Lunar Marked (Sky Brooks Series Book 4) (19 page)

He spoke so softly I could barely hear him. “Happiness isn’t something I strive for or feel that I deserve,” he confessed.

“Then what
do
you strive for?”

“To be content. I am content when I am with you, and I wish I could explain why but I am, and I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’ll never lose me. We are friends and will always be. But what’s the point of this, if you aren’t happy?” It came out wrong, it seemed like I was telling him to off himself if he wasn’t happy. “Whatever makes you happy, you need to do it, because
just existing
is silly.”

I waited, expecting him to tell me what made him happy and ignoring the dark things that popped into my mind.
He killed five women in a span of three days, please don’t let him say that made him happy.
And when he was in the military during WWII he did unspeakable things that made him feel less worthy of being considered human, but he never said he disliked doing it. What if those were the things that made him happy and I just pushed him into it?
Quell, say something
.

I nearly jumped when he settled in next to me before I could start another sentence. I didn’t think I would ever get used to the deftness and speed of their movements. “I’m happy when I’m here.” He pressed his fingers to my temple.

That’s even worse.
I used to try not to think about anything because I knew he could read my thoughts, but the more comfortable I was with him, the less I cared about shielding him from getting a front-row seat to the viewing of
Hot Mess—The Sky Brooks Story
.

“That’s it?” I smiled. “Fine, if a stroll into crazy town is all you need to be happy, I am here for you.”

His hand rested against my neck, his fingers gliding gently against the pulse of it. He ran his tongue over his lips, the familiar hunger present. The same kind that led to him nearly killing me before he had awakened. Thirst. His desire came to life with a roar. He might have liked my entertaining thoughts, but I had a feeling he enjoyed the blood even more. All the signs were there for me to get the hell out of there—he looked dangerous. But it was Quell, and our peculiar bond transcended my fear, his primal and unbridled desire. I stilled as he moved closer and nestled his face in the curve of my neck. His words hummed against my skin as he spoke.

“May I?”

“Yes.”

I winced when his fangs pierced my skin, but he was gentle, taking slow draws as he laced his fingers through my hair bringing me closer to him. The numbness took over quickly and the pain subsided and I relaxed into him and the familiarity of it. And I opened my mind, allowing him to read my thoughts, my frustrations and fears. I think after the feeding he would be cured of the desire to be in my head. He’d stopped for some time but his face remained cradled near my neck. His tongue laved gently over the opening, cool and soothing as he closed the punctures. His lips brushed against my cheek as he spoke. “What can I do?”

“Nothing,” I said, coming to my feet. Nothing truer had ever been spoken. Absolutely nothing. I had let him in but there wasn’t anything he could do about it, and even if he could I doubt I would have let him. This was my problem, my mess, and it was time for me to clean it up. I took ownership—this was my battle to win.

* * *

T
he dark mist
of his magic welcomed me before I could get to the door that he’d left slightly open. The malodor of Ethos’s magic seemed wrong and was a reminder that it came from a dark place. Nothing good could come from it, and I began to appreciate that Ethan had taken it from me. During my last battle with Ethos, I wasn’t sure whether it was to kill me or to use his magic as a way to track me, but he forced so much into me, I thought I was going to die. Josh was able to remove it, but like any magic, it was hard not to be seduced by it—to long for the ability to have it easily accessible. I kept some of it, deceiving Josh into believing he had removed it all. Magic was power the ultimate weapon, and I wanted some of it. I didn’t care that it was a way for him to track me or use it against me.

Having access to magic so strong can easily change people. It made me wonder if Ethos was really a mad man, or if he, too, had become a servant of diablerie and no more a master of his volition than a puppet. But I didn’t believe that: my newly found in-depth contemplation about Ethos was nothing more than me procrastinating. I didn’t want to talk with Ethos and be forced to listen to elaborate plans to conquer the otherworld.

The dust from the shattered ward loomed in the air and I expected nothing else. With the ward broken, Ethos could just
travel
into my house and I assumed that he had.

He sat on the sofa with a cup of coffee in hand as one would when you break in someone’s home.
Isn’t that what you do, break in and then fix yourself a warm beverage?

His odd eyes gleamed with ominous amusement as I walked in.

“Would you like a piece of cake? Biscotti? Or perhaps a cookie to go with your coffee?” I asked mordantly.

Missing the sardonic cadence in my voice, he smiled graciously, and with a humble nod declined the offer. He just didn’t get me.

He tipped his cup to me, took a long draw, and then sat it on the side table. “You left before we could finish our conversation.”

“Sorry, I thought me leaving was as good as telling you to go to hell. Okay, well if that isn’t enough why don’t I tell you now. Go. To. Hell.”

“My amphora, I do enjoy your obstinacy. My victory will be all the sweeter when you concede,” he said. “Please, have a seat.”

“I prefer to stand.”

He relaxed back on the sofa and took another sip from the cup, settling in to quiet insolence. We sat in silence for nearly three minutes deadlocked into a blatant game of defiance.

“What do you want?” I finally asked.

He extended his arm toward the loveseat across from him, inviting me to sit down. I hesitated until his brows raised and eyes narrowed. It wasn’t so much of an invitation as a demand.

“My amphora, it is really time for you to make a decision.”

“About what, how I plan to kill you?”

He eyed me with mild indifference that only made me angrier. Chris and Winter had the right idea, have weapons stashed in every possible place. I hadn’t gone to the extremes they had, but it brought me comfort that I had a knife under the loveseat and sofa in my living room, and all I had to do was just push the loveseat back to gain access. There was another under the sofa that Ethos was sitting on. And a 9mm under the cushion on the far right of the loveseat. I couldn’t shoot a house from ten feet away but I was close enough to him that I doubt I would miss. The problem—he could travel, and he was faster than Josh. I would have to move quicker.

In a smooth sweeping wave, he came to his feet and was behind me. I took some slow breaths. I knew he wouldn’t kill me and that was the only thing I could find solace in. But it was like I was standing in front of a loaded gun held by an unstable person: did I truly trust that he wouldn’t pull the trigger? I jumped when he rested his hands on either side of my shoulder.

“You have put me in a very awkward position and forced me to end a very good relationship with Marcia. Why couldn’t you have just left it alone and allowed her to have the Aufero? She would have been happy—and I would have made you happy. Instead you nearly killed her to get it back. I wished I could have been there, I’m sure it would have been quite entertaining.” As quickly and smoothly as he had found a position behind me, he was back on the sofa, relaxed.

“No worries, you’ll be present for your death,” I said.

With an annoyed sigh he sat back, ignoring the threat. His looked against the wall, where I had left the Aufero, still in the ripped canvas bag, exposed. “You all behave as though you shouldn’t be left to your own devices. Always scrambling for positions of power that can be so easily snatched away. I gave her the little toy and she gave me her alliance, only to have control over the witches and to be left in peace. But you messed that up. What will I do with you?”

“Let’s come to a compromise, okay?” I suggested.

The contrite smile was a blemish on his odd face.

“You’re a kick-ass magical thingy, have you considered Vegas? Maybe you can get a job as a magician or an illusionist. You’ll make a crap load of money, and talk about being adored—you will have legions of fan girls and fan boys. They will worship you and adore you. And if that isn’t enough, think about the money you’ll make. Not only will you have magic groupies but more women”—I paused to give him an assessing look—“or men, who cares? I just want you to be happy.”

There was a long pregnant silence.

“Or?” he finally asked.

“Or what?”

“You said a compromise. What’s the other option?” he asked, frowning.

“
Hmm.
I got nothing. So either you do that or I kill you.” The ice in my voice made me shiver.

He laughed, a deep boisterous sound that reverberated through the room, just as intense and overpowering as his magic. “You’re cute.”

“I always get
cute
. Never
hot
or
sexy
. Is it the nose?” I tapped the tip of it. “It’s too nubby, isn’t it?”

The smile vanished, his eyes narrowed to slits, and he blazed with anger. “I strongly advise you to take me more seriously,” he growled.

“And I advise you to take
me
seriously. If your way of getting me to concede is to kill everyone I care about, then what the fuck do I have to live for? So the way I see it, I kill you or die trying and guess who I take with me? Your little prized possession. You have your option, if not Vegas, New York is nice, too.”

I finally took a seat on the loveseat with the knife underneath. I would end this now. “So you tell me, what will I do with you?”

The irritation marred his odd features as he took long sweeping looks around the room. “She’s getting stronger,” he said. “It’s only a matter of time before she is the pilot and you’re just a bystander. I am giving you the chance that she will not.”

“Well if that were true, wouldn’t you just wait until she is? Then the two of you can wreak as much damage as you like without restriction. Do you really think I am that stupid, or are you so arrogant you think I will believe your lies because you want me to?”

He held on to the haughtiness, his lips pressed into a tight moue. “To the contrary, I wish you were unintelligent—it would make things much easier. You are pushing my tolerance to the limit but I will break you, amphora.”

And that was what bothered me so much. Chris told me that an amphora was just a vessel, neither good nor bad, a tool to be used. I started to think of all the things I could do, and I wondered whether or not there was any good in me at all. I could read the Clostra, a book with powerful and draconian spells that had the ability to wipe magic from the world. I could feed vampires—something were-animals couldn’t do. Manipulating and changing magic from dark to natural and vice versa was something even the most skilled witch was unable to pull off. And I was a Moura responsible for guarding a protected object and mine had the ability to divest people of their magic. Marcia was able to use it, but under my control it was far more dangerous. What good was there in my abilities? And now this psycho wanted to use me to control the otherworld. I swallowed hard and thought about the knife next to my feet.

Kill Ethos—again—and this all goes away.
I could go back to my somewhat normal life, or what had become
my
normal.

I was about to push the loveseat back, when the Aufero manifested in his hand. It was still the odd orange and black color and it stretched to its brinks, controlled by him. He assessed it, seemingly introducing himself to it, getting a feel for the magic it held, its strengths and weaknesses, considering the magic that changed it into something just as dark as that he possessed.

His lips curled into a mirthless smile; as his brows came together, and the Aufero twirled effortlessly just above his face. “More of your friends can die. You decide how many, because you will not win this,” he promised. “You’ll give me your decision tomorrow or—”

It was over.

There was so much truth to what he said. More people would die. This would not end until he was dead or everyone I cared about was.

I pushed the loveseat back back, grabbed the knife, and lunged at him in one swift move. The knife didn’t connect. He moved too fast, dropping the Aufero, which rolled a couple of feet away. He snapped into position and pushed me forward, and I gained enough leverage to spin, shoving the knife into his side and grabbing hold of him to keep him from disappearing again. I ripped it out and lunged forward again, aiming for his neck. He moved enough to protect the carotid, and I jabbed into the large muscles of his neck, blood spurted onto my shirt, and he hissed out in pain. I held him, concentrating as the protective field formed around us; as the dark bubble ensorcelled us, the myriad of magic, most of it different, chaotic, and uncontrolled, rebounded against it. The oxygen became thin, and my lungs grappled for enough to keep me conscious. I had to hold out. Enveloped in a sort of gas chamber, I needed to stay conscious just seconds longer than Ethos. I could see his struggle for oxygen, the strain in his face as he willed his heart to beat a little faster, the panic when he realized it wouldn’t. The field shuddered as he attempted to break it. His magic pounded relentlessly against it, and each time it clamored into me like a fist. I had to hold it.