Will be unable to render a kill afterward.
Worth it.
Determined, he withdrew a dagger from a sheath at his waist and thrust the blade into his rib cage. Warm blood poured down his chest. Pain devoured his strength with the same tenacity as Indifference, scorching every nerve ending in his body. Eventually his knees gave out. But even as he fell, he continued to hack through muscle and bone. Finally, success.
As an immortal, he would recover...soonish. Here and now, his mind would remain conscious for a minute, maybe two. Plenty of time to get what he needed. Sin had taught him well: the entire course of your life could change between one breath and another.
With a flick of his wrist, the still-beating heart rolled toward the Oracles. Twitters of acceptance rang out, followed by voices, one Oracle speaking after the other.
"You love our home, our people, despite your...limitations. But what has been spoken cannot be undone. What is to happen, will happen."
"One prophecy can work alongside another, and what was can be made right."
"To save us all, wed the girl who belongs to William of the Dark...she is the key..."
"Bring your wife to our lands and lead the dark one here after. Only the male who will live or die for the girl has the power to dethrone Sin the Demented."
When had Sin earned the moniker "the Demented"?
"Only then shall you have all you desire."
"But do not forget Ananke's shears, for they are necessary..."
Together the Oracles whispered, "There is no other way."
In the ensuing quiet, Puck's thoughts whirled. William of the Dark. He'd never heard of him, or the girl the male would "live or die for." The two needed to be brought to Amaranthia, one after the other. Very well.
As a heavy gloom toyed with the edges of his mind, he ordered and set his tasks.
Find William of the Dark. Wed the girl he loves. War with Sin.
One prophecy would not supersede the other. Instead, the two would work in tandem. Meaning, William would not kill Sin, would only dethrone him. The rest would be up to Puck.
Nothing would stop him from completing each task. William. Wed. War. One day, Puck would wear the Connacht crown, save his people and unite the clans.
Finally the gloom stopped toying and started devouring, swallowing him whole. He knew nothing more.
3
Gillian Shaw, BP (Before Puck)
T minus 4 days and 32 seconds until B-day
I can do this. I can do it.
Sexy lingerie? Check.
Intoxicating perfume? Check.
Teeth brushed once, twice for good measure? Check, check.
Gillian Shaw--also known as Gillian Bradshaw, Gilly Bradshaw and Jill Brads, depending on which ID she used--marched from one side of the bedroom to the other, feeling as if she were a cracked porcelain doll about to shatter. I'm almost eighteen. I can do this.
Her stomach said, Think again, little girl.
Not wanting to desecrate the Persian rug, she rushed to the bathroom. Just in time. The contents of her stomach spewed into the toilet.
Her boyfriend--who was she kidding? He wasn't her boyfriend. Yet. He was an immortal warrior of incomparable beauty and power, a bazillion years old, and one of nine kings of hell. Or a former king. Immortal titles could change as kingdoms were won or lost, and she had lost track. What she knew beyond a doubt: William of the Dark was a merciless killer. Both enemies and friends feared him, and yet, when he smiled, panties dropped.
The guy slept around. A lot. He had no sticking power...except with Gillian, whom he refused to bed.
Time to teach him otherwise.
Though he'd never made a move on her, he'd always enjoyed being with her. Clearly! He joked and laughed with her in a way he never did with anyone else. This morning, he'd sought her opinion about which T-shirt to wear. The one that read "I Can Make Beer Disappear" or "World's Okayest Friend."
Did he understand what a rarity he was? What a wealth of contradictions? He was uncompromisingly brave while inspiring terror, fierce but honorable, with a skewed moral compass. Willing to commit unspeakable acts of evil, and yet, there were (small) lines he refused to cross.
To Gillian, he was a last hope.
Must win him over. Had she done ample internet research? Picked the right outfit? Brushed her teeth enough? Ugh. Maybe she should go home, before he returned and found her half-dressed in his bedroom, and forever altered the course of their relationship.
Too late. Already altered.
A while back, he'd been bed bound after a particularly gruesome battle. In his weakened condition, he hadn't trusted anyone but Gillian to be near him. As she'd tended his wounds, he'd admitted he sensed her feelings for him, and told her they could only ever be friends, that she was too young to be with a man and understand what it meant.
Thanks to her stepfather, she'd known what it meant for years. He'd done sick, twisted things she couldn't contemplate without praying for death. He'd also taught his sons to do sick, twisted things.
But day after day, she kept fighting to live, anyway. She hated her stephorrors too much to let them win.
Feeling rejected by William, she'd tried to avoid him. He'd sought her out, anyway, acting as if nothing had happened. Actually, no. That wasn't one hundred percent accurate. She'd shared the worst of her past, and he'd begun to treat her like spun glass.
Now, there were two Gillians--two wolves at war. One Gillian was afraid of her feelings for William, and the other only wanted to feel more. One looked at him and thought, He's the scariest man on Earth. The other looked at him and thought, He's the sexiest man on Earth.
Talk about mental whiplash! Which mattered more--scary or sexy?
Um, how about neither? He was nice, the only quality that mattered.
Lately, though, he'd been spending less and less time with her. What if he grew tired of her? What if he ditched her?
There was only one way to keep a man interested in a woman...
Her stomach twisted. You're proving his point. You aren't ready. This isn't right.
No. No! Listen to fear? Not anymore. Tonight she took control of her destiny, and proved she could meet all of Liam's needs.
Gillian splashed her face with water and peered at her reflection in the mirror. Dark, haunted eyes stared at her, and she scowled. No one, in this world or any other, had ever hated their eyes more than she hated hers.
You want me to stop touching you? Then tell those beautiful eyes to stop begging for more.
A cold sweat beaded over her forehead, and her stomach threatened to rebel a second time.
Okay. So. Guaranteed, she was going to freak out tonight.
"You are worth the hassle," she muttered. "And so is Liam."
With his kindness and gentleness, he'd earned her trust, loyalty and love. And by some miracle of miracles, she'd earned his, too. He must trust and love her, despite his rejection of her. Why else would he throw her a private pre-birthday party yesterday and surprise her with a new car? A Mercedes-Benz S600 Guard, to be exact.
According to her envious classmates, it was the safest vehicle on the market because it could resist sniper fire, rocket-propelled grenades and high-velocity projectiles. Oh, and it had cost six hundred thousand dollars, an absolutely obscene amount of money. But William was a savvy businessman on top of everything else and had oodles of cash to spare.
But the thing worth more to her than the Mercedes? The handmade coupon booklet he'd given her. Inside were tickets for all-night video game challenges, dinners anywhere in the world and a shopping extravaganza while he carried her purse.
There were also twenty coupons for "the head or heart of an enemy."
But even better than all of that? She'd picked up idle chatter among the group of friends they shared. William considered Gillian his destined mate!
The problem was, he continued seeing other women.
Have to win him now, before he falls in love with someone else.
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A little wobbly on her feet, Gillian used the spare toothbrush to scrub her mouth a third and fourth time. He loves me. He'll always love me. Surely.
Not too long ago, she'd gone out with some kids from her school. She'd been uncomfortable but determined to have fun. But, when everyone paired up, leaving her alone with one of the boys, she'd panicked. What if he made a move on her? Just when she thought she might snap, William had shown up.
"You do not touch her. Ever," he'd said, his voice pure menace. "You do, you die."
Unlike her stepfather, he protected her. He was a bright light in a life encompassed by darkness.
With him, she almost felt normal.
Gillian needed to feel normal. So many girls her age were excited to discover the "pleasures" of sex. But she already despised the act. The smells, sounds and sensations. The pain, humiliation and helplessness.
What if William could introduce her to those pleasures?
Her phone vibrated. A text from William? Hopeful but also teeming with dread, she checked the screen. Keeley.
Quick question. No wrong answer. If you were a queen--like ME--and someone did something to hurt you in order to save you, would you forgive him or kill him?
Keeley the Red Queen was a Curator tasked with the world's safekeeping, drawing strength from nature. She called her mind a corkboard because she'd lived so long and had so many memories stuck in her brain. Not just of the past, but also the future. Or a future she'd once seen but had forgotten. Now she was remembering, her marriage to Torin helping her achieve mental clarity.
For some reason, she'd decided to take Gillian under her wing and train her to be royalty with lessons posing as a "quick question."
Gillian responded: Those are my only options? Kill him or forgive him? Fine. I'll play along. But before I can render a verdict, I'll need more info. What did this person do to hurt me?
Keeley: Who knows? I wasn't there.
I still need more info.
Keeley: Wrong answer. You must forgive me. I mean him. HIM. Otherwise bitterness will grow like a weed and choke out any joy. Now, then. I hope you enjoyed this lesson in surviving the wonderful world of immortality from Professor Queen KeeKee.
Forgive YOU??? What did you do, K? Or what are you going to do? Tell me!
Keeley: I love you, my sweet little nonhuman you!
Nonhuman? Sometimes there was no understanding the Red Queen.
With a huff, Gillian pocketed her phone and caught sight of her reflection--those eyes. She remembered why she was in William's apartment, and fear annihilated her amusement.
The cons of doing this tonight: (1) she might keep vomiting, (2) if she failed, she might not gather the courage to try again, and (3) doing nothing could mean losing William's friendship.
The pros: (1) she had chosen him of her own free will, (2) she had planned the encounter, and (3) she would control everything that happened. No matter what, sex with him would be different. Different meant better.
And what if memories of William overshadowed memories of her stepfather? What if William helped rid her of all the guilt, shame and self-loathing that had burrowed inside her heart and taken root?
She wouldn't be a shell of herself any longer. She would regain confidence. The hate inside her would drain. Never again would she feel crushed by life.
Her phone buzzed. A quick screen check had her groaning. Torin.
Where are you?
Torin--another immortal friend--had recently gotten hitched to Keeley. He was a good guy, with a love for sarcasm.
Gillian texted back: Out. Why?
Torin: Why else? Because I like making sure your smart-mouth is safe.
Her fingers flew over the keyboard. Or you promised William you'd check on me while he's out.
Torin: That, too. Now back to business. Out where?
No way she'd lie. "Lie" was the only language her stephorrors spoke. But no way Gillian would tell Torin the full truth, either.
She typed: I'm in my apartment, Dad. Thanks for asking.
She had an apartment of her own right next door to William's. Technically, her apartment belonged to him, too, since he paid for both, but what belonged to him belonged to her--he'd said so! Twice!
Torin: Like I can't track your exact location, sweetheart. Go home. Whatever you're planning, it's a bad idea. Horrible. Terrible. The worst!
What! He knew? Trembling worse than before, she turned off her phone. This was a great idea. Maybe the best she'd ever had.
Breathe. Just breathe. Everything would be fine. William had experience. A lot of experience. His friends didn't call him William the Ever Randy and Free Willy for nothing. He would make sure Gillian enjoyed herself to the best of her ability. Right?
Dang it. Where was he? What was he doing?
She remembered the first time they'd met.
Desperate to escape her stephorrors, she'd stolen money and bought a bus ticket from New York to LA. There, she'd gotten a job at the only place willing to hire her. A trashy diner where men like her stephorrors had regularly tried to order a "happy ending meal."
Then Danika Ford had come along, a street-smart scrapper who had the supernatural ability to see into heaven and hell. Danika had been on the run from a group of demon-possessed immortals known as the Lords of the Underworld, each one more terrifying than the last. There was Paris, host to the demon of Promiscuity. Sabin, host to Doubt. Amun, Secrets. Aeron, Wrath. Reyes, Pain. Cameo, Misery. Strider, Defeat. Kane, Disaster. Torin, Disease. Maddox, Violence. Lucien, Death. Gideon, Lies.
Against all odds, Danika had fallen in love with Mr. Pain. The happy couple invited Gillian to move to Budapest with them, and because she'd been dealing with a creepy super, spending every night pressed against her front door, a baseball bat at the ready, she'd thought, Why the heck not? Her stephorrors would never be able to find her overseas.
Except, the second she'd arrived, she'd felt as if she'd gone from bad to worse. She'd been too afraid of her new roommates to sleep, and had camped out in the entertainment room--a central location with multiple exits.
One day, William plopped onto the couch and said, "Tell me you're skilled at video games. Everyone else sucks, and I need a challenge."
For months, they'd played video games at all hours of the day, and she'd felt like a kid for the first time in forever. She went from hating all men to loving one as an unlikely friendship bloomed. He quickly became the most important, treasured and wonderful thing in her life. The person she counted on above all others.
Hinges squeaked as the front door opened and closed.
William had returned!
Heart thudding against her ribs, she raced into the bedroom. Footsteps echoed from the foyer. Though her legs felt like jelly, air wheezed between her teeth, and she teetered in high heels, she struck a pose, placing one hand on a bedpost and the other on her hip.
William strode into the bedroom--holding another woman's hand.
Humiliation flash-froze Gillian's blood, tremors nearly toppling her. The woman was breathtakingly lovely, as dark as Gillian was fair, and probably immortal to boot.
When William spotted Gillian, he stopped short. As his gaze roved over her and narrowed, she had to fight the urge to look down, and hide her eyes.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice cold and hard and terrifyingly calm. The kind of tone she suspected murderers used. "I gave you the spare key for emergencies, poppet. Not...this."
"I didn't agree to a three-way, Will." The other woman smiled brightly. "But I'm totally into it. Let's do this!"
Someone kill me. Please.
William pointed at Gillian and barked, "Don't you dare move." Then he dragged the beauty out of the bedroom, despite her sputtering protests.
Gillian pressed her hands over her galloping heart. Should she run?
No. Absolutely not. Girls ran away, and women fought for what they wanted.
A loud slam echoed. Footsteps sounded again. By the time William
reappeared in the doorway, alone, Gillian had given up trying to stand and plopped onto the edge of the bed.
Silent, he strode to his closet. When he emerged, he draped a pink silk robe over her shoulders and forced her arms through the holes.
Definitely wasn't his robe. Did it belong to one of his many women?
Vulnerable to the max, Gillian watched him through the thick shield of her lashes. He was so beautiful, with jet-black hair, bronzed skin and eyes the color of a morning sky. He was the tallest man she knew, as well as the strongest.
"What's this about, poppet?" He remained in front of her, his muscular arms crossed. At least he didn't sound murdery anymore. "Why here? Why now?"
"Because...just because!"
"Not good enough."
"Because..." Just do it. Tell him. "Because guys need sex, and there's no better way to keep one interested. And also because I want you." Maybe. Surely. "Do you want me, too?"
He traced his tongue over his teeth. "You aren't ready for the truth."
"I am ready." She jumped up to clutch the collar of his shirt. "Please."
"Your family took something precious from you," he said, prying her fingers loose, his grip firm without bruising. "I won't do the same."
"You won't. By being with me, you'll help me forget." Begging now? A new stain of humiliation spread over her cheeks. "We're destined mates. Aren't we?"
The look he gave her...so gentle, so tender it devastated her. "I don't want a destined mate. I'm cursed, remember."
Yes. The moment he fell in love, a switch would supposedly flip in his ladylove, and she would do everything in her power to murder him.
He owned a book with a detailed depiction of the curse, and possibly a key to breaking it. Problem was, those deets were written in some kind of code, with strange symbols and odd riddles. So far, no one had been able to decipher anything. But they would.
"You have the book. You have hope." We have a future.
"I'll take no chances with my heart, emotionally or physically." Gaze locked with hers, he toyed with a lock of her hair. "One day, though, we will be together." One day soon. Four days, in fact. Then I'll make sure you're ready.
Realization: he planned to sleep with her, just like he'd slept with so many others. When their relationship fizzled out--and he clearly expected it to fizzle out--they would, what? Return to their friendship as if nothing had happened?
At least I'll have him in my life.