Chapter Four

Beneath a midnight sky full of bright stars, Taran made his way down a darkened alley toward the ramshackle flat that had become his home. He paid no attention to the thieves that lurked in the shadows. There was no need. At one time or another, they had all tried to impress upon him the folly of choosing this abandoned path. In turn, they had learned the error was theirs. Now they knew better than to mistake him for a hapless wanderer.

Intent on ignoring the agitation that crept through his veins, he stopped at a broken sewer grate that had seen nearly as many years as he and crouched before it. As he pulled a sealed packet of tuna from his back pocket, he let out a low whistle. In seconds, a pair of yellow-green eyes peered out from the broken iron slats.

Taran took a seat on the curb. He ripped the packet open and dumped the contents onto the street, an arm’s length away. As soon as it hit the pavestones, a scarred tomcat crept from the sewers. He cast Taran a cautious look, his one good ear perked at attention. What remained of the other hugged his wide head in a crumpled mass. As he did every night, Mercury hissed at Taran, then padded to the food.

A sigh spilled from the depths of Taran’s being. His one true friend in the world, and even the cat hated him. Why didn’t Solène, who had more cause than anyone?

His body tightened at the remembrance of the way she had melted into him. He shifted position, earning a quiet growl from Mercury. Determined not to become caught up in the misery of caring for a stray that wanted nothing to do with him, Taran looked away from the tom and let the repressed thoughts of Solène surface.

The dark half of his soul raged with the freedom. It hungered for her, as it had so long ago. Craved the hot, sticky feel of her blood as it slid through his fingers. His sire’s curse had claimed her once before, and it would not rest until it claimed her again. But Solène possessed one saving grace. She did not fear him.

She never had, for that matter. And that indifference to his dark spirit had kept her at his side for three blissful years. If she hadn’t suffered a nightmare and awakened still in the throes of fright, she would have never suffered his sire’s vile poison.

But she had, and now she’d returned, and she did not despise him. He could not rationalize the two, no matter how he tried.

Nor could he deny how her acceptance filled the emptiness inside his soul. She’d been the only one to ever understand him. The only human being capable of tempering his spirit and making the fight between the divided halves of his soul bearable. He was tired of being alone.

Taran turned back to Mercury. Even the creatures of nature—all but this street-worn warrior—turned from him. Time and again he had tried to entice life back into his world. He’d even resorted to attempting to trap animals just for the chance at a bit of companionship that didn’t expect what he couldn’t give. Those poor beasts…

He grimaced as memories flooded him. By the sacred elements, he hadn’t known how to trap an animal. Hadn’t realized that predators would claim them before he could return to free them. Now they too haunted his sleep, as did the humans he had claimed in the days following Solène’s death, when his despicable soul had held free reign over his body.

“Why, Mercury?” he asked of the cat.

In answer, Mercury locked his stare with Taran’s and growled again.

“Right.” Taran sighed. Probably best Mercury didn’t come closer. He genuinely liked the cat for all its indifference toward him. And if this familiarity was all Mercury would allow, Taran cherished it.

His attention pulled to the mouth of the alley and the lights he could just make out on the second story of Solène’s home. Spend the night away from her, knowing she was only a few blocks from his flat—how could he, when everything he was craved her?

How could he not, when he damn well knew what could happen again?

Besides, he had pushed himself so far down the path of no return, done all he could to insure the ancestors would not grant him life, that he could never redeem himself before she slipped, revealed fear over something else, and he carved the life out of her again.

Damn his damnable sire! Why must he have been born on the sabot that aligned him closest to Drandar’s dark ways?

The atmosphere surrounding Taran shifted, drawing him out of his melancholy. He stiffened, sensing the calming presence of his mother. At his side, Mercury sat back on his haunches and cocked his head, staring at a nondescript spot in the air.

Taran bit back a snarl as the particles of nature converged. A white mist gathered in the middle of the alley. Bit by bit, the tiny dots of light grew in density, slowly elongating into the ethereal form of his mother.

“My son,” Nyamah greeted warmly. A smile touched the corners of her mouth as she extended a lithe arm toward his cheek.

He batted her hand aside. “What do you want, Nyamah? I’ve told you time and again you are not wanted.”

She moved to the curb, and despite her lack of substance, took a seat between him and Mercury. To Taran’s utter consternation, the cat padded to her side and rubbed the top of his head on her thigh.

The act only sparked Taran’s temper. He scowled at his mother. “I have no use for your games. Bringing Solène back from the dead will accomplish nothing.”

“I did not restore her, Taran. But I am glad she has returned. Perhaps she will guide you to the understanding that the course you have chosen is not the only road to travel.”

His scowl deepened. Did she genuinely expect him to believe such a blatant lie? She aligned herself with the ancestors. No one else could persuade the ancient ones into returning life.

“Spare me your insufferable badgering, Mother. Leave me. Go to your favored. Isolde would find merit in your false promises.”

Surprising him, Nyamah rose as if she intended to honor his demands. Her forlorn gaze held his. Sadness filled those silvery depths, pooling like molten metal. “How have I wronged you so greatly, my son? If you would but listen—”

“How have you wronged me?” Taran bolted to his feet, consumed by a rage he couldn’t explain. It blistered through his veins, engulfing him before his heart could complete one full beat. “You allowed me to live with this despicable blood in my veins! I want nothing of your hopes, of your magic, of your constant persuasions designed to further torment me. Leave. Me. Be!”

“Taran there is freedom within your reach.”

“Indeed.” He scoffed. “I suppose you will grant it to me as well.” But his scathing response only cracked down an abandoned alley. All that remained of Nyamah’s unwanted visit was the stirring of a sudden breeze.

Mercury stared at him. The broken tip of his tail undulated. He crouched down on all fours, hissed, and proceeded to groom his dirty front paws.

Taran frowned. “You are no better than she. Traitor.” He turned away, annoyed by the cat’s fickle loyalties. Against his will, his gaze snapped to Solène’s bedroom window. Her silhouette moved behind the thin sheers on a casual trajectory across the room.

There is freedom within your reach.

As his mother’s words echoed through his mind, Taran’s heartbeat accelerated. Solène possessed the scroll. He must have it. The sabot bore down on him, escape offered in its coming. He’d tried to confiscate the others, but this one belonged to him. In taking it from Solène he would silence his mother, destroy the vile demon that had helped create him, and free Solène from his own horrific clutches.

It was what he wanted. Wasn’t it?

She moved across the room again, her hair casting a halo around her delicate shoulders. Taran’s spirit arced in yearning. He pulled in a shuddering breath and shook his head against the longings of his heart. He could ache for her until he bled, and it wouldn’t change a thing. He had strayed too far from the path of goodness to redeem himself. No act of kindness, no labor of goodness would bring balance to his life.

Not before he harmed her again.

He had one choice—he must convince her out of that scroll.

****

The sound of boots against the cobblestones outside drew Solène’s attention to her partly open window. Her heart skipped a beat. At this late hour, there could be only one person who would walk across her patio.

She rose from her chair, set the scroll aside, and padded to the window to peer through the thin sheers. Taran stood in the fringe of shadows, only the tip of his boot touching the circle of light cast from the patio’s lamp. As she squinted at the shadows, his face took shape. He looked up at her, though the lightweight curtains prevented his gaze from connecting directly with hers.

He made no attempt to conceal his anger—the harsh lines etched into his expression would have frightened many away. Sensing that controlled malice, her spirit wards pressed around her. She’d be wise to heed their subtle warning. But she’d known he would return, and she’d counted each minute that had passed.

Solène pushed the sheers aside and opened the window fully. Taran stepped forward, into the light.

“Has your anger faded?”

Giving her a brief glimpse of his former self, Taran took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his expression smoothed. He never had been able to stay angry with her long. In a much more controlled voice he answered, “I must have the scroll, Solène.”

On hearing his declaration, her wards crept closer, the indomitable presence near suffocating. She glanced to her left and murmured, “Falbh.”

Only the churning of the air spoke to the spirits’ dislike of being dismissed. They fled, disappearing into the Aether, a simple summoning away. Solène pulled her lightweight robe tighter around her body and leaned her elbows on the window sill. “Would you like to come in?”

He hesitated. His glance crept to the door, inched back to her. The curling of one hand accompanied the brief pinch of his mouth before he huffed a sigh. “There are two ways this will end, Solène. I promise both.”

A shiver wafted down her spine. Death and pleasure—he didn’t trust himself with the former. The latter neither could control. They were too much a part of each other. The years between them, too many. She tightened her grip on the smooth wood beneath her palms. “The door is open. You won’t kill me tonight, Taran.” She knew one way to pacify the darkness in his soul and insure he couldn’t.

Besides, she’d missed him too much to play these childish games. What he was, what he was capable of doing, had never kept them apart before. She didn’t fear him, though a smidgen of logic said perhaps she should.

“Solène, I—”

She stepped away from the windowsill. “The door is open, Taran.”