared at the box for a second, readying herself, and then lifted the lid. It was too dark to see inside it.

She went to call her magic to help her see and then decided against it. With such powerful spells nearby, it probably wasn’t a good idea. Standing, she looked at her surroundings, slipping into her vampire guise to make it easier to see in the darkness.

She was in a cupboard.

A frown of curiosity flitted across her brow and she picked the box up, carrying it with her into the larger room she could see. It was a bedroom. A little light filtered in through the dirty window, enough for her to see the dusty bed and the dressing table. There was a tall wardrobe to her left. The curtains hanging on either side of the window were tattered, moth-eaten and about ready to completely disintegrate if someone touched them.

The air was stale and musty.

She went to the dressing table and smiled when she found a candle. There was nothing to light it with though. Placing the box down on the bed, as far away from the candle as possible, she went back across the room to the dressing table. She called her magic and willed it to do as she asked.

Bringing her finger to the wick of the half candle, she stopped breathing and watched a ribbon of magic brush against it. It fizzled and then a flame danced into life. Warmth filled the room as the soft light struggled to illuminate it.

She cast a glance around at the shadows, making sure that they were no longer moving, and then looked at her amulet. The magic was purple again now, threading smoothly through her fingers. She lowered her hand and the ribbons disappeared, the stone of her amulet going lifeless again. Picking the candle up, she carried it across the room, placing it on an old wooden chair beside the bed.

She sat on the bed and brought the box over to her. Lifting the lid again, she peered inside at the loose pieces of paper. She took a few out, scanning them and wondering why these had been kept separate from the book. They didn’t look any more dangerous than the ones the book contained. Were they?

Some of them were written in a language she didn’t understand, but others were again written in Latin. She studied them, deciphering what they were supposed to do. There were a few spells for love. She smiled at those and placed them to one side. There was one for death too. When she’d reached the bottom of the box, she frowned. There didn’t seem to be anything that could help her.

She picked the box up and gave it a quizzical look when something shifted inside it. There was nothing in it. She looked closer at the black lining and felt around. The bottom of the box was decorated with strange symbols that looked as though they were glowing faintly. In the left corner nearest her was a worn patch. She pressed down on it and the opposite side lifted.

Removing the bottom of the box, she stared at the dark fragments of parchment in front of her. She could almost feel the power calling to her. The symbols on the piece of box she’d removed faded, disappearing completely. Whatever magic they’d had was gone now. She’d undone the spell that had been cloaking these more powerful spells.

Picking them up with her left hand, her fingers buzzed and tingled. She could feel the magic in her veins as it all gravitated towards her amulet. She looked at each piece of parchment and read snippets of the Latin written on them. They were spells of destruction and she could sense how powerful they would be if she spoke the words. This was ancient magic of apocalyptic proportions. No wonder her mother had hidden them.

Halfway through the pile, she found a spell that sent a shiver down her spine and made the stone of her amulet turn so dark purple that it was almost black.

Below that, she found one that took her breath away.

Hope re-ignited inside of her.

Her eyes widened when the stone of her amulet turned red.

A noise in the garden made her freeze.

She went to the window, ready to curse the raven for scaring her, and then took a step back when she saw a shadowy figure.

Her chest tightened when his head snapped up to look straight at her.

His expression was as cold as it had been the night he’d left.

Prophecy raced across the entrance hall to the door. She stopped just before she reached it. He was still in the garden, standing in the same spot he’d been in when she’d been upstairs. He brought his eyes down to rest on her. They narrowed.

She took a step back when he bared his fangs and told herself that everything was going to be all right. He wouldn’t hurt her.

She repeated it like a mantra in her head when he stalked towards her. His claws extended and his shoulders shifted position, rising up and showing her that he was ready to strike. She stood her ground and attempted to mask her fear by holding her head high, just like she’d done the night she’d met him.

Her marks throbbed in unison, a deep pain that shook her to the bone and made her want to rub them in the hope it would bring some relief. She could feel the tickle of the magic as it played around her fingers. It was there if she needed it. That’s what it was telling her. There was no way she was going to use it though. She’d rather die than hurt him.

He was closing in now, barely a few feet from her. His pace was steady, a slow purposeful stride that told her he was making the most of this moment. He wanted her scared. He was feeding off it.

Her eyes remained locked on his. It was hard to tell in this light whether he’d completely changed into his vampire guise. The night was washing away all colour, leaving his skin lifeless and his eyes dark. He was still wearing the jacket he’d had on at the ball. Her heart ached to recall how good it had felt to be in his arms that evening and how wonderful it had been to dance with him and kiss him.

She heard the thud of his boots on the wooden boards of the veranda and readied herself. He didn’t need an invite. Any moment now, she was going to discover just what she’d let herself in for.

She was glad he didn’t have a sword on him.

But she wasn’t holding her breath about it turning out nice like her other vision.

He was only a couple of metres from her when he crossed the threshold and a blinding light filled the room. She brought her hand up to cover her eyes and flinched away from it. It disappeared, leaving her vision dulled.

She lowered her hand and stared at Valentine.

He stared right back, shock visible in his eyes.

She wondered what was wrong when he looked down at himself, holding his arms out by his side and then casting a glance over his shoulder at the door. He looked back at her again, his brows meeting in a confused frown.

“What happened?” he said.

Tears sprung into her eyes on hearing his voice and she had to fight hard to stop herself from going to him. She kept her distance and kept her senses locked on him in case it was all an act.

He gave her a gentle look, one that conveyed all his feelings to her and made her throat tighten with the emotions it brought to the surface. Her chest warmed and her brows furrowed. She silently prayed that this wasn’t a trick. She couldn’t understand it either, but from where she was standing, he looked cured.

In his face, there wasn’t a trace of the heartless killer she’d seen in him that night.

He looked at his hands and his face screwed up in agony.

“What have I done?” he said in a broken whisper so full of pain that she found herself taking a step towards him.

He took a step back and shook his head.

She froze, hurt by his actions.

“What’s happening?” she said and held her hand out, desperate for him to take it, dying to be close to him and have his arms around her.

“This is not possible. Elena’s spell over me was complete. I feel no trace of it now.” He looked over his shoulder at the garden. “But out there I did.”

Her gaze fell to the threshold of the house. What was the blinding light she’d seen? She looked at her mother’s portrait and then her eyes widened.

“This place is my mother’s. She had a box with spells in upstairs and some of them were magically protected. Maybe it’s the same with the house.” She walked towards him to go to the door and he leapt away to the side, keeping a distance between them. Didn’t he trust himself around her? She reasoned that Elena had sent him here to kill her. It was no wonder he didn’t trust himself. He was probably waiting for Elena’s command over him to come back.

She looked at him. He was staring at his hands again, his eyes clouded.

She didn’t know what it was like to be under Elena’s spell, but from the pain in his eyes and the way he stared at his hands, she got the impression he was horrified by the things he’d done. She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t him who had done those things, whatever they were, but the words wouldn’t come. Even if she had been able to speak them, there would be little comfort in them. If she were in his shoes and doing terrible things like he had clearly been, she would find no comfort in being told it wasn’t her fault. She would blame herself too.

She knelt beside the door and touched the boards just in front of the threshold of the house. Patterns shimmered into life. It was a spell.

Her eyes moved to Valentine and she stood slowly.

“I don’t know what they mean, but I don’t think Elena’s spell works here.”

When she stepped forwards, he moved backwards again.

“There is something I must tell you.” Guilt flickered in his eyes.

She nodded, her whole body tense as she tried to ready herself. Whatever he had to say, it was going to be bad, but she could see that by saying it, he would heal himself a little. Whatever he’d done, it wasn’t his fault really. It was Elena, and it would be Elena she would take her anger out on, not Valentine.

He turned away from her and hung his head. She didn’t dare move forwards, not even when she sensed the sadness in him.

“I am sorry.” His voice was so low and quiet that she barely heard him.

It sounded as though it was taking a lot of effort for him to speak. Silence stretched, fraying her last nerve until it snapped and her hands shook, her breath trembling as she focused on it, trying but failing to steady herself. She could feel the depth of his pain and she knew that whatever he’d done, it had cut him to the core, traumatising him in some way. What could he have possibly done that had hit him so hard?

She swallowed. Icy cold crept into her body, filling her up while she waited for him to speak.

“I … you…” He stumbled on the words.

She could feel the tension radiating off him. Her eyes dropped to his hands and she saw they were tightly clenched shaking fists. Blood dripped from between his fingers, squeezing through the cracks. He was hurting himself.

She ventured a step forwards and raised her hand, her heart breaking when she saw his shoulders heave in a sigh.

She wanted so badly to comfort him but she had to let him confess to whatever was causing him pain first. He needed to say the words and get them out into the open.

“Valentine?” she whispered, hoping to give him strength by showing him that she was still here for him, waiting for him to come back to her.

He sighed again and then lowered his head even more.

“I killed him.”

The words made her mind race but she could only draw one terrible conclusion.

“Caden,” she said. When she’d called Venturi to tell him she’d arrived at the airport, he’d mentioned that he hadn’t been able to find her father.

Valentine’s shoulders tensed.

He’d killed her father. That’s why he was so guilty. But he’d been under her sleeping spell the whole time her father had been around. It wasn’t possible.

“You knew?” She stared at his back.

“I knew. I heard you speaking to him, and I heard Mia and Dmitri had arrived … and the Tenebrae. I did not want it to end that way … it was swift. Merciful.”

Merciful.

She repeated the word in her head, knowing exactly what he was telling her. He had given her father a clean death, rather than draw it out like Elena had expected him to. He’d been merciful.

She glanced at her mother’s painting and then pressed her amulet against her heart.