Immortal Wounds: Book #1 in the Immortal Wounds Vampire Series-Paranormal Romance/Vampire Romance/Romantic Fantasy (45 page)

I ran to Luther as if he and I were the only soldiers on the battlefield. I pushed past the brawls, past the snapping teeth, past the small fires that threatened to spread, with such speed and determination—I felt unstoppable.

My eyes were fixed on Luther. I held my sword tight in my hand as I ran toward him.

Aidric’s body flashed by out the corner of my eye—only he wasn’t in his human form any longer—he was a massive gray wolf. A shadow of a memory Damen had given me confirmed who he was.

My mouth had gone dry. Aidric’s muscles flexed as he covered the ground at a rapid speed. I didn’t know how I managed to keep up with him. We moved as if we were in sync. Like a flock of birds, one moving with the other. But unless one of us stopped, Aidric and I were going to collide—Luther being the point of collision. There was no avoiding it, but I couldn’t let that happen. I ignored the burn in my legs as I cried out, pushing my body forward.

The rest happened so quickly . . .

I glanced from Aidric to Luther, who looked alarmed as he saw me running at him, sword in hand.

Luther’s head snapped to his right, his teeth barred. Aidric was approaching him fast. Luther looked back to me, fear flashing in his eyes. He must have seen the resolve in mine, and as I lifted my sword higher, he roared. “NO!”

“PHOEBE NO!” Marcus's voice reverberated all around me, making Luther’s scream almost a whisper.

I couldn’t stop. I dove through the air, managing to get to Aidric before he reached Luther. I could hear the violent roar of pain as my sword cut through his middle. He pulled my body to his—razor sharp claws slicing through me—I screamed out in agony. Our bodies intertwining as we soared through the air, landed in a violent heap amongst the charred ground.

Aidric’s body lay lifeless across mine. I cried out as I struggled to push him off me. I pulled myself up, and with great effort, I pulled my sword from his middle, blood dripping from the blade. The world spun around me. I used my sword like a cane and leaned on it heavily—it was the only thing holding me upright.

I looked around, my eyes settling on Luther. He was standing not far from me, looking too stunned to move. He stared at me with his blood red eyes—I wasn’t afraid. I felt myself smiling—he was alive!

He bowed his head slightly to me.

“Phoebe—”

I turned my head to see Marcus running toward me. His feet slowed as he neared. His expression: horrified.

I smiled widely at him. I took three slow steps toward him, dragging my sword along the ground behind me. I felt the handle slip through my fingertips as I staggered forward another step. I stared into Marcus's crimson eyes as I felt myself falling . . .

“Noooo!” He caught me before my face hit the ground. He flipped my body over, cradling my head in his lap. I could feel his cool hands on my face. “Darling . . . what have you done?”

“Marcus, there’s too much blood.” I barely recognized Raymose’s voice. It sounded so strained. So unlike his own.

I looked long at Marcus's face. I could see him forcing a smile for me as he gently pushed back the hair from my forehead. He looked as though his heart had been torn from his chest.

“I saved him . . . I saved Luther . . . you’re safe now Marcus.” I choked on the blood in my mouth. “You don’t . . . have to worry . . . any longer. He’ll forgive you . . . for not . . . telling him . . . about me. I know he will.”

“Yes Darling.”

I sputtered, spitting the blood from my lips. My time was nearing its end. “Marcus,” I choked. “I release you . . . from your promise.”

His eyes met mine. “Phoebe?” His voice was shaky.

I reached up and touched his angel-like face, smearing blood across his cheek as I did so. “It’s alright,” I breathed heavily. “I’ll find you again . . . I swear it.” My hand fell with a thud from his face.

“NO! Not like this! You’re not going to leave me again, do you hear me?” he demanded, shaking me violently.

My eyes struggled to stay open. I could barely focus on his image any longer.

“Phoebe, don’t leave me. I won’t live this life without you . . . I’m begging you!” He wailed as he rocked my limp body back and forth against his.

I felt him lift me up into the safety of his arms. He held me tightly to his chest. I could smell the familiar scent of his skin as I inhaled shallow breaths of him. A sudden feeling of peace engulfed me.

“Marcus, you have to let her go; there is nothing you can do for her now,” Raymose spoke softly.

“Don’t touch her!” Marcus hissed, holding me closer still. “I won’t let her die!” I could hear the pain in his voice. He was desperate. I didn’t have the strength to sooth him.

“She’s already dying Sir.” Richard spoke now. The devastation in his voice was unmistakable—his heart was breaking too.

“I’ll make this right!” Marcus thundered. “Not heaven or hell will keep us apart again.”

“Marcus you can’t!” Raymose’s words were absolute.

Marcus growled. “You forget, Raymose . . . she is not your responsibility.
She’s mine!”

“My son,” Luther’s voice, although thick with sorrow, was like music to my heart. “Let me care for her.”

“No.” Marcus stepped back, shielding me from them. “I will make this right. I won’t lose her again.”

I could feel Marcus running with me in his arms. Cool air suddenly whipped past my face. We were flying. I wasn’t afraid to fly anymore. I wasn’t afraid of anything.

“Phoebe, stay with me; you’ve got to stay with me.” Marcus's voice shook with panic. He held me so very close to him. I could feel the moisture from my chest freezing against my skin. I didn’t mind. I wasn’t cold any longer.

My heartbeat was slowing. My eyelids . . . they’d never felt so heavy.

“Marcus . . .”

“Just a little farther Darling, hang on. I’m going to get you to a doctor.”

“Marcus . . .” I breathed. I looked up into his beautiful face and smiled. “Can you still hear our hearts?”

He hugging me tighter. “Yes, my love, I can hear them. They beat very softly . . .”

I took a breath. I knew I was taking him in for the last time, letting his essence encircle me. My eyes fell shut. All pain melting away . . .

“NO! PHOEBE!” Marcus's scream sounded like a distant whisper floating across the wind.

I felt my body jerk as a sharp stabbing pain attacked my neck. It lasted only moments and then, nothing . . .

###

*War Between Vampires & Werewolves began in 1012

*Marcus Ashworth: Vampire, leader of the Moon Hunters, and Phoebe’s husband

1260- year of birth; England

1286- became a vampire

1287- appointed leader of the newly-formed Moon Hunters

1288- married Phoebe.

*Phoebe: Half human, half werewolf, has a past life; current age: 23.

1142- year of birth; Romania

1177- became a vampire

1299- year of death

*Richard: werewolf

1379- year of birth; England

*Raymose: vampire.

1086- year of birth; England

1114- became a vampire

*Damen Balfour: werewolf

1111- year of birth; Scotland

1147- became a werewolf

1152- assigned to protect Phoebe

*Luther: Leader of vampires and Phoebe’s father

 year of birth estimated around 30 BC

*Aidric: Leader of werewolves

year of birth estimated around 30 BC

Prologue

Marcus

The sun had rose and set three times now. Phoebe remained motionless. Her heart, still and quiet. Her lungs had not taken in any air . . . although, if she were indeed like him now, there would be no need for it.

Marcus had laid her in bed. Not her own, but another, in a more remote wing of the castle, where no one would happen upon her. He sat quietly. Grieving. Praying. He touched her cheeks with the back of his hand. Strange. Her skin felt almost flushed. Not cold like he’d imagined it would be. The wounds that once covered her ravaged body were gone. His bite had mended them. Or perhaps it was indeed her ‘super healing powers’ as she had referred to them on many occasions that had healed her. He smiled down at her affectionately.

“Aidric will pay for this,” he vowed, his teeth grinding together. He’d rip out his throat personally. He’d lost her twice now. His heart ached more with each passing hour.

Richard had come several times, wishing to take her—but Marcus would not let her go. No one would touch her but him. She was his after all: his to love, his to protect. And he
would
protect her, now and always. No one would ever harm her again. The very thought consumed him with such rage. He bit down on the inside of his mouth, drawing blood. The taste, warm and necessary, gave him release.

He laughed to himself. She’d thought him over-protective before. When she awoke, she’d find him more so. He wouldn’t care. He’d rather her complaining than this . . . this never-ending slumber.

Marcus smoothed Phoebe’s hair from her forehead. She looked so lovely lying there, so peaceful. An angel sent down from the heavens: His angel. She’d ended his centuries of torment and despair. He’d loved her more than anything in the world. So much so, that he’d never given himself to another woman. Not in the seven hundred and ten years he’d thought her dead. There was no replacement for her then . . . there would be no replacement for her now.

They’d only had a short time together. He’d found her in London four months ago, laying on the ground after Damen, a werewolf and the reason for her death so many centuries ago, had bitten her. Marcus had followed her back to the states. He had to know the extent of her infection. He’d resolved that even if Damen
had
turned her completely, he would not leave her. He could not bear to stray from her side. Not now, after finding her again. He would have Phoebe, no matter what she’d become. He would awaken their love. Somehow, she would remember him.

By a miracle of God, yes . . . he believed there was a God now. For only a God could return his beloved Phoebe to him and bless him with her love once more. Despite the horror of finding out that he was a vampire, she’d fallen in love with him. She’d remembered through her dreams that they had shared a life together: An immortal life as husband and wife. She’d accepted that she had once been a vampire herself and that although Damen had bitten her, by the grace of that God, she would not turn into the monster she feared.

He could taste the venom in his mouth. He’d brought her here, into his world to protect her; and he’d failed!

He growled as he recalled her desperately asking that if the time ever came, if she were dying, for him to bite her. He’d protested vigorously. His venom was so lethal to a werewolf . . . and her, still partly human . . . the outcome was unimaginable. She’d pleaded, begged that he would find some way to keep them together; even if that meant turning her into the unimaginable, a half werewolf, half vampire. “An abomination.”

He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. He would not regret what he’d done. Phoebe couldn’t stand to be away from him anymore than he could bear to be away from her, and in the end he’d agreed. He could deny her nothing. Yet . . . he’d hesitated . . . he’d waited too long. Damn. She should have awakened by now, he thought.

He placed his ear over her stomach, listening . . . silently begging. There was no heartbeat. The child he’d longed for . . . the child Phoebe had tried to protect . . . Aidric had taken that too.

Revenge would be his . . . but it would not be sweet. No. This kind of revenge was selfish, greedy; hateful. He would most certainly suffer the tortures of Hell for what he brutally planned. Marcus would gladly accept his fate, if only she might be spared. He bit the inside of his cheek again, savoring the taste . . .

“Aidric will be the one to bleed next, my love. On my life, I vow this to you.” He bowed his head, resting it on the edge of the bed.

“Sir,” a quiet voice spoke from behind him.

“What is it Richard?”

“Sir,” Richard’s voice cracked. “It’s been three days now. You must let her go.”

Marcus lifted his head and stared at a peaceful looking Phoebe. “Isn’t she beautiful, Richard?” There was awe in his words. “I changed her clothes this morning. I think she’ll like them when she wakes up.”

Richard shifted uneasily. His heart was breaking. He’d grown to love Phoebe too. Not romantically, but as a sister. She’d accepted him so freely, so lovingly into her heart. He would do anything for her—had done anything before her! He’d taken her to the battlefield as she’d wished. He’d protected her as best he could. But in the end, he’d failed her as well. He stared down at her loveliness, tears escaping his eyes. “Yes sir. She is beautiful.”

Richard watched as Marcus hugged her middle. He held her so tightly, quietly sobbing . . . although for Marcus there would be no tears . . . vampires could not cry.

Richard swallowed the lump in his throat. “Sir, Mr. Raymose is outside.”

Marcus spun around, a hiss escaping his lips. “He will not take her!”

Richard extended his hands, assuring his friend. “He is not here to take her. He only wishes to see her, to bid her well.” This was true. Although Richard had already said his goodbyes to Phoebe and Raymose wished to do the same.

Richard had phoned Raymose this morning with his concerns for Marcus. Marcus had remained in Phoebe’s room since he’d brought her home, brushing her hair, cleaning her wounds, changing her clothes and bedding. He wanted her body comfortable. Marcus would not accept that she was gone—and this worried Raymose.

“Yes, she would like that,” Marcus agreed. “Perhaps his voice will . . .” He looked at Richard with pleading eyes, seeking comfort Richard could not give.

“Yes sir, perhaps . . .” He turned and left the room. He hated to give his friend false hope.

A few minutes later, Raymose entered. His face fell at the sight before him. Marcus was still holding onto a still Phoebe. Her lovely hair, soft and smooth, cascaded across the pillow as if it had just been brushed.

“My friend,” Raymose reached out and squeezed Marcus’s shoulder. He knelt down beside him, hanging his head. His mouth felt too dry to speak. “Has she stirred?”

“No.” Marcus’s voice was barely a whisper.

“May I?” Raymose looked to Marcus who nodded giving permission he could touch her. He reached out and took Phoebe’s hand, holding it gently in his. “She’s warm!”

“Yes, she’s been that way since her wounds healed.” Marcus did not look up, his eyes drinking in as much of Phoebe as they could. If the time did come where Marcus would have to say goodbye, well, he’d have the vision of her burned into his mind to fuel his revenge.

Raymose held her wrist, feeling for any sign of a pulse. He reached out, placing his fingers on her neck. He gasped! He put his hand below her nose. Yes, small whiffs of air met his skin. “She’s breathing!” Raymose said excitedly.

“What?” Marcus jumped to his feet, his fingers desperately searching her neck for a pulse. It was faint. So much so that he still could not hear a heartbeat. Being partly werewolf, her heart should still beat—in theory anyway. As far as he knew, there were no others like her . . . he could not be sure of anything except that she was indeed alive!

“Thank God!” He pressed his lips to hers, hoping she’d feel his kiss.

“You haven’t fed her, have you?” Raymose asked skeptically.

“I’ve given her a few drops from my glass.” Marcus admitted. He avoided Raymose’s stare. He knew where this conversation was going.

“That’s not what she needs, and you know it,” Raymose warned.

“I will not taint her with our blood,” Marcus hissed. He took Phoebe’s hand and held it to his lips, kissing it softly. Her scent had become a drug to him, deliciously intoxicating. “Wake, my love,” he whispered softly into her ear.

“You have no choice now!” Raymose stood tall above him, his body seething with anger. “If she lives, she will only just survive and you know it! She will
never
be strong enough without your blood,
both
of your bloods. She has two creators now Marcus. She must drink from both of you if she is to be whole.”

Marcus tensed at the thought. “Once she tastes it . . . there will be no going back,” he growled over his shoulder. “I will not let her be like him. She didn’t want that.”

“There was no going back once you bit her,” Raymose reminded his friend sharply. “She’ll
need
. . . his blood. And yours, if she is to be strong.”

“No!” Marcus was on his feet now. His shoulders squared with Raymose’s. There was no way he was going to allow Phoebe to drink from him, or Damen. Marcus knew once she tasted her creator’s blood, she’d be forever bound to their way of life. It was bad enough she would be forced to drink blood from time to time—something she would detest. But to have to transform into a werewolf—unacceptable! And that is exactly what would happen if she ever tasted Damen’s blood. It would be as if Damen had infected her fully with the venom that flows through him. Something the bastard had to know. Marcus would die before he’d ever let that happen. “She doesn’t have to be like us . . . not really.”

“You’re a fool,” Raymose spat.

“The ‘wine’ will sustain her when she needs it,” Marcus insisted. “She doesn’t need any more than that. She doesn’t
need
his blood to survive! She doesn’t
need
to be a monster like him!” He knelt down beside Phoebe, taking her hand in his once more. “Damen will never touch her again.” Marcus’s resolve was unwavering.

Raymose sighed and threw his hands up into the air. “You will shadow her then? Follow her, every step she makes? Fight off every evil that threatens her?” Raymose asked, mockingly. “It cannot be done. History has proven that my friend.”

Marcus looked up at Raymose, his eyes seething with anger. “I will protect her with my life . . . she will
never
need his blood. Or mine,” he assured darkly as Raymose shook his head in exasperation.

Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “And you my friend?” Marcus asked after a few moments. “Will you not vow the same? Can you stand there and deny her your protection?”

Raymose glowered at Marcus. “You know I would lay my life down for hers. I’ve never kept my feelings for her a secret,” he spat.

Marcus nodded his head in understanding.

“But I am no fool Marcus,” Raymose continued. “Danger will come looking for her. Make no mistake about that. She’ll never be safe here. They’ll want her dead, Aidric . . . and perhaps Luther. There cannot be one strong enough to defeat both. Neither will allow it. Sooner or later, they will come for her.”

Marcus nodded once again and turned his attention back to Phoebe. “And I will kill them when they do. All of them,” he vowed.

He looked down on his beloved and smiled. She was alive. And
that
is how she would stay,  forever . . .

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