Chapter Twenty-Two
Marcus
My weakness is impossible to ignore.
I am aware of it with every stride, every tug of Lenora’s hand clasped around mine. A man, a strong man, would toss her over his shoulder and march her straight back to the car. He’d put her over his damn knee and spank this insane notion from her pretty head.
My solution is to obey.
To follow at her side like a compliant guard as she moves with hurried practice to the room with the altar.
She summoned a demon.
The knowledge stirs a part of my brain too numb to think beyond the thought of anything happening to her. God himself could walk up to me, and it would not faze me, and that is a realization that scares me.
It could be grief. An unconscious hook latching me to the only thing left in my life — Lenora.
It could be my mind’s way of protecting me from properly accepting the much bigger picture.
There are many logical explanations why I can’t let her go.
It’s not only love. It’s desperation. It’s the knowledge that — without her — I am truly alone.
It’s knowing that I need her to maintain my own sanity.
I hold her fingers tight as we pass through the curtains and grimace at the stench. The foul brew of copper, rust and mold. Shadows move and congeal in the corners. They drift along the rotted chunk of wood mounted on the platform.
My thoughts slip to the images of Lenora splayed, pale and beautiful, across the filthy slab while I took her innocence. She had opened for me. So wide. So eager.
I cut myself off before I forget why we’re here.
My gaze shifts to the empty void collecting at the top of the incline. I search for the mirror she keeps talking about, but there are only shadows and the stench of decay.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Lenora says as if reading my thoughts.
It’s on my tongue to tell her the entire place is one rat shy of a plague. It’s filthy and foul, and no place she should be walking through with bare feet.
But she is already climbing up the platform steps to the disgusting table. Her small hand touches it with an almost reverence. And I have to resist the urge to slap it away.
“I could stay here for hours.”
I disagree.
If it weren’t for the fact that I was present in the car when we were snatched back to the house, I would not be here breathing air trapped in a sealed container, marinating the last however long this had been here.
I would not be here believing that there is a demon somewhere in the darkness granting wishes.
A demon.
A monster who can bring us back from thousands of miles away like it was nothing.
An abomination who can murder a man.
I didn’t ask how. I don’t know if I want to know. The idea of this place existing beneath my feet, my children’s feet for generations is enough horror to deal with without adding whatever gruesome act it committed on Lenora’s command.
Part of me isn’t sure this isn’t a dream. A bad one that includes the loss of my boys. Any minute, I’ll come awake and—
“You thought you could take her from me?”
The low, guttural snarl claws at the inside walls of my skull. It twists talons into the nerve endings and pulls.
My scream tears through the room. A rolling howl of agony that ricochets off the walls, knocking dust down around us in a shower of fine sand.
In the distance, I hear Lenora shouting. Her voice is panicked and angry, a series of frantic words too far from my ears to pick up through the roar of fire scorching my nerves.
As quickly as it had happened, the pain stops. It sizzles out, leaving the edges of my brain raw like a fresh burn. I try not to move but just opening my eyes agitates the wound.
Still, I keep them open and squint to find Lenora. I don’t have to look far.
She’s standing over me. A beautiful sight of rage with her wild mane falling around her shoulders and hands resting on her hips. She reminds me of an Amazonian warrior. Fierce. Protective. The very epitome of defiance.
“You swore you wouldn’t hurt him.”
“That was before he tried to take you from me.”
“He didn’t know,” she argues. “It’s my fault.”
“You are mine, pet. You have sworn yourself to me.”
I push to my feet and shuffle to stand at Lenora’s side. I follow her gaze up towards the hole in the wall.
“She isn’t yours,” I grind out through teeth that still ache.
“Marcus, stop.”
I ignore her and glower harder at the spot.
“I will never let you have her.”
“Let me?” Cold serrated cackles fill the room. My throbbing skull. “You cannot stop me, human.”
Lenora is before me, big eyes pleading. Her hands twist in my top, wrinkling the fabric between her fingers.
“Please,” she whispers to me. “Stop. Both of you.” She turns her chin over her shoulder to peer at the black hole. “You promised.”
No response from the demon or what response he does give is for her only, but Lenora releases me. She takes a step back and faces the opening fully.
“Yes, I will.”
“Will what?” I demand, grabbing her arm.
She continues to stare up even when I physically try to turn her away.
“Lenora!”
Her gaze snaps to mine.
“Will you come?”
I start at the unexpected pivot in topic. “What?”
She motions to the hole. “Will you come?”
Nothing about this gives me assurance. That dark stain above our heads is not the kind of place I wish to venture. But I can’t let her leave without me. I don’t trust the demon to bring her back.
“Where are we going?”
A stupid question. It doesn’t matter where we’re going. I’d go to hell with her if she asked. I’d go to war. There isn’t a situation where I would let her leave my side.
“Sarai Duval,” she answers gently.
Telling her no is pointless. Trying to stop her won’t work. The only thing left is to allow her to take my hand and guide me up the uneven incline of the wall. Her strides are sure and unfaltering where I struggle to find purchase.
At the top, the opening crawls with deep, dark tendrils of ice. They seep out to soak into my clothes, chill my skin. Each one feels wet and holds the lingering stench of swamp water, rust and that mold that grows somewhere dark and damp.
I peek at Lenora, expecting her to be equally uncomfortable, but she has her head cocked, expression thoughtful as she surveys the hole with keen interest. It’s the look of someone listening attentively and I realize he’s talking only to her.
“What is he saying?” I demand, staring hard at the opening.
Lenora listens a moment longer before tilting her head in my direction. “That it will be like last time.”
Since I hadn’t been there last time, I don’t understand, but I tighten my fingers around hers.
She says nothing but gives me the faintest smile before facing the square of nothingness. With a tug, she steps forward. One foot lifts and she slips over. The darkness swallows the limb and her and I hurry to keep up.
In a single blink the dingy void opens to warm, buttery gold. It’s no more than slipping through a curtain. Even the heavy smell of age, rot and death fades to lilacs and French perfume. Something floral and sweet. The kind of smell that a man associates with silk sheets and long, slow nights.
The room maintains that illusion. It’s sultry. Satin across a wide, four poster bed. White marble streaked with gold threads. Smooth, creamy walls adorned with expensive art.
It’s a woman’s room even before I spot the vanity. A grand structure of wood built into the wall, lined with an assortment of bottles, tubes and canisters. Lights line the square mirror. A door stands open off to its side spilling rich gold across the plush carpet.
I start to turn to Lenora, an avalanche of questions on my tongue when a stream of voices upends the silence.
“No one can see us,” Lenora murmurs when I stiffen.
“Adela would literally put a hit on me if I wore that.”
From the open doorway emerges the very definition of pinup.
I recognize her, of course. Sarai Duval is impossible to forget.
She’s the kind of woman who can slip into a room and stop conversation.
She’s porcelain skin with the biggest, bluest eyes on a face envied by models and actresses across the globe.
Hair the titanium blonde of sunflowers is curled with thick rollers and pinned at the top of her head.
She slips into the room clad in a beautiful, sheer robe the color of ripe plums. A phone tucked against her ear.
“She’s obviously jealous. She thinks she’s like the queen of the family because her husband is the eldest. Like, girl, please. I’ve fucked your husband. He is not that great.”
The person on the other end squeals and Sarai snickers.
She moves to the vanity, never once glancing in our direction.
“Two minutes.” She cackles. “I swear! I would not lie about that.”
The phone is pulled from her ear and set on the table next to a bottle of loose powder. A long, manicured finger pokes the speaker and a shrill, female voice echoes through the room.
“I still can’t believe you fucked him.”
Through the mirror, Sarai rolls her eyes.
“I had to see what all the fuss was about the way Adela clings to him all the time. I thought she was hiding something good. The man is all grunting and moaning. It was so disgusting, but he gives the best gifts. I would have ended things years ago if he wasn’t so generous after. ”
The caller shrieks. “You are unhinged. I could never. But then, my brother-in-law is a troll, and I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot-poll.”
Sarai flashes herself the full wattage of her teeth in a brilliant smile. She tilts and tips her head, checking for imperfections.
“I think my Botox is wearing off.” Her smile slips. “Fucking lines.”
“We should totally do one of those Botox parties. They take fat from our assess and put it in our lips or something.”
Sarai doesn’t seem to be listening as she continues to survey her features, running fingertips along the razor-sharp line of her jaw, down the column of her throat. I see nothing wrong and I know most men wouldn’t, but her expression is one of frustrated annoyance.
“I can’t do shit until this bullshit funeral is over,” she snaps at her friend.
She huffs and wrenches the thick, diamond encrusted bangle from her left wrist and tosses it down on the table.
“Have to keep playing the grieving widow to that foul pig.” Full, plump lips curl into a disgusted frown.
“Her royal highness has already sent me a list of things I’m not allowed to do.
Like I barely listened to my mother. Why the fuck would I listen to you?
But I have to if I want to keep this life.
This life which — by the way — I helped build.
Have you seen what that man looked like?
I gave him two kids. Myself. From my body.
I deserve a fucking award for my contribution and performance. ”
“No, but you are not wrong.”
Sarai sucks in a breath that lifts the edges of her lace robe to showcase the high arches of her breasts.
“Seriously, no one’s sad he’s dead. He was such a loser.”
“For sure,” the friend agrees eagerly. “Like it was obviously a message, right? You don’t get eaten by snakes in the city unless it was a hit.”
“Obviously. Cops think it was those Ushers. Not that they said as much. They’re all bought and paid for by that family, but I heard Julen telling that creepy dude that follows him around that it was clearly a retaliation for taking out those Usher brats.
Like who even cares? They would have eventually died anyway. Let it go.”
I don’t have to look at Lenora to feel the rising rage pulling through her. I feel it. I hear it in the shallow intake of her lungs. She’s gone still and silent next to me, dark eyes fixed on the woman patting long fingers along the rollers, checking for loose ones.
“I will say, I should send Marcus Usher a basket of thanks for getting that idiot out of my life. Maybe I’ll even personally deliver it and unite the families.”
“Didn’t he already turn you down?”
The smirk vanishes from Sarai’s mouth. Her blue eyes snap down at the lit screen.
“That was before. He’s grieving and I’m grieving. We can console each other.”
That will never happen.
Even before all this, I knew exactly what kind of woman Sarai Duval was. I’m rarely wrong.
“What about the girl?”
“Girl?” Sarai cocks her head and thinks. “The niece? What about her?”
“I don’t know. She creeps me out. Feels like she has, like, bodies buried under the house or something.”
Sarai snorts. “I hate children, but if I were her mom, I’d kill myself, too.”
“Didn’t Julen … handle them?”
This is new information.
After James and Gloria’s deaths, I made sure there was an investigation. The person responsible was caught. A senseless act of violence, they said. There was no mention of Duval.
“Whatever. Same thing. She’s such a brat clinging to those men like some pathetic leech. Grow up. Get some self-esteem.”
Lenora and I exchange quiet glances. The roaring fires blazing in our chests mirrored in the other’s eyes.
Yes, I was enraged when I heard Duval was responsible for Eliah and Ames’s deaths. Yes, I wanted vengeance. Even if Lenora hadn’t asked. Even if we never had that conversation and she begged me to let it go, I was fully prepared to burn Duval’s entire world to the ground.
Knowing they also killed my brother and his wife … Lenora is correct.
My idea of redemption would not have been enough.
They need to bleed and suffer.
I touch her cheek lightly before dipping my mouth to hers.
“Do it,” I whisper before kissing her.
Her smile is everything when I pull back and she faces the woman.