Roaring Dawn: Macey Book 3 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 10)(37)

Those had been among the most beautiful—and difficult—times of his life.

Chas’s insides were in turmoil, but to his surprise, it wasn’t as difficult as he’d anticipated. The room where he’d been tortured looked hardly any different than he remembered it, and he immediately found the ruby-eyed skull and its so-called tongue.

The dagger that had been positioned inside the skull so that its blade protruded from between two rows of teeth was still, blessedly, there. Chas picked up the skull and saw that the blade had been permanently affixed in place, and so he decided to take the entire thing.

They’d figure out how to use or remove the blade so it could be used to—

“Chas?”

He nearly dropped the skull at the sound of Narcise’s voice. No. It took him far too long to settle his thudding heart before he turned to see her standing there.

Damn. It wasn’t a figment of his imagination. She was truly there, as beautiful and remote as always.

And…damn. Wayren had lied to him? Wasn’t that against the rules?

“Narcise.”

“I thought… I was told you went to America.”

“I did.” Oh, he sure as hell did. If she only knew how far he’d traveled to and from this damned location. But in her mind, he’d been gone from Paris for only a few weeks since their final escape from Moldavi.

“I was sorry you didn’t say goodbye.” But I understand. Those words were unspoken, but their meaning shivered in the tone of her voice.

“I didn’t think— What are you doing here? I thought you were gone. Taking Cezar off to…Spain?”

He couldn’t pull his eyes away. She was still as beautiful as ever, with her waterfall of blue-black hair, and the truest, most stunning blue eyes he’d ever seen. Her features were perfect, her figure incredible…and yet—there was something different.

Not about her. But about him. Something different about him.

“I wanted to check on one more thing.” She didn’t seem able to take her gaze from him either. “I have no intention of ever coming back here.”

“I had to come back as well…for something. I hope you don’t mind if I take this.” He gestured with the skull.

She laughed, but it was tinged with bitterness. “Something of Cezar’s? Take your pick. I want nothing to do with any of my brother’s belongings.”

“Thank you. It’s…well, it will come in useful.”

“Chas.” There was grief and apology in her eyes and in her voice—though why she should apologize for never having stopped loving Giordan Cale, he didn’t know.

Love was what it was, he realized suddenly.

She seemed to be struggling for something to say, and he held up a hand to stop her. “Narcise, you know I’ll always love you, and I’ll never forget our time here in Paris, but…that’s done. You’ll be happy now—and I’ve— I’m…all right.”

He realized as he spoke those words—words that, only days ago he would have believed were a lie—that they weren’t, in fact, dishonest at all.

He was standing there, staring at the most beautiful, bravest, and strongest woman he’d ever known—and an undead—a woman he’d fallen for like he’d never fallen for before or since…and he no longer hurt. He no longer needed.

Somehow, sometime over the last ten years—or maybe it was a century—he’d let it go. He had moved on, even though he’d clung to his own self-loathing in the meanwhile.

“If it weren’t for you, I…” she said, her voice rough and broken. She looked around the chamber, sweeping it with her hand. He knew what she meant to say. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be here.

He shook his head, suddenly realizing the truth. “No. That’s not true. Cale would have come for you.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and everything between them suddenly felt right and whole. No longer strained, no longer tinged with pain and regret. No longer awkward and tense.

“Thank you, Chas. Thank you for…that…and for everything.” She came into his arms, and he tensed a little, preparing himself, as he pulled her close.

But that old desperate desire to keep her, to hold her, was gone. That old rush of possession had dissipated.

Now, he held her and was able to press his face into her hair and drop a kiss onto the top of her head…without wanting more.

He was actually smiling when he released her. It was as if a massive load had been removed from his heart and mind.

It was as if he had at last been liberated.





EIGHTEEN

~ A Waste of Good Brandy ~



Grady opened his eyes to find several people standing over him. None of them were the tall blond woman who wore the clothing of a medieval chatelaine, though he was certain he’d seen her again recently…or perhaps he’d only dreamed her while weaving in and out of painful consciousness.

Rest and heal, she’d said, touching his forehead with a smooth, comforting hand. Warmth and white light had rushed through him.

The people gathered around Grady now weren’t angels, nor, thankfully, were they demons. Apparently he was still alive.

But damn, he hurt. Everywhere.

“Nice of you to join us,” said Linwood, who owned the face closest to him. “We’ve been waiting a while.”

Grady managed a smile to offset the gruffness in his uncle’s voice. “Fashionably late…to the party,” he managed to say.

Then he looked around at the others who circled his hospital bed, recognizing them as Linwood’s colleagues and peers, all four of them dressed in their police uniforms. Beyond the circle of visitors, he could see other beds in the ward. But none of the ones nearby were in use, so Grady had the entire end section to himself.

“Wanted to make sure you’d come out of everything all right,” said Officer Barnett. “You’re quite a hero.”

“Just trying to get the story,” Grady replied, and everyone laughed. He tried to join them, but bloody damned hell, it hurt. “Did everyone… Are they all safe?”

“All of the schoolgirls are safe, save one who…well, they’re not sure she’ll make it. But they’re doing what they can for her. Dr. Fintucket is the best at—at treating these sorts of injuries.”

Grady sobered. Damn.

“It would have been a lot worse if you hadn’t gone in there,” said Barnett. “How you got them out the window like that—”

Linwood interrupted smoothly before anyone started asking uncomfortable questions. “And all the others—the ones who broke in to help you—they’re safe too.”

Grady nodded, though the action made his head thud harder. “And the—er—perpetrators?”

“Dead. All of them.”

All of them? Even Iscariot? Could that really be true?

“That was very strange,” Barnett said. “I came in right behind Linwood, and one minute they were there, and the next—”

“Hello, Grady.”

Everyone turned to the new arrival—a handsome, well-groomed man with piercing, dark eyes and black hair that was beginning to gray at the temples. He stood at the end of the bed, tall and imposing in a smart pinstriped suit and black trench coat with a fedora in his hand. He looked at the others standing around, then meaningfully at Grady.

“This is Max Denton,” Grady said, and went on to briefly introduce his visitors.

“Pleasure to meet you. I need to have a word with Grady here, but after, shall we meet for a pint—oh, blast, I forgot that’s illegal here. Bloody hell. How about I buy you each a cup of coffee, then? Sounds like you have some stories to tell, and I’d like to hear them.” He smiled pleasantly at the others, and no one denied they had “stories to tell.”

Arrangements were made for the cops to meet Max shortly after, and they all took the hint and peeled away.

When Linwood lingered, eyeing Max suspiciously, Grady said, “This is the bloke who sent me the note to meet him at the Gold Coast, Linny. We’ve got business.”

His uncle still didn’t seem to want to leave. But after Max met his eyes with a calm, steady look, he acquiesced. “I’ll look forward to hearing more about your ‘business’ over a cup of coffee.”

Once they were alone, Max took the seat next to Grady and withdrew several items from his pockets. “Salted holy water,” he told him. “Use it liberally—till it makes you want to scream. Then pour on more. Then you know it’s working. And this is a jar of unguent that will help you heal more quickly. It smells nice, but it’s very sticky. Do you still have the silver ring? That will help as well.”

Grady showed him the ring he’d replaced on his finger, as well as the cross necklace Linwood had held for him when he went inside the school. “The doctor put salted holy water on me already. It hurt like a live skinning, but I think the bites and scratches have already begun to heal.”

“Did he now?” Max paused from opening the small pot of salve. “And how did the doctor know to do that?”

“I told him. Right, Max, about yesterday, with Savina—”

“Don’t.” He held up a hand. “It was nothing. I was…well, I— Well, forget about it. I’m only here to bring you this salve—and to let you know, if you didn’t, that Iscariot is dead. Double-staked. Poofed into a cloud of dust.”