Read Storm of Shadows Online

Authors: Christina Dodd

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal, #General

Storm of Shadows (37 page)

BOOK: Storm of Shadows
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“I just got back, and, um, I was going to text you.” If she’d thought about him, which she hadn’t, she would have hoped he’d forget her. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to continue our relationship. Not that it’s a relationship, but . . . I met another man and I fell in love.” Her voice wobbled.
“Where is he?” Lance looked around.
She could hardly bear the pain, but she had to speak the words aloud sometime. “He’s dead.”
“Really? Aaron’s dead?” Lance grinned. “Now that’s just good news.”
She didn’t know what to say. She was shocked. Horrified. How could this man be so unfeeling, so cold? “Lance, that’s an unconscionable attitude. I hoped that we could be friends, but not after that. Not when you care so little for my feelings, and even less for the death of a good man.”
“Honey, I don’t want to be your friend. I don’t want to be your boyfriend.” Lance held out his hands. “I just want that prophecy.”
She stared at him, and it was as if she saw him for the first time.
He wasn’t Sir Lancelot. He was a user, a grabber, someone from another organization chasing the same prophecy as Aaron. A fiery tattoo marked his chest. He was . . . “You’re one of the Others,” she blurted.
His grin disappeared. “And you’re too smart for your own good.”
“I always have been.” Although not good about keeping her mouth shut.
“I’m here for the prophecy. So cough it up.”
“I didn’t get the prophecy.” Which was true.
“You know, they tell me your mother said exactly the same thing. And look how it turned out for her.”
Rosamund’s hands and feet went cold. Her cheeks went hot. Her face went blank. “My mother? You didn’t know my mother.”
“No, I admit, I never had the privilege. But I know the people who questioned her. I know the people who finished her off.”
Rosamund had suffered over her mother’s death. She had mourned. She had imagined every scenario, both dramatic and mundane, and now, this guy said—“Are you
admitting
she was killed?”
“Of course she was killed. Your father knew it. I’m surprised he never warned you.”
Run
. “I guess he did.”
Run
.
“Now, when it comes to your father’s case, I had a direct hand in his demise. I can personally assure you it didn’t go well for him when
he
tried to tell us he didn’t know where the prophecy was. I mean, I would have given him the benefit of the doubt. By the time we were done with him, he was pretty crazy with the pain, and he was still saying no, he didn’t know where the prophecy was. But orders are orders, and once we figured out where you were, we figured it would be kindest to put him out of his misery.” Lance smiled charmingly. “So be a good girl, save yourself a lot of agony, and give me the prophecy.”
“No.”
He leaped forward. “So you’ve got it!”
She leaped back. “Perhaps. But I wouldn’t spill a glass of water on you if you were on fire.”
“On fire? That’s very close to the truth. Look at me.” He unbuttoned his shirt and pointed to the colorful flames that marked his chest. “Look at me! Do you know who I am?”
“You’re the son of a bitch who killed my father.”
“That’s right, honey, and if you don’t give me that prophecy, I’m going to kill you, too.”
“Remember what you said. You said I’m too smart for my own good.”
“So?”
“So I know you’re going to kill me anyway.”
His mouth worked as he glared furiously at her. “You
are
smart. Now see how much those brains protect you from this.” Opening his arms wide, he gave off an unearthly glow, then sent a blast of light and heat toward her.
She covered her eyes, but too late.
He had blinded her.
She staggered back, bumping into the wall, banging into the gray metal filing cabinet.
“Give me the prophecy.” He blasted her again.
This time she managed to cover her face, but she smelled hair singeing—her own. Her clothes were smoking, and her skin hurt as if she had a sunburn. But when she could see, she followed her father’s final instructions.
She ran.
She dodged around the library table, and when Lance dashed toward her, she crawled under and into the stacks, fleeing down one long row of metal shelves lined with books, hearing the thump of Lance’s shoes behind her. There was a gap between this row of shelves and the next. She wiggled through and into another row, and had the satisfaction of hearing him curse as he tried to follow. She ran toward the door, wanting to get out.
But Lance backed out of the gap. She heard his shirt tear, heard him yell, “You bitch. You’re going to fry!” He sent a blast of fire toward the shelving between them.
The heat sent her staggering sideways. Books, precious codices, rare manuscripts, began to smolder.
She hated Lance Mathews. Somehow, she was going to make him pay. For the books. For Louis. For her mother. For her father. Most of all, for Aaron. He was going to pay for what the Others did to Aaron.
She picked up speed. She was almost there—
And Lance rounded the corner in front of her, cutting off her escape. He looked different. Wild, angry, his face contorted and his hands like outstretched claws. “Give me the prophecy!”
She backed up. “No. I’m not helping the murderous bunch of devils who killed my parents, and I will not betray the love of my life.”
A shadow coalesced behind Lance and took form as a man: a man with hair so black it shone with blue highlights, with proud, high cheekbones, narrow nose, and broad, stubborn chin.
“Aaron,” she whispered.
He leaped on Lance’s back, sending him staggering.
“Are you talking about me?” As Aaron hooked his elbow under Lance’s chin and jerked, his voice echoed down the aisle. “Am
I
the love of your life? Because if that’s the truth, you’ve made me the happiest man in the world.”
Chapter 37
R
osamund stood frozen, staring. Aaron clung to Lance’s back as Lance careened around the room, choking, gasping, trying to dislodge him.
Was Aaron a ghost? He seemed real enough. He fought like a man, and a man who was aiming to win.
Lance clawed at his arm.
Aaron jerked his arm against Lance’s throat.
Lance gagged. His color changed from pale to bright red, and his eyes grew bloodshot and wild.
He staggered backward, slamming Aaron into the metal bookshelves.
In a surprising lack of stamina, Aaron dropped like a rock and hit the floor.
Then she realized—this was a trick by the Others. They would do anything to make her betray her knowledge, including bringing the dead to life. In a fury, she pelted back toward her table, back toward the precious notebook. She would hide it. She would throw it away. Somehow, she would keep it out of the greedy, sleazy hands of the Others.
And she would not hope, would not believe, would not love that man who fought Lance for her.
Behind her, Lance gave chase. His voice was no more than a croak. “You bitch, you said he was dead!”
“He is!” she shouted. “Don’t pretend otherwise.”
In the next row, she saw Aaron running beside her. “Come through at the next crossover,” he said.
Yeah, right. She picked up speed, burst into her work area. She ran for the table, her eyes fixed on her open notebook. Behind her, she heard the men collide. She snatched up the notebook and turned in time to see Lance throw out his arms and blast Aaron with heat and light.
Aaron stumbled back toward the stacks, his fingers over his eyes, smoke rising from his hair and clothes. Livid bruises extended along the side of his head and over his forehead. Bruises discolored his hands. This man had been badly hurt, beaten by rocks that slammed him with all the force of a cave’s malevolence.
No. No matter how they tricked her, she would not believe he was alive.
Lance backed toward her, grinning at Aaron. “I’ll see you dead. I’ll send you to hell.” He blasted him again.
Rosamund couldn’t believe Aaron had returned to life. She had been there when he died. She had held him while his body cooled.
Yet if he was one of the Others, why was Lance trying to kill him?
How could Aaron be alive?
From the corner of her eye, she saw something move on the left. Two men, men she recognized. She had passed them in the corridor as she and Aaron had escaped from Louis’s château. They had walked with Fujimoto Akihiro. They were his assassins.
From the right, she caught another movement. Two more assassins, and behind them, Fujimoto Akihiro himself.
Rosamund could think of only one reason why Fujimoto Akihiro and his assassins had arrived in the basement of the Arthur W. Nelson Fine Arts Library in her antiquities department.
They were following Aaron . . . to kill him.
They
believed he was alive.
Hope, ridiculous, meaningless, irresistible hope bloomed in her heart.
The memory of Dr. Servais popped into Rosamund’s mind. The look in the woman’s eyes when Rosamund said, “Aaron sacrificed himself for me.” And Dr. Servais had replied, “When the time comes for a man’s life and actions to be weighed, a sacrifice like that is a very great thing.”
Could it be? Was it possible?
Yes. Somehow, a miracle had happened. Aaron was alive.
Rosamund dropped the notebook on the library table.
Lance lifted his arms to blast Aaron.
She picked up the heaviest thing she could find—her mother’s stone tablet. A thousand years of history and fifty pounds of weight gave it heft, and she felt every ounce as she heaved it over her head. She yelled, “Lance, Aaron’s not that easy to kill!”
In a fury, Lance turned, arms outstretched, ready to fry her.
She swung the stela right at his head and smashed his pretty face.
The stela shattered, then disintegrated. With the horror of a trained antiquities librarian and the anguish of a daughter, she grabbed for the dust as it flew through the air. “No. Oh, no!”
But the stela was gone, the writing vanished.
And all because of Lance.
With loathing, she looked down at him and realized—even if she had known what would happen, she still would have hit him—for Aaron. She kicked him and in a harsh whisper said, “You don’t get to win here. This is
my
Sacred Cave.”
Chapter 38
T
he four assassins circled Aaron. Rosamund shouted, “Look out!”
Aaron pulled his hands away from his eyes.
She leaped to help.
And something huge, heavy and alive hit her from the side and slammed her face down onto the table. Someone grabbed her arms in brutish hands and twisted them behind her.
BOOK: Storm of Shadows
5.84Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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