Primal Heat 04 - Forever in Darkness

who'd died at Elijah's hand, that everyone knew was his soul
mate actually been Catherine and not Alice? Was the woman in his arms not his soul
mate? Denial roared through him, fierce raw denial. The woman he was holding
was his. She had to be. But the woman on the mountain had been his sheva for certain, and there was no mark on Alice's arm—
    A tremor shook Alice's body, and
suddenly nothing mattered but preserving her life. He grabbed her hand, and
pressed it to his chest, trying desperately to open the connection between them
that would allow him to heal her. Alice. Stay with me—
    Too late. Her fingers
tightened in his ever so slightly. Her eyelids slitted open, and he saw such
pain reflected in them that his heart tore right out of his chest. Find me,
Ian. Find me when I come back. You're my only chance. If I die one more time,
it's over.
    Tears burned in his eyes.
"Dammit, Alice! Don't—"
    Then she was gone. He felt it the
moment her soul left her body. The instant it happened, he was assaulted with
the most overwhelming darkness, with pure, raw evil as it dragged Alice's soul
from her body. Son of a bitch. There was no peace for her. She was going to
pure, dark hell, and he couldn’t stop it.
    Ian roared with agony and hauled
her against him, crushing her body against his chest, trying to shield her soul
from the hell that was taking her, but she slid away from him, until there was
nothing left but the cold, clean air of the night and the body of the woman he
was meant to protect.
    Despair overwhelmed Ian. The agony
of losing her again. The terror of knowing that she was facing something more
horrific than he could even imagine. The knowledge that he'd failed to save
her.
    For the third time, he was
unable to protect her.
    Or the second? Who had it been that
first time? Who was his soul mate?
    Alice. It had to be Alice. But she didn't
carry his brand—
    Anguish roared through Ian and he
surged to his feet, still holding Alice in his arms. He threw his head back,
bellowing his loss and his failure to the dark night. Inside his head began the
dark chant of the curse, tempting him toward that bottomless chasm from which
he would never emerge.
    His weapons began to burn in his
arms, once again straining to be released. To be used against him.
    "No!" He shouted his
denial, even as the doom began to circle him. He couldn’t die. He couldn’t
succumb. Alice needed him. She was coming back, and this time, he had to keep
her alive.
    But still the darkness rose within
him, stripping away at his sanity, the agony of the loss burning too deep,
tearing away at his will. Fighting against the desperation, Ian staggered the
few yards across the grave to the headstone of his ancestor.
    He fell to his knees on Augustus's
grave, still holding Alice desperately. He stared at the name engraved on the
stone, the one he'd visited religiously for so many centuries. No warrior had
been as great as Augustus, but the curse had still destroyed him. What chance
did Ian have if even Augustus had fallen?
    But Augustus hadn't had Alice to
stay alive for.
    With a force of will beyond what
he'd ever had to exert before, Ian set Alice on the dirt and released her. Her
fragile body was so pure and innocent in front of the headstone that marked the
life of such a deadly warrior. Ian braced his hands on his thighs, staring into
the face of the woman whose spirit was suffering some unimaginable hell
somewhere, because he hadn't managed to keep her alive. Because he hadn't been
able to bond with her.
    The enormity of his failure fought
to consume him, and Ian's upper lip raised in a snarl of defiance. "Fuck
you," he said to the curse. "I have a job to do. This isn't
over."
    Slowly, Ian reached for Alice's arm
and lifted it. He pressed his lips to the unmarred skin, then raised her hand
to the heavens. "I will not fail you," he promised. "I swear on
my ancestor's soul that I will stay alive, and I will find you when you come
back."
    But even as he said it, despair loomed
up inside him, and he felt the raw power of the curse that had consumed the
strongest, most powerful warriors again and again and again. Men far stronger
than he.
    He knew then, that he couldn't do
it on his own. Alice was the force to drive him to his grave, but she was also
the only thing strong enough to keep him out of it. With a sharp crack, Ian
called out his mace. He angled one of the blades across the hem of Alice's
shirt and then sliced a long strip off