The Mark (Interracial Paranormal Romance) (Toil and Trouble) (24 page)

Chapter Thirty

The Truth

She had her talons wrapped around what was left of some guy’s head. She chunked it away like garbage and stretched out her tar black wings, shuddering as they extended to the ceiling. She inhaled deep and I could see the auras, the energy from the dozens she’d massacred, flowing to her like magnetism. When she exhaled, her glamour returned. She picked up a scrap of a shirt from the floor and wiped her mouth.

“I hope you guys haven’t eaten.” She gestured at the carnage. “I’ve left a feast for you.”

She held out her hands and invisible binds locked my hands and feet together. I looked over at Jack and saw he was similarly bound. I fought against her spell, but it was no use. She walked towards the back, dragging us toward the basement.

I’d never ventured downstairs to InK’s bdsm themed dungeon, but I’d always imagined it as a place with imitation treats. A rack with furry handcuffs. A pink paddle. An exotic cage more luxurious than terrifying.

But the dungeon was like something straight out of medieval Europe. There was a triangular shaped seat where some unlucky person could be slowly, painstakingly impaled. There was another pear shaped instrument that I swear had dried blood and hair in the cracks of wood. I saw a rack with alarming strap and metal glittering in the corner.

I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting my imagination to think up anything more. Reality was terrifying enough. I let out a sob as Jack let out another moan.

Sia had him strapped to a rack, and was binding him with silver. I could hear his skin sizzle and boil like bacon on a hot skillet. Each of his cries cut me to the bone.

“What do you want, Sia?” I sobbed, yanking at my shackles.

She applied the last strand of silver then turned to face me, pure hatred written all over her face. It must have been so hard for her, all these months pretending she cared about me. Pretending we were friends.

“I’d think it was pretty obvious at this point,” she said, tucking a blood soaked strand behind an ear. “I want you dead.”

I looked at her strangely. “You’ve had hundreds of opportunities to off me.”

“True,” she nodded. “But he-” she tightened a chain, soliciting a growl of pain from Jack. “-would have just found a way to bring you back. But if the Watchers condemned you, no supernatural could free you from death’s cold clutches.”

“My hair was golden back then. I wore it in thick, long curls. I was the most eligible lady in the queen’s court.” She let out a chuckle. “I did have a penchant for scandal in the old days. Trysts with the King, the Bishop, even the queen and a couple of her handmaidens.”

“And I tried to forget him,” Sia mused, her feet leaving bloody footprints in her wake as she paced back and forth. “But I couldn’t. The one man who refused my advances out of some misguided sense of decency. Jacques was good.” She paused, her fluorescent eyes glimmering. “Smart, dashing. Oh and handsome. A beautiful man.

So I followed him to the Americas. All the way to gloomy old Massachusetts.” She stopped, her face going ice cold. “I had a different name then as well. Mary Goode.”

The sound that erupted from Jack’s mouth made my heart stop. It was a cry full of hatred, anguish, and loss. It tore into me and rang into my ears over and over. I felt his pain. It made tears fill my eyes.

“Who are you?” I screeched. “What did you do to Jack?”

“I didn’t do anything to him. I just merely had my pulse on current affairs. The Puritans were going ape shit over witchcraft. Your Romeo just happened to be married to the town witch. Isabel Cuartes.”

My heart ached as I watched blood red tears course down Jack’s face. “She was a good person. She used the craft to heal the sick and help those who’d lost loved ones find peace!”

“She was a necromancer?” I said, my eyes going wide.

“And she was beautiful,” Sia said, her mouth twisted with disgust. “A Spanish father and a white mother, so her skin was the color of caramel. Long, beautiful ebony hair. Wide brown eyes.”

I swallowed, my lips trembling as I glanced at Jack. I dyed my hair since I was old enough to pay for Manic Panic, but my natural hair was jet black, like my mother’s. My skin was a caramel brown, unless I was beneath the moon. Right down to being a practitioner of the craft, Isabel sounded like me in another life.

Jack gnashed his teeth, his skin making sickening sounds as he tried to free himself from his silver chain. “She trusted you! You said you’d help her!”

“Like you said you’d help me,” I spat at her, my voice rising.

“Like you, she was so goddamn gullible.” Sia turned her violet eyes back to Jack, a wild, insane look on her face. “I let her give you one last kiss, Jacques. I am kind.”

“Before she was ripped from my arms,” he sobbed. He finally stopped moving, succumbing to the silver. I could smell his skin bubbling and cooking and it made my stomach roll.

“When they burned her alive,” Sia said, recounting her horrible tale. “I thought maybe I could bring him comfort. But in the bowels of darkness after he took vengeance on the town, killing men, women, and children, it was Athanasia who held him to her bosom and gave him the eternal kiss.” She crossed her arms. “And then I found him again, hundreds of years later, in love with another witch. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so fucking tragic.”

I raised my eyes to her. “What are you going to do now?”

Her face crumbled and I cringed as sobs rocked her body. She was truly insane, going from cool and calculating to inconsolable in a blink of an eye. “A fairy loves for a lifetime. I’ll love Jacques until one of our hearts stops beating. And since I have no intention of dying…” Her voice trailed off as she made a decapitating sign with her finger. “He’ll meet the sun, and I’ll burn you alive. Easy peasy.”

She advanced toward me, her petite fingers outstretched. I let out a gasp of terror as white hot pain echoed through my body. I felt her influence sink into my bones. I needed no medieval torture device. Every fiber of my being called out in agony.

There was a sad irony in all of this. The irony of my life. Sure, I’d become a fulltime necromancer. I’d seen and done amazing and terrible things. I’d wonder what my life would have been if I’d chosen a different path. Hell, befriending Sia came from my need for a friend, some kind of normalcy and a confidante. And it was my human conscience that pushed me to seek out Kenny and Amy. Their deaths and my trial proved the fragility of humanity and life. Because Jack loved a woman, it had cost her life and started a chain reaction that led us to this moment.

I blinked through the pain and saw Sia, her true colors rippling beneath her flesh like stones dancing on water.

I was literally staring into a loaded gun, just a few hours ago. But if the Watchers stood on my guilt and I would have felt the sting of metal before the dark, I would have gone to the All, knowing that I’d tried to help people. I’d used magic, the supernatural to bring closure. Dying for the truth was honorable, noble even.

But dying because some psychotic fairy was spurned? Hell no.

As the pain became a dull, white sting, I melted and remembered what my mother said about the dress and magic. I let myself feel the fabrics. I could almost see Ida running her fingers over the fabric, imagining the feel of it on her skin. But instead of wearing it for pleasure, she’d worn it on the night that her friends and the man she loved turned their back on her. I let her anger and raw power wash over me in waves. I let myself get lost in it, drown in it. I could feel the iron shackles turn into molten metal as I focused my power on Sia.

Her face registered surprise. “H-how-”

“Ego mos ust vos sentio poena vas paciscor,” I said, feeling the energy in my bones. As the last word fell from my lips, Sia’s face changed. She was the one who was afraid.

Chapter Thirty-One

A Revelation

I roped Jack’s arms around my neck as we hobbled out the back door of inK. The bodies were starting to smell, but I steeled myself. They were gone and Sia’s death brought a bit of justice.

Once we hit the night air, Jack pulled away.

“Before we go any further, let me explain. About my wife Isabel.” He winced as he touched his wrists, still raw from the silver. “I don’t want you to think that we…that I-”

I told him about Sia and the major issue we had with the tattoo shop of horrors. If they were worried about exposure with me, they’d have a conniption if they saw the carnage Sia left.

I hung up and leaned over, planting a kiss on Jack’s cheek. “B is sending over some cleaners. You should sleep it off at my place. I’ve got a couple of gallons of blood in the fridge.” I flashed him a look. “Or if you want to run back in…”

“Not funny,” he laughed, then clutched his stomach like even that brought him pain.

I thanked my stars that my apartment was only a few blocks away. Everything was hitting me—the murders, the trial, Sia—I just wanted Jack to hold me until dawn.

We shuffled through the lobby, ignoring the interested look the security guard shot us. A drunk businessman stumbled into the elevator after us and I tightened my grip on Jack’s hand. I knew injured vampires’ hunger was overwhelming and some lit guy stumbling about would be like dangling steak in front of a carnivore that hasn’t eaten in days.

I let out a sigh of relief when the drunk got off on the second floor. We pushed out of the elevator and Jack slumped against the wall as I fumbled for my keys. When we pushed inside, I made a beeline for the fridge.

“Stretch out on the couch, babe,” I said gently.

I pulled out a gallon of blood and poured it into a ‘something wicca this way comes’ mug, then warmed it up for twenty seconds before cycling it over to him.